Page 123 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Nash confused me.
And at the end of the day, lust was just a consolation prize for love.
For someone who thrived on confrontation, I could list avoidance under the “skills” column of my resume.
The construction worker glared at me beneath the sun’s harsh rays. “Again?”
I swiped the hair out my face, wishing I could flick some guilt off with it. “Last time. I swear.”
I’d said that the last four times I asked him to move it.
“A little to the left.”
“Maybe slightly lower.”
“Ohh… that’s too low. Higher?”
“To the right.”
Ninety percent sure the Prescott Hotels sign currently sat where it had started.
“Like this?” He shifted the hunk of metal higher above the entrance.
“Yes. We’re good.”
His relief slithered across his body. He took the opportunity to dismiss me with his back. Loitering by the double doors, I wished for a cigarette habit or something to keep me outside and away from the office, where the feeding saga continued in full force.
Nash brought me decadent dishes every day, and I declined every day.
My willpower resembled a starving puppy’s, jaw snapping open at the slightest whiff of food.
The sun brought spots to my eyes. Two delivery men jostled me out of their way. A giant chrome refrigerator sat on a trolley between them, Nash’s persistency written all over it.
What. The. Fuck.
My eyes fluttered with rapid blinks. I pinched my forearm—twice—to assure myself t
hat I hadn’t hallucinated a damn fridge. Not just any fridge. One of those smart ones with a tablet built into the door.
Turning to the construction worker, I rubbed at my eyes and squinted at him. “Did you see that?”
He dipped his head down as if that would spare him my attention. “See what?”
“Never mind.”
Palming my phone, I pulled up the Eastridge United app.
Durga: What’s the number for a good shrink? I think my boss needs psychiatric help.
Benkinersophobia: Funny. I feel the same way about one of my employees.
Durga: Fire them. Let me work for you instead.
Benkinersophobia: Consider this your job offer—forty hours a week, easy access clothing only. I’ll allow kneepads given the labor requirements.
His next text came right after.
Benkinersophobia: Really, though, you good?
