Page 132 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Grateful I hadn’t succumbed to the temptation, I pulled out the sketchpad and continued with my shading, knowing this one-hundred percent would end up at the bottom of the trashcan.
“Are you sure this is from Nash?” Ida Marie frowned at the food, eyeing the beans like they might be poisoned. “It doesn’t seem like something he would do for anyone, except maybe…”
Her voice trailed off, but we all knew what she meant to say.
Anyone except Emery.
The divide deepened. I stood stranded on one side of a canyon while Cayden, Hannah, Ida Marie, and Chantilly stood on the other. Except Chantilly refused to see it like it was. She’d sprint over to my side on a tightrope if she could.
Her nose scrunched as she shook her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ida Marie. It’s definitely for us. I’ve been working late. Putting in so many extra hours.” She loaded extra meat onto her tortilla, and I. Was. So. Jealous. “I deserve it—and the fridge. Totally. Plus, I think he really likes me. I caught him staring at me this morning.”
“I can assure you, I do not like you. You remind me of a dog begging strangers to pet her, and as far as kinks go, bestiality isn’t mine.” Nash rested a hip against the door frame, staring me down without paying a lick of attention to Chantilly. “I was staring at Emery. You kept getting in the way.”
My heart hiccupped before chasing its normal pace. Cue the awkward silence as everyone and their mothers misconstrued Nash’s words. The stare-down had lasted five minutes over the extra white chocolate macadamia nut cookies he’d slipped into my Jana Sport when I wasn’t paying attention.
One—he was right. I loved them. Everyone who knew me knew I loved them. Not exactly a national secret.
Two—I couldn’t hand them back without drawing attention to Nash’s fixation on feeding me. They still sat at the bottom of my Jana Sport, taunting me each time I pulled out a different charcoal pencil to sketch with.
Three—I hoped he never found out that I’d eaten the ones in the Tupperware container he gave me days ago.
Ida Marie’s cheeks turned pink for me. She tapped my shoulder and held a paper plate in her outstretched hand. “Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Her wide eyes avoided Nash. “There’s so much food here. One of us will end up taking a feast home.”
Nash had approved our 3D rendering with minor changes, which meant flooring, cabinets, and finishes were already installed with furnishings ordered and arranged soon after. It also meant I would be here even later today. The soup kitchen might end up closing before I left.
Stop letting your pride eat at your sanity, Emery. Nash is right. It’s okay to accept help. It doesn’t make you any less of a person. Maggie lets you make coats for her and the kids. You allowed Reed to hook you up with a job. Getting food from the soup kitchen never deterred you. It’s starting to sound like you only have trouble accepting help from Nash.
Nope, the pep talk did nothing.
I’d sooner step in a bear trap than accept Nash’s help. Because I preferred him cruel. At least, I knew what to expect.
“I’m good.” I plucked my eraser from the Jana Sport. “I have dinner plans tonight.”
As in, the soup kitchen if I’m lucky.
Nash narrowed his eyes at my words. I had screwed myself when I agreed to civility for Ben’s sake, because each time I didn’t fight Nash, I got more and more comfortable justifying our proximity.
This did nothing for my lust. He still looked like womenkind’s answer to dry spells, and I still had the memory of his fingers inside me and my lips wrapped around his cock to keep me warm at night.
“Emery.” Nash lifted his chin toward the hallway. He had managed to turn my name into a demand. As soon as we reached the elevators, he fired at me in rapid succession, “Make no mistake—I’m not a nice person. I don’t do nice things. If I hold the door open for you, it’s to look at your ass. If I do you a favor, it’s because I expect one in return. If I feed you, it’s because I’d rather deal with your scrawny ass than Ma’s wrath. The sooner you get that, the better.”
But the words held no real bite to them. A toothless husky gnawing his favorite toy. He seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of feeding me, it almost made me laugh. Dip below that, and all he’d done was throw money at my problems with a hint of his signature tenacity.
The exact opposite of the younger Nash who used to give me lunch at the cost of his own, who didn’t speak as if he owned me, and never made me feel like accepting his generosity would come at the expense of my soul.
The slow shake of my head offered me time to summon an adequate response. “My refusal to accept your food has nothing to do with an aversion to niceties and everything to do with the fact that I don’t need your hundreds of dollars in catering, your fancy salmons, or forty-eight-ounce porterhouses that can feed ten families.” My Chuck-covered feet clambered closer to his Salvatore Ferragamo loafers. “Money doesn’t solve all problems, including mine. Sometimes, I don’t recognize you, Nash. Doesn’t that scare you?”
I’d struck him.
Lightning straight to the hollowed-out cavity where his heart should have been.
Old Nash used to go without food so the overprivileged Winthrop could eat lunch. He never asked for a thank you, never made me feel bad about my crappy mother, and never forced me t
o accept his charity.
He left me notes because my longing eyes would track Betty’s every time Reed flicked it into the trash after a cursory glance. Once, I even hijacked one from the trash, brought it home, and pretended Betty was my mom and she’d written the words for me.
