Page 44 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“You were snoring, and you smell like you took a bath in vodka,” I offered.
“Unbelievable.” She muttered a few curses and stepped back, which did nothing.
I could still sense her.
Feel her.
Breathe her.
“For the record,” she added, “someone spilled their drink on me.”
I caught a quick movement of her hand and tsked twice. “I know you’re flipping me off.”
“It’s dark. How—” She stopped herself, but I had an answer.
Because I know you.
I kept it to myself, content in the knowledge that everything about this situation bothered her. She hadn’t looked at me once earlier, even as I was hyperaware of the long legs and generous cleavage—then disgusted with myself when I saw the name on her name tag.
She plummeted to the floor again, the sound of her snapping off her mask filling the air.
It’s cute that you think you’ve hidden your identity from me, sweetheart. I know your secret. Wait until you discover mine…
As if she could hear my thoughts, she pushed herself away from me, sliding across the marble until her head hit something loud. Probably the metal bar that wrapped around the elevator.
“Ugh.”
My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, and I caught the outline of her hands reach behind her head and probe. The wince was obvious, her body curling inward before she took a deep breath and straightened.
I felt sorry for her for a split second before I buried my sympathy in a grave beside Dad.
Emery Winthrop secreted wealth from her pores. A trip to the doctor’s and a few bags of fluids to fight the hangover would do nothing to her wallet. Meanwhile, poor people—people who’d grown up like me, like my dad—had spent their lives without the luxury of doctors, refusing to escalate health concerns to situations that required money.
Not until it was too late.
Emery dropped her hands to the elevator floor, beating out an uneven rhythm on the same statuario that lined the mansion she’d grown up in. The mansion full of people who’d ruined my family.
The beat dragged out, rapid and loud in the confined space.
Tap.
Tap. Tap.
Tap.
“Stop,” I demanded, hating her ability to fill the room with her presence.
She didn’t. If anything, her fingers fluttered faster, brushing against a cracker wrapper I’d discarded on the floor.
Tap. Tap.
Crinkle.
Tap.
“Stop.”
Louder.
