Page 220 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Still?” I shook my head. “I never said I love you.”
“You did. Not with your words, but with your actions. You put so much weight in words, but sometimes, the things you do say more than the things you say. See you tomorrow, Little Tiger. Shit’s about to go down.”
I stood there, slack jawed, clutching my door. He pressed a kiss to my temple and left. His whistles echoed down the hallway.
Ceiling: See? I told you he’s not avoiding you. You shouldn't have written him that note. You can be such an asshole sometimes.
Delilah walked into the penthouse, midway through my conversation with Chantilly. I spared her a glance and returned to the psycho sitting across from me.
She tucked a red strand of hair behind her ears. “We’ve been working closely the past two weeks.”
“Yes,” I dragged out. “You, me, and four other people.”
She spread her legs, an invitation. Did she really think I didn't remember her trying to accost me?
Her fingertips ran across her collarbone and circled the cross necklace around her neck. “I see you staring at me.”
“Only when I’m appalled at how quickly you’re able to run through millions of dollars in budget money.” I leaned back in my seat and drew up some documents, fucking exhausted with today. “Also, I won't ask you again to close your legs. I have to sit in this office for another three hours, and your pussy smells like a fish market.”
What she didn’t understand was, I had no use for someone who nodded every time I did. I have a shadow for that, and I sure as hell liked it more than I liked her.
Delilah cleared her throat and set Rosco down. He sprinted to his four-poster bed.
Chantilly tilted her chin up, cheeks flamed red when she noticed the company for the first time. “I have to check on something, um, on another floor.”
“You do that.” I motioned her to shoo.
She darted around Delilah and slammed the door on her way out. Rosco jumped, yelped, and pawed at Delilah’s leg to be held.
Bending, she scooped him up. “You look like shit.”
Yeah, and you know why, asshole.
I’d told her through email last night, sparing her any incriminating details but enough that she got the gist.
“Shut up.” I lied, “I’m sick, you cold-hearted monster. Chantilly cornered me this morning to talk about budgets. She had a cold, Delilah. She coughed in my mouth, Delilah. I ate her cold, Delilah. I ate it. Do you know what that is like? I could demonstrate.”
“I feel like you’re saying my name a lot.”
“I feel like you’re not listening.”
We skirted around the elephant of the day, because I'd been fucking held in federal custody for the maximum forty-eight hours allowed by North Carolina law. If I had a working phone, I would have called Delilah to get me the fuck out of there.
I hadn’t.
So, I sat through Brandon's incessant questions without speaking a word.
“Did you know about the Winthrop Scandal before the F.B.I. and S.E.C. announced our formal investigation?”
“What is your involvement with Virginia Winthrop, Balthazar Van Doren, and Eric Cartwright?”
“We spotted you at Balthazar and Virginia’s engagement dinner. Her daughter was your date. Would you say you are close with her? Did she know about the Winthrop Scandal before it began?”
“We don’t have to be after you, Nash. Strike a deal with us. What do you say?”
If it were just me, I could deal with the pressure from the S.E.C. Fika had done a good job of covering my tracks, and insider trading cases could be difficult to prove. But the fucker went after Ma and Emery.
Instinct urged me to fight with my fists, but that had never worked out well in the past. Good thing I had something better than a fist. A Harvard-educated lawyer on payroll.
