Page 214 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
And he’d kept it to himself.
“Those motherfuckers. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. Fuck the whole fucking world.” Delilah shuffled past me, sheer rage plastered all over her face. “We need to go.”
We left the reception area of the D.C. skyscraper and speed-walked our way to the rental car. After dropping Emery off in Blithe this morning, I’d arranged for Gideon to drive her back to the hotel.
Still, Emery and I had made plans for tonight. I’d helicopter to North Carolina in time for take-out and poking holes in every movie on Chantilly’s Netflix queue.
“Care to explain what’s going on or are you having another temper tantrum?” I slid into the driver’s seat. “Unlike Emery’s, yours are not cute.”
“You're amused. Good. Hold on to that, because you won’t be in a sec. We’re headed to the airport.” She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and signaled for me to be quiet with a finger. Her middle one. Charming. “Yeah. Did you read my text? I need the soonest flight. Commercial or private, so long as it's the first one out.”
I took off to the airport, sensing her urgency. Fuck. I needed a charger to text Emery and let her know I’
d left.
“Spill,” I said as soon as Delilah flipped her phone shut. “Also, do you have Emery’s number? Or Reed’s?”
“No, I don’t have your girlfriend's number. And no, I don’t have my boss’ prepubescent brother’s number either.” She shoved her phone into her Birkin. “That should be the least of your concerns. They changed the meeting from the building we were just at.”
I turned into the airport. “Not a big deal. Which terminal?”
“International. Air Singapore.”
“One—we’re flying commercial?” I abandoned the rental at the curb, not caring. Singapore was too important.
Always prepared, Delilah slammed down our passports at the VIP ticket counter. “Why does it matter if we're flying commercial? I never took you for a diva, but it all makes sense now.”
I ignored her jab and plucked our tickets from the haggard employee. “I need to charge my phone or buy a new charger.”
We rushed to the TSA Pre-check line, shouldering our way past people, just shy of an actual tackle. Half the time, I thought Delilah wanted Singapore as much as I did. Either for me, or because she’d worked so hard on it for too long to lose now.
“Fuck, I do, too.” She strode through the metal detector. “But we have no time. We literally need to sprint to make this flight.”
I placed my phone in a bin on the conveyor. “Two—how the fuck did we get the location wrong?”
The TSA agent scowled at my harsh language. I ignored her and led Delilah into the terminal.
She shoved our passports into her bag and handed our tickets to the airline attendant. “We’ll make it if we land on time and chopper directly onto the adjacent building. I've cleared it with their security.” Her heels click-clacked down the passenger boarding bridge. “The landowner changed the auction site and time, and a glitch somehow wiped our emails from their CC list.”
“A glitch,” I deadpanned.
She didn’t say it, but we both knew Asher Black's reputation. Mafia ties and a less than legal history.
Her shoulders tipped up as we took seats across from each other in fucking economy class. “Black Enterprises wants this property.”
My knees bumped the seat in front of me. Fucking hell. Commercial flights weren’t made for anyone taller than a toddler or wider than a stick of gum. The C.I.A. must’ve designed this shit as a torture experiment. Cram two-hundred people into a forty-five-ton hunk of metal, force them to pay for it, and see who cracks first.
“There's no property left in Singapore like this. One-of-a-fucking-kind.” I ignored the appalled expression on the mother beside me. She covered her son’s ears and inched away from me—even as her eyes swiped up and down my body, checking me out. “It’s zoned for the highest buildings.”
Exactly why I fucking needed it.
I reclined the seat as far as it would go, pretending I didn't hear it knock against the person's knee behind me. I’d fly to Singapore, win the land auction, and find a phone charger on my way back to the airport.
Emery would understand.
She knew what Singapore meant to me.
Asher Black looked like he’d be a cocky motherfucker, and he was.
