Page 101 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I must have been making a face, because he asked, “Is there something you’d like to say, Miss Rhodes?”
I mulled over an answer before settling with, “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Translation: you’re not gonna like it, so let’s not continue this war in public. Blood is a bitch to get off low pile, polypropylene carpet.
Say it. I dare you, his eyes challenged me.
Chantilly’s eyes, on the other hand, screamed with warning, and if she could have strangled me without ending up in a six-by-eight cell, I was sure she would have… but because I had never been one to pass up a good dare, I spoke my mind.
“Your ‘vision’—and I use that term loosely—feels like a sell-out. Yeah, your company’s brand is this bougie, ritzy bullshit, but you’ve never been
.” Fuck. That sounded like I knew him. “I mean, your brand originally wasn’t,” I corrected, my voice sharper than an ice crusher. “Your first location in Bentley, South Carolina had style. It screamed class without the side of boring. Haling Cove is a college tourist trap. Your clientele may be wealthy, but they’re also young. This is your opportunity to finally do something that isn’t total Arnault-Koch-and-Mercer-style bullshit.”
Silence.
Would have been blissful had my heart not been pounding so hard, I swore I was seconds away from a heart attack. Horrible figure of speech, given the audience, but I felt no sympathy as Nash stared at me like he wanted to storm over here and…
I didn’t know.
Strangle me?
Bend me over his knee?
Seems legit.
“You’re right,” he began, his eyes finally, finally alive. It thrilled me to bring the spark there, which should have been a sign to back off. He’d already made me beg him to fuck me then left me hanging. What more could he do? “This is North Carolina. Maybe hotel guests will be turned off by the aesthetic. We want less Winthrop Scandal and more friendly neighborhood billionaire. Any suggestions?”
I could have killed him, picked apart his eyes, and fed them to the coyotes. “We need a focal piece for the lobby. It needs to be large enough to take up the entire center of the lobby. It also needs to be something that draws attention to justify the minimalistic design points. We want it to be a conversation starter, too. It’s the only thing that will save this hotel from being a total snooze fest.”
Chantilly raised her hand before speaking. “We can’t afford a focal piece. We have to stay on budget. We already bought some of the fixtures, flooring, and paint in the current color scheme,” she slanted her gaze my way, “so I strongly suggest we ignore Emery’s idea.”
Nash twirled a pen in his fingers, so uncaring about this hotel, it bothered me. “I guess Winthrop Scandal it is.”
Chantilly droned on about her overpriced ideas.
Ida Marie leaned into me and whispered, “What’s the Winthrop Scandal?”
“Just another case of an asshole stealing from the little guy,” I replied, thankful none of my coworkers came from the South or had picked up a Financial Times article ever.
Not that I had been the face of the scandal.
Dad had.
Still.
I couldn’t control my heartbeats. They consumed my poor chest, thudding a fierce rhythm worthy of a Carnegie Hall drum solo. It felt like Big Foot had laced up his Nikes and started running a marathon inside me.
Keep your shit together, Emery. Small minds come attached to big mouths. Look at Chantilly’s flapper go. Does someone who spent a chunk of the dwindling budget on cabinet knobs that resemble butt plugs seem like the type of person who could piece together your identity?
“Oh.” Ida Marie doodled on the margins of her notebook as Chantilly wrapped up her bullshit defense of her design. “I hope he went to jail.”
Nope, just living in a beach-side cottage in a small North Carolina town. Dad emailed me postcards once a week. I never replied, but sometimes, when I felt particularly masochistic, I would stare at the pictures and wonder how he fared living somewhere that couldn’t fill a high school gymnasium. Eastridge’s population nearly doubled Blithe Beach, and still, gossip in town moved like a cheetah prowling for prey.
I wondered how far Nash would take terrorizing me. I had figured out his game. Reed hated Nash, but Nash didn’t hate Reed. That had to be the reason I still had this job. I threaded Reed and Nash together, and to cut me would be to cut their already strenuous relationship.
Nash continued, ignoring me, “I expect the 3D renderings to be done by the end of the weekend, so we can begin finalizing purchases and move on to the artwork for the suites. This is not some cookie-dough-latte and chocolate-jalapeño-croissant-serving coffee shop you can smoke a joint behind. Slow and mediocre work will not be tolerated.”
“Chocolate jalapeño croissants. So gross, am I right?” Chantilly stepped beside him, her knee bumping into the back of my head as she scrambled off the couch. Two palms clapped together, rally girl style. “We’ll begin with your penthouse suite first, Mister Prescott, then the presidential suite Mrs. Lowell is currently staying in. Do you have any requests?”
