Page 65 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“And this is?” When Delilah opened her mouth, I added, “Give me the CliffNotes version.”
“A list of everyone on the design team. They’re all on the younger side, but we do that for longevity. Chantilly—the redhead—is in charge of the team while Mary-Kate is on maternity leave.
“Cayden is second in command, a senior design associate. He’s British and tactless but good at his job. Extremely efficient. He set up the office and furniture in the penthouse while we were at a meeting with the mayor the other day.
“Ida Marie, the lanky blonde, is a junior associate and my favorite of the bunch. Sweet and dull as Marmaduke. Every time I see her, I have to resist the urge to pet her head. You would hate her.
“Hannah and Emery are interns. You know how Emery looks, and Hannah is the one with brown hair and nothing good to say.” She pulled a sheet from the bottom of this stack. “This list is the most important. It’s full of things you cannot say to your employees without getting a lawsuit slapped onto my workload.”
Dragging my eyes from Emery’s mug shot, I spoke, “I know how to avoid a lawsuit, Delilah.”
She arched a brow. “Do you?”
I swiped the second paper from her and scanned it. “Do not swear at employees. Do not bully employees. Do not make employees cry.” Staring up at her, I double-checked to see if she was serious. “This is Soviet Union bullshit. I have no control over their emotions.”
“Just follow the list.” Rosco barked twice and leaned forward to nip my shoulder. I side-stepped the rat. Delilah pulled him back, plopped him into her thirty-thousand-dollar bag until everything but his head vanished, and continued, “I’ll see you tonight for dinner. I hate eating alone, and King doesn’t fly in until Wednesday.”
“Can’t. I’m volunteering at the soup kitchen.”
Like melted ice cream, she softened—first her eyes, then her posture. I waited for her to pool onto the floor in a puddle I could step in. At the very least, we’d be done with this conversation.
Her voice dipped lower as if she intended on spilling national secrets. “You’re a good person, Nash. When I first met you, I wanted to quit, then I realized you are the best person I know.”
“I’m not. Perhaps you should still quit.”
“You didn’t see the resignation letter on your desk?”
“That’s what that was? I shredded it along with your raise.”
She turned to leave but pivoted and exhaled, her voice a little too loud for comfort, but telling the one person who could stand me (besides my mom) to shut up seemed like a bad idea.
“I had my resignation letter written. Four years ago.” Delilah pulled her coat tighter around her. “Then, I saw you at that Italian place on eighth. You walked in with a homeless woman. They wouldn’t serve her, so you walked out. By the time they’d brought me and King dessert, you had taken the woman to get a haircut, new clothes, and makeup, and you returned to the restaurant, bought her a meal, and tipped everyone a thousand bucks except the asshole who wouldn’t seat her.”
She swiped beneath her lashes even though she hadn’t shed a tear and added, “You gave her her dignity back, because you are a good person, whether you want to believe it or not. Sometimes, I wish you’d give yourself a break.”
I almost appreciated her speech.
Almost.
Then she had to ruin it with, “You blame yourself for your Dad’s—”
“Delilah,” I warned. Sharp.
It fell under the do-not-fucking-go-there column of our friendship.
“Fine.” She threw her hands up, causing her purse to swing. Rosco yelped. “Never talk about it. Live life an insufferable jerk, and die in bed with only your arsenal of paid dates to keep you company. None of it will change the fact that I know your secret.”
In one second, she’d gone from pissing me off to enabling the part of me that sought destruction at all costs. I was on a warpath, ready to annihilate my lone friend just so my secret could die with me.
And then she opened her mouth, and I relaxed as she finished with, “Deep down, you’re a good person.”
She’d had enough of me, pivoting without another word and poking the elevator button with the same vigor you’d use to stab someone attacking you.
And that was our friendship in a nutshell. She stood up to me. I let her. At the end of the day, I didn’t budge, but at least I had the company of someone who gave a shit without trying to get at my dick.
We never even parted with hugs or handshakes. Delilah knew my boundaries. Skin-to-skin contact was one of them. I could touch someone, but I’d be damned if I let anyone touch me.
I tossed the lists she’d given me into the trashcan next to the elevator and continued my path down the hall, stopping short of the door to the conference room. From my vantage point, I could spy without anyone on the design team seeing me.
