Page 156 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
But mentally.
Emotionally.
He made me lunch every day and left notes like he used to. Sometimes, I’d eat them in his office. He would watch me read the notes. I pretended to toss them with the lunch bag, but I'd slide them into my pocket when he wasn't looking and leave them in my box in the closet.
I told myself the lunches were why I was even at this gallery, about to lead Nash to the Triumphant Sisyphus over the Defeated Sisyphus.
A paid debt.
That’s all.
“Are you sure? I can set you up on a date with some friends,” Ida Marie offered.
A shadow loomed over us.
I fixed my eyes on the loin-cloth dick.
“We are here to work, not socialize, and his dick looks like one of Rosco’s ears.”
Nash’s voice hit the air, and I felt like I was floating and sinking all at once. Gravity, it turned out, didn’t exist. Not with Nash roaming this earth.
“Uhh…” Ida Marie’s eyes traversed the room, trying to bullshit two bullshitters. “Chantilly’s waving me down. Gotta go.”
I turned back to the painting, which did, in fact, resemble Rosco’s ear. “Doesn't it bother you that everyone thinks we're sleeping together?”
“No.”
He didn’t seem surprised.
I waited for him to elaborate.
He lifted a brow. “What?”
“Nothing. Never mind. You're impossible.” I zipped up my hoodie until it covered my wabi-sabi tee. “Let’s get this over with. The sculpture is in the private gallery.”
The curator unlocked the private viewing room for us, offering champagne and an exclusive tour.
Nash declined with a polite, “Fuck no.”
Her head whipped back, jaw slacking.
“To think she referred to you as the Patron Saint of North Carolina earlier,” I said once she left us alone.
I would have felt bad, but A—she looked at Nash like he was a paycheck and B—when she actually did get the commission check from this sale, I was sure she’d be licking her wounds during a beach vacation in Hawaii.
“I fucking hate that nickname.”
But he didn’t deny its validity. It fit with the Nash Prescott puzzle beside his penance tattoo. I was missing the biggest piece. It reminded me of filling out a completely blank Sudoku grid.
Curiosity got the better of me. “Why Sisyphus?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“I’m not following.”
“Do you know what a Sisyphean task is?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s one that can never be completed.”
I kept my gaze forward, rounding the bend with him. We passed extravagant paintings, statues, and sculptures. I cared for none of them like I did the Triumphant Sisyphus.
