Page 49 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t fuck them. Even when their legs are spread, fingers dipped knuckles-deep inside their soaking wet pussies, begging me to make them come, I don’t.”
I hired escorts because I worked in a world that required dates for corporate events, and I had neither the time nor inclination to fend off Eastridge housewife wannabes, who saw me as nothing more than a golden ticket to a privileged life.
A sharp inhale met my words, but she recovered quickly, never one to back down. “You leave women unsatisfied. Fits the profile.”
“Of?”
“Rich men whose only claim to fame is their net worth. I’ve met hundreds of men like you. They have no skills to call their own, other than the money in their bank accounts. And when their money is gone, what’s left of you? A man who can’t satisfy a woman he paid to satisfy.”
“For starters, you’re objectifying these women. Such solidarity,” I mocked. “Secondly, the escorts are simply a means to an end. They’re dates, not fucks, and I compensate them well for their time.”
Her biting laugh turned into a sharp cry. Her hand met the crown of her head. For a second, I allowed guilt to swallow me, because maybe she hadn’t been as drunk as I’d thought she was. Maybe she was actually hurt.
I’d never been nice. Ma said I grew up hating the world because I saw what it was rather than what it could be. But… I’d also never been the asshole to see someone hurt without offering a hand.
Dad would have been pissed if he were here. The knowledge settled inside me, carving ugly marks into my chest, but I didn’t rectify it. I looked up at the ceiling, careful to move my eyes and not my head, knowing Emery could probably see me by now but not very well.
What do you expect me to do, Dad?
I could picture him in front of me, the clearest I’d ever seen him since he’d died. His heavy brows pulled together, crow’s feet rimming the edges of his eyes. The tan came from all those years working in the sun, forgoing sunblock because there was nothing like warmth on naked skin.
He opened his mouth, I edged forward to latch onto his words, and when they neared fruition, Emery spoke, breaking the spell, “I’m not objectifying those women or even judging them for how they earn their money. That’s their situation. Their business.”
Of course, you’re not judging. How could you when your family earned its money through theft?
I became irrationally angry. She could never have known that was the closest I’d felt to Dad since he had died, but still—I hated her more than I ever had in that moment. Even more than I had when she hadn’t shown up for Dad’s funeral, for the man who used to call her his third child.
I curled my fist to the point of white knuckles. My fingers dug into my palms, the pain distracting me from the gaping hole in my chest.
From the fact that, sometimes, I could remember Dad so clearly, and other times, I struggled to recall where on his forehead his mole sat.
From the fact that no matter how hard I fucking tried, I couldn’t hate Emery.
Not all the way, anyway.
Not with the same careless freedom I possessed when hating the rest of the world.
I bit my tongue.
Emery continued, so oblivious, I could have died from disbelief, “But if you’re judging me for being panicked while trapped in this tiny metal box with a jackass, I’m judging you for hiring escorts in the first place and leaving them unsatisfied.” She inched closer and taunted, “Performance anxiety?”
“Never been the type,” I bit out.
“Prove it.”
“What are we? Five? Are you going to dare me next?” I wouldn’t put it past her. Dares were currency for thrill-seekers like her.
The elevator shook. She latched on to my shoulder, her hands flying forward so fast, I knew it was instinct. The lights flickered on, a quick blink like a camera flash. Moments later, the light reintroduced her features to me.
She opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, taking a few seconds to get used to the brightness before she focused two different-colored eyes on me. Realization blossomed across her face until her fingers unlatched from my shoulders.
Déjà vu punched my chest hard.
Emery wore the same deer-in-headlights expression she had four years ago when I’d switched on the lights, and she realized I wasn’t Reed. I watched, unmoving. She stumbled backward, her jaw nearly unhinging from its socket.
The spread of wrappers almost tripped her.
“Easy, Tiger.”
