Page 216 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
6. Using someone else's WiFi.
7. Hugging someone the same gender as you.
8. Singing in public.
9. Feeding pigeons.
10. Alcohol and parties between 10:30 P.M. and 7 A.M.
Lucy tilted her head from across the table, studying me. I angled my pen to block her view of the pad.
Are you on drugs or is this your pathetic bucket list?
The ledger sat in my safe. Delilah knew it existed, but she didn't know what the contents held. Really, I should have confessed to Emery by now. It possessed enough evidence to free Gideon of all accusations.
No more hiding out in Blithe for him. He’d be able to visit his daughter without fear of a mob. She could drop the Rhodes last name and become a Winthrop again.
But—fucking but—it meant a possible jail sentence for me. I wanted one damn month of me and Emery on some stranded island, talking, laughing, fucking on every inch of the beach before I spent twenty years in jail.
(I Google’d it. That was the maximum sentence for insider trading, not to mention the whole burning evidence thing.)
Delilah slid the pad to me.
No, just listing illegal things to do in Singapore. Now, imagine the strict property laws. But go ahead. Try closing remotely and fuck up this deal WE’ve been working on for years. (And by we, I mean ME, while you obsessed on the sidelines.)
She had a point.
I obsessed over this project.
Sitting on the roof of the building next door, I’d never felt closer to Dad. The skyscraper boasted nearly eighty floors. I bribed so many politicians in the past several years, just to rezone mine for one-hundred-and-thirty floors.
Higher than the fucking Empire State, the Shanghai Tower, and the Makkah Clock Tower.
Dad.
Emery.
Having to make this choice should have compared to voluntarily sticking my neck under a tractor. It didn’t.
The consequences hurt, yes, but choosing Emery came easy.
“Eat a Snickers, Asher. You’re too you when you’re hungry.” I tossed Delilah’s pad in the trash and stood. “Prescott Hotels formally withdraws from this auction.”
Everyone in this room—aside from Lucy, and seriously what the fuck—shared dumbstruck expressions.
Delilah recovered first. “Excuse me while I confer with my client.” In the hallway, she paced twice and rounded on me. “What the hell, Nash?!”
“Careful, D.” I made a show of studying her forehead. “Those wrinkles are showing. I count one, two—”
“This is not funny.” Delilah Jr., that vein on her temple, looked ten seconds from bursting. “Do you know how long I've worked to make this happen for you?”
“I've compensated you for your time.” I swallowed and turned away.
Even with the burn of her disappointment, the decision felt easy. I picked Emery. Simple as that.
“It's not the money or the time. It's the fact that I worked my ass off, knowing how much this project meant to you… And now you’re pulling out? Why?”
> I didn’t answer.
