Page 74 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Compassion.
Such a beautiful, foreign sentiment.
I hoped he wasn’t lying, because I couldn’t take much more before I succumbed to the fact that I wasn’t made of fortitude.
Maybe I was a kitten who hid behind a plucky front, mistaking herself for a tiger.
Swallowing the wave of self-pity, I dipped inside the elevator and considered my options. If everyone had left the hotel, I could sneak into the office and rifle through the master keys for a key to one of the rooms we’d finished for the masquerade party guests.
My pointer finger pressed “5” before I could talk myself out of it. At Cayden’s desk, I ransacked the drawers, making my way through stacks and stacks of paint and fabric samples until I found a lone key. The word Penthouse had been written in cursive with a Bic pen on a sticky note and pressed onto the keycard.
I juggled it between two fingertips, considering.
Could I take it?
Cayden wouldn’t notice. After the long week we had, his normally tidy desk resembled an avalanche, mountains of paper that slid outward each time he piled another sheet of paper on top.
If he did notice it, he wouldn’t say anything for fear of Nash’s wrath. Everyone thought Nash was ruthless for the way he’d treated me. They feared him like hypochondriacs feared Ebola. Paranoid. Irrational. Yet, somehow rational at the same time.
Truthfully, the Nash I used to know only lashed out at people who had wronged others. Virginia for her treatment of his parents; Basil for bullying me; me for, well, I didn’t know how it had begun, but he must have had a reason. He didn’t do things without a reason.
If I had to venture a guess, it’d be for what happened to Hank or siding with Reed in their feud, which was ridiculous, considering I would always side with Reed.
At the reminder of his cruelty, I pocketed the key. If he was gonna treat me like dirt, the least he could do was offer me a shower to wash it off. I pressed the penthouse button in the elevator, my heart pounding with each floor I passed.
By the time the elevator doors opened, I’d assured myself a million different ways that Nash was out to dinner and wouldn’t be back soon. I could sneak in and out in under fifteen minutes. Ten if I didn’t bother to hide the evidence that I’d been there.
I swiped the key to Nash’s penthouse suite, flicking on the light as soon as I entered. It smelled like him. A new scent mixed with old. Intoxicating in a way I hated him for.
The first week at college, I’d stood in front of rows of body soap at Walmart, overwhelmed by the choices.
Some guy shoved past me, nearly knocking me over, but he’d smelled good. Familiar. Something that reminded me of home. So, when he grabbed the bottle of Tiger’s Bane, I’d snatched up the same kind.
Tigers were predators.
Loyal.
Tough.
Resilient.
I wanted to be a tiger.
It wasn’t until Reed mentioned that Nash used the same body wash that I realized why I recognized the scent. But it was too late. I was hooked, even drizzling it into my laundry detergent, so my sheets smelled the same way.
I felt like a thief, stealing his scent as if it were my own. Perhaps I was one, since I squatted in his hotel and stood in the threshold of his penthouse without his permission. I took it in, feeling like a voyeur.
An interloper.
A stranger.
A kitchen bare of cabinet doors and countertops sat at my left. Gray low-pile carpet made up the living room, along with two desks. One sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall panoramic windows. The other rested two feet from the perpendicular wall.
The window lured me in. I pressed a palm against it as if I could touch the storm outside. The life of luxury formed most of my life, but I would never get used to this feeling. Being on top of the world, staring a storm in the eye and feeling like I could win.
Think about winning later, lunatic. It’s time to haul ass.
Doors lined the left and right sides of the penthouse. I took a guess, venturing left, immediately knowing Nash slept in this room when I entered. An Alaskan King-size bed rested against the wall, the one piece of furniture.
