Page 211 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Lunch bag clutched in one fist, I pulled Nash's keycard from my back pocket, led the guy down the hall, and let him inside. “Guest bathroom's right there.”
As soon as he left, I tore open the bag. A note sat at the top.
Hey.
I’m not greeting you, Emery. You would think that. Control that ego, Tiger.
I’m saying hi to the voice in your head. The one you’re using to read this.
’Sup, sweetheart.
Tell Emery her ass looked fuck-hot in her jeans yesterday, her idea about alternating curtain colors was a stroke of Einstein-level genius, and it drives me fucking insane every time she whispers magic words.
Really, I think that’s you whispering them, isn’t it, Emery’s Inner Voice?
If you could tell Emery to come back to me, that’d be great.
Nash
I tamped a smile and rifled through a kitchen drawer for one of the hotel notepads. I wrote my answer on it.
Not happening.
Emery
P.S. All you have to do is tell me.
And so the cooler saga began.
I’d wake up to one in the morning and drop it off in front of his door at night, along with my reply. On Saturdays, Nash drove me to see Dad, whose idea of telling me everything consisted of literally telling me every single detail as slowly as he could.
I wanted him to speed to the juicy bits, gloss over the yucky aspects of my conception, and get to the part where Nash somehow discovered everything before I had. At the same time, I knew Dad cherished my visits, so I let him take them at his pace.
Even if patience had never been my strong suit.
And every morning, when I woke up to a note in the cooler, I’d smile.
Fate is the Universe kicking Coincidence’s ass. We are an example of Fate proving to the world it exists. Come back to me?
Nash
I’d toyed with the paper, knowing Nash would ask this every day until I said yes
, knowing I'd want to cave every time. Dad or Nash could put me out of my misery, but neither did, so I’d written back:
Never.
Emery
P.S. Unless you tell me. In which case, I’m curious: If Fate and Destiny went to war, which do you think would win?
We worked together every day, with the exception of a few trips Nash took with Delilah. He'd leave by chopper on the roof, but he never failed to make me lunch and a note. The following morning, he replied:
Whichever brought you to me.
(Cheesy enough? Covering my bases here, since deep and philosophical didn't work. I could also go with—the universe wants us together. Who are we to defy the universe? Pure gold. You could put that on a shirt.)
Come back to me?
