Page 221 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I spit it out, “Delilah, I need a favor.”
“How desperate are you for it?”
Sighing, I closed my laptop and clasped my fingers together. “What do you want?”
“Hmm…” She tapped a fingertip to her lip. “Tell me how desperate you are first.”
I stared at her until she fidgeted under my attention. Even then, she didn’t relent.
“Desperate,” I seethed, knowing she'd toy with me as revenge.
I deserved it for making her do all the work on Singapore for nothing. Didn't mean I had to enjoy it.
A smile consumed her face. She looked like the less green offspring of the Grinch. “I want you to kiss Rosco on the lips and tell him you’re sorry for being an insufferable asshole.” She held him out to me. “Also, tell him you think he’s cute.”
I didn’t budge. “I'm not doing that.”
“You can do the favor yourself.” She made a show of shrugging and shooting me a sympathetic grimace. “I hear self-care is all the rage these days.”
“You’re an ass, and not a nice one.” I transferred Rosco to my grip, brought the rat up to my face, stared it in its beady fucking eyes, and said, “You look like someone shaved a teletubby baby and glued a used wig to its head”—Delilah coughed—“and I guess you’re cute. Sorry, dude.”
I leaned forward, wondering if I’d entered a different dimension disguised as hell. The things I did for Emery Winthrop. Goddamn. As if he had a sixth sense, Rosco leaned forward, too.
And then He. Bit. Me.
On the nose.
For a tiny thing, he had razor-sharp teeth. Blood trickled down my nostrils. I released the rat, letting him fall to my lap and hop off. He ran to his bed, circled the doggy blanket, and curled into a ball.
When I stared at him, he barked. Twice.
I gave him the finger and focused on Delilah. “Now that it's established your rabies-ridden dog and I dislike each other, can we move the fuck on?”
She yanked a few tissues from her desk and tossed them to me, not hiding her amusement in the slightest. “I know I’m supposed to look serious right now, but I’m not worried at all. Frankly, the worst part is that you kept this from me all these years. I could have helped you out earlier.”
I read between the lines and saw her question, but I ignored it. Instead, I broke everything down for her, from stealing the ledger to burning it to building this company off money obtained through insider trading.
Delilah sighed, sat at her desk, and booted her laptop. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“The bad news.”
“Of course, you do,” she muttered, clicking a few times with her mouse. “The maximum sentence for insider trading is twenty years.”
“I know. I have Google.”
She ignored me. “The good news is, the average sentence actually given is just over one year, usually in a cushy country-club facility if you’re rich enough. The time served is often half of that on good behavior. So, about six months we're dealing with.”
“I can do six months.”
“You probably won't have to.” She shut her laptop and peered at me. “I think you can get the six months waived if you agree to testify and pay the maximum fine, which is five-million dollars.”
Worth every cent if it got Brandon off Emery and Ma’s backs.
“Done.”
She pulled out her phone and penned a text as she spoke, “I have a friend who specializes in fraud cases. She can attend the meeting with you as your lawyer. I can be there if you want.”
“I do,” I cut in.
