Page 67 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
She spoke as if the very idea disgusted her.
It didn’t matter.
Touching her once was a mistake.
Touching her again would be sinful.
I stopped the conversation before it escalated into a brawl. Clearly, the quirky girl I remembered had grown into an unhinged nut case.
“If it helps, the original version had Ariel committing suicide and turning into sea foam, Mulan becomes the new ruler’s prostitute and commits suicide, and Snow White…” Five sets of eyes turned to me as I entered the room. “Well, that one actually does have a happy ending. Snow White and Prince Florian marry, invite the Queen to the wedding, and force her to wear hot iron shoes and dance until she dies.”
“Charming,” Emery muttered as if she hadn’t been the one to suggest a knife and two body bags.
I walked past the three on the couch, pretending I didn’t know Emery, and sat on one of the desks, my back to Chantilly as I addressed the room. “My name is Nash Prescott. I’m here to share the aesthetic Prescott Hotels is looking to achieve with the Haling Cove location. Which one of you five is an intern?” I made a spectacle of scanning their faces before landing on Emery, whose glare dared me to mess with her. I did, raking my eyes down her body as if I disapproved. “You look like an intern. What’s your name?”
Fight back, Tiger. Don’t be weak. Show me your claws.
She didn’t answer for a second.
Three.
Two.
O…
Finally, she bit out, “Em—”
I cut her off, “Actually, don’t care. I need a coffee from the cafe down the street.”
“I’m not getting you coffee.”
“You do work for me, right?”
We were at war with our eyes, neither of us budging.
I’ll make your life miserable, mine promised.
You have no clue what you’ve started, hers dared.
Oh, I do, little Tiger. Game on.
If she were anyone else, I would have admired her fight. The only feeling I had toward her was destruction. By the time I was done with her, I had no doubt she’d quit. If I acquired the location of Gideon Winthrop in the mean-time, even better.
“Emery, get Mr. Prescott his coffee,” Chantilly chimed in after the silence lingered too long. Panicked eyes darted between us, confusion with a dash of jealousy.
I cocked a brow, daring Emery to defy me. She stood on reluctant legs, her eyes screaming how much she hated me. I slid my wallet out of my inner pocket. Her wallet, actually. A distressed leather square peppered with cigarette burns that looked like it once belonged to a coked-out rock star.
Her breath escaped her pouty lips in a rush. She did that thing she always did, where she mouthed a bunch of words. Two tiny hands clenched into tight fists. Her tits jerked with her breaths.
Emery held destruction in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to wrap her hands around my throat, snatch the wallet from me, and stomp all over my new phone for good measure.
Destroy, destroy, destroy.
But I knew her. If Chantilly hated her for getting the job from Delilah, no way would Emery reveal she knew me. She held a hand out for the twenty-dollar bill I pulled out. Her twenty-dollar bill. The lone bill housed in this war-torn wallet. For one of the richest women in the world, she traveled light.
I pulled the twenty away before she latched onto it, holding it above her head like she was a child begging for lunch money, and conjured the most obnoxious drink order I could think of.
“Get me an iced coffee in the largest size.” When she reached up again for the bill, I tutted and held it back above her head, probably the one person she’d ever met who could make her five-nine frame feel short. “I’m not finished. Three ice cubes. Two pumps of vanilla syrup, pure cane sugar only. One pump of hazelnut and cinnamon. Two mocha drizzles. A layer of whip cream, but I want it in the cup before the coffee is poured in. A splash of oatmeal milk. Two tablespoons of cookie butter stirred in, not shaken or blended. Four shots of dark-roast coffee. Double-blended.”
