Page 55 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
The cocky tilt of his lips had me questioning whether I’d left a trail of evidence. I hadn’t. Fika pissed me off, but I hadn’t lied to Delilah when I’d said years of being a corrupt cop had given him experience in hiding crimes.
Brandon eyed the oceanfront view, his attention lingering on Delilah before he turned to me. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay.”
“Rhetorical questions are a waste of my time.” I leaned against my seat and pressed my fingertips together like a church steeple. Probably the closest I’d get to a church, because I was sure I’d burn alive if I ever stepped foot inside one. “Get to the point.”
Delilah made a show of checking her hundred-thousand-dollar watch with the hand not buried in my flesh. “We only have a few minutes to spare, Mr. Vu.”
Brandon focused on me, his smile something more fitting for a wax museum. “Do you have your lawyer at every meeting?”
Delilah’s elbow dug deeper into my shoulder as I spoke, “I’m sure this is a foreign concept for you, but I’m not in the habit of paying people salaries out of charity.”
“Charity. You do a lot of this.” Brandon lifted a finger with each charity he listed. “The Eastridge Fund. The Eastridge United app. Healthcare for All. Soup kitchens across the South. I could go on.”
Not exactly classified information.
Internet trolls accused me of d
oing charity work for good P.R. all the time. They were wrong. I couldn’t give two shits about P.R., but I did have an ulterior motive and talking about it always put me in a mood.
“I’m impressed. It’s almost as if you know how to use the internet.” I cocked a brow, daring Brandon to accuse me of something. “Is there a point to this or do you enjoy wasting my time?”
He’d come here expecting to rattle me. Maybe get me to make a mistake. I could see it in his face, the downturned lips and the pinched eyes. He could continue to be sorely disappointed for all I cared.
D’s stiletto heel found my shin, and she kicked. Hard. I didn’t wince, but she’d drawn blood. I felt it trickling down my shin and staining my suit.
“Forgive me. I’ll get to the point.” He eyed the rat before stepping closer. “Mr. Prescott, do you know what insider trading is?”
Rosco approached Brandon and sniffed his leg. I imagined him taking a piss on the fucker’s shoes. For a second, I thought he’d finally make his four-thousand-dollar price tag worth it. But the traitor curled up against it and laid down.
The motherfucking rat.
“Toddlers from Old Greenwich know what insider trading is.” I powered on my laptop and began sifting through the emails my Singaporean contacts had sent me. “Spare me the dramatics, and actually get to the point when you say you’ll get to the point.”
When I glanced up, Brandon’s face remained frozen for a half-second longer than necessary, his cool slipping like melted FroYo before he collected himself. “Fine. Let me lay it out for you.”
He placed two palms on my desk as if the movement would intimidate me. Leaning across the table, he lessened the gap between us until his chest brushed against the back of my laptop.
I responded to an email as he continued, “You came from a poverty-stricken family, yet you’ve amassed a substantial fortune in the past four years, particularly right after the fall of Winthrop Textiles. Two parties gained a large sum from the collapse of the company. You’re one of them.”
He gestured around the penthouse suite, which despite being sparsely furnished until the designers had the opportunity to do their jobs in here, boasted an ocean view I’d paid tens of millions of dollars for.
“Before I accuse you of anything and before you deny anything,” he bit out, “I saw Emery Winthrop here last night, a name tag pinned to her dress, working for you. Too many threads connect you to Winthrop Textiles for it to be coincidental. I am good at my job, and if there’s anything for me to find, I’ll find it. You may as well save both of us time and talk to me now. We can work out a deal.”
I pressed send on the email and glanced up at him in time to see his self-satisfied grin. Ripping out of his Saks Off 5th outlet suit and eyebrows so neat they had to be waxed, he looked more like a Tod with one D than a Brandon.
He knew too much for me to dismiss him, but I stood knee-deep in this shit I’d helped create for me to shift the blame onto someone else. If anything, this very moment had been in the making for seven years.
It seemed as inevitable as taxes.
I tilted my head to the side, taking the time to look down my nose at him despite the fact that he stood while I sat. “Does that ever work?”
“More often than you’d think.”
Delilah stepped forward, the picture of calmness. She reminded me of the principal parents and students secretly feared. Eyes that had seen everything in the book and remained unimpressed. “Agent Vu, I think it’s best you leave now. We have a strict schedule to adhere to, and if you’d like to talk any further, you may contact me and only me.”
Brandon’s eyes flickered between me and Delilah before he straightened and nodded. “Think about my offer, Mr. Prescott.” He tossed a business card onto the desk. “A deal doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
After Delilah shut the door behind Brandon, she turned back to me, a vein bulging on her temple. I’d once named it Delilah Jr. “What part of ‘do not talk’ do you not understand?”
