Page 217 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Her head whipped back. She rocked on her heel and gave me a shit-eating grin. “It's Emery, isn't it?”
I said nothing, waiting this out.
She continued, still with that fucking smile. “I always knew you were capable of falling in love.” With that, she turned and walked to the room.
“Delilah?”
She paused, fingers on the door handle. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Her brows shot up, like she couldn’t believe I’d uttered a thank you. You'd think I was a fucking monster or something.
“Let’s get you your girl.”
I spent the flight back to the U.S. lamenting the fact that I had to choose between buying a new charger and taking the first flight out of Singapore.
With only one seat available, Delilah stayed behind. I tried to feel bad about it, but A—I wanted to return home to Emery and B—Delilah seemed excited to maul the Singaporean street food. So, really, she should thank me.
Free trip to Singapore on the company.
By the time I landed, I had zero patience for customs. I cut past people when they stopped paying attention—and did it again even when they did pay attention.
At the kiosk, I handed the customs officer my passport, ignoring the irritated whispers of the people I’d skipped over.
The officer swiped the passport and tilted his head at the screen. He swiped it again.
“Is there a problem?” I glanced at my watch.
It had taken nineteen hours to fly from D.C. to Singapore, then twenty-five hours to fly from Singapore to North Carolina with a quick layover that required me to sprint from one end of the airport to the other like I was Eric fucking Liddell.
With the meeting, all in, Emery hadn’t heard from me in over two days.
I blinked away the jet lag, in time to catch the officer waving a coworker over. “If this is about cutting in line, can we hold off the time-out until tomorrow? Fuck.”
“Sir, come with me.” Officer Two snagged my passport from Officer One and led me to a back room, while I wondered what the hell was going on.
A metal bench pushed against the wall in the corner. The rectangular table filled the space, two chairs on each side. It looked like the mall cop version of an interrogation room.
I arched a brow and turned to the officer. “Do I need to call my attorney?”
Goddamnit, Delilah.
She was probably scarfing down bah kut teh on an overcrowded street this very second. Also, even if I had a call to use, my phone had powered down, and I hadn’t memorized any numbers.
“Sir, I need you to lower your voice and calm down.”
“I am fucking calm.”
“A law enforcement agency has placed a flag on your passport.” The officer gestured to a seat. “Please, wait here while we alert the appropriate authorities.”
Appropriate authorities.
“Goddamn rent-a-cops.” I made a show of yawning and laying on the table instead of sitting on a chair.
The first hour pissed me off.
The second hour made me stir crazy.
