Page 68 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
She snatched the bill from me before I could hand it to her, tearing it at the corner in her haste. Before I could add to the order, she pivoted and darted out of the room.
“Hurry or you’ll miss the meeting,” I called at her back, an actual smile on my face.
As soon as she left, the air thinned. I exhaled easier, taking the time to lean against the table and observe the other four designers. Chantilly’s breathing heated my back for a few seconds too long before she walked around me and sat on the couch, taking Emery’s place.
She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite place it.
I eyed the designers, a circle jerk of (over) paid fresh-out-of-college kids, teenage acne scars still clear on their faces like I ran a casting call for High School Musical. When I started the company, Delilah mentioned young employees were more driven, highly productive, easier to manage, versatile, and adaptable.
I hired them because they were more affordable, but also for those reasons. The downside was, people like Chantilly received promotions before they paid their dues. Power corrupts fools, and Chantilly looked one hundred percent foolish in a red mini dress on an active construction site.
“Mr. Prescott, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Chantilly said after twenty drawn-out minutes of silence I spent ignoring them.
“We’ve met?”
She paused, her cheeks turning a shade of scarlet that outdid her hair, before she smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on her skintight dress and laughed. “You’re so funny.”
Basil.
Basil Berkshire.
Reed’s self-absorbed girlfriend.
The one addicted to Gucci, Balmain, selfies, and sugar-free açaí bowls.
That’s who she reminded me of.
“Not particularly,” I replied, and though Emery wasn’t here, I knew if she had heard me, she would have had one of those ghost smiles on her face—hidden just beneath the blasé expression she wore so well.
Since the idea of Emery smiling nauseated me, I added as Emery walked in, “In fact, I only recognize Cayden.”
Emery held out a hot coffee for me. I brought it to my lips, my fingers clenched around the double layer of heat sleeves. Her smile told me she had spit in it. I held eye contact with her as I took a sip anyway, never one to back down from a challenge. We were the same people in that regard.
Her smirk and the fact that she stood in front of me, hovering, should have warned me. The coffee was black and near boiling, about the exact opposite of the frozen monstrosity I’d ordered. It scalded my tongue, but I swallowed it anyway and smiled even when the liquid lashed at my tonsils, burning a path down my throat.
Whatever I ate in the next few weeks, I knew I wouldn’t taste it. She’d fried my taste buds with a smile on her face, then lifted a blended drink to her mouth, a litany of add-ons written on the side like hieroglyphics, informing me she held the drink I’d ordered.
The smile on her face taunted me. She pressed the straw to her lips and sucked in sugary crap neither of us needed in our bodies. I drew the black coffee—what I would have ordered anyway, for the record—to my lips, ignoring when she mouthed, “I spit in that,” her face angled so the room couldn’t see.
“Change,” I demanded, holding out a hand. “I have a no-tolerance policy on thievery.”
Panic took over her eyes, along with pure rage. She dug into her pocket and slammed two fives and some loose change into my open fist. I made a show of sliding the money into her wallet and shoving it into my inner suit pocket before turning to the rest of the group, dismissing her like she meant nothing.
“As I was saying,” I began. Emery hovered beside me, no doubt talking herself out of first-degree murder. “I only know Cayden.” I shot him a nod of acknowledgment and continued before the rest of them had the opportunity to start introductions. “But Delilah, whom some of you may know as the head of the legal department, gave me the rundown on your names.”
Emery finally took a seat on the couch, but Chantilly made a show of stretching and stood, blocking Emery from my view.
I ignored them both and addressed everyone else, “Let’s cut to the chase. I’m looking for something dark and white. Muted colors. This is a beach hotel, but we want to stay true to our
brand. Some base flooring and materials have already been chosen to match different locations, but each hotel still maintains its own identity.”
When Chantilly shifted, Emery finally peeked into view. She gnawed on her bottom lip, her brows furrowed in concentration. The ideas in her eyes brought more life to them than I’d ever seen.
A dash of hope, too.
My depraved sense of justice made me want to extinguish that hope.
After Reed hit high school, Ma gave him two gifts—a door and her permission to redecorate his room. My brother had the aesthetic vision of a prosopagnosiac, so he’d pushed the responsibility onto Emery.
