Page 90 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
Wishful thinking was a real thing, and I had a bad case of it when it came to Emery Winthrop. But I would never give in.
I’d broken Emery, whittled her will down to nothing but rage.
She battered her way past me, ramming my arm.
I latched onto her elbow, buried my face into that wild mane of black hair that smelled like me, and whispered, “Watch yourself, Winthrop. I am the king in this palace, and Prescott Hotels is my empire. If you think you can stand toe-to-toe with me without a fight, an hour of docked pay will be the least of your concerns.”
She needed to realize life was not a game of Chess. It was a game of Battleship, and the last person to sink wins.
I had two assholes following me.
First—Brandon Vu had stalked me to the tent city, shoved a card into my hand, and demanded I take it. Afterward, I realized I still hadn’t shaken the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. Even the way he’d said, “We need to talk.” sounded familiar.
Second—Nash Prescott and his relentless jabs.
If I were being honest, I would have taken an S.E.C. agent—who was probably gunning for Dad and taking it out on me—over Nash any day of the wee
k.
Nash had stood in front of his building in ripe shape, always looking goddamn near murderous. Any resemblance between his behavior and civility was completely coincidental. In fact, I wondered how he conducted business with anyone who wasn't a rabid wolf.
This morning, I’d convinced myself that it would be a good day. For starters, I managed to avoid Nash after the unfortunate shower incident. Then, the gym opened a day sooner than expected, so I showered before work.
I was finally clean, but the second he came near, I felt dirty again.
Evidently, this wasn’t a good day.
I should have remembered that good days didn’t exist at Prescott Hotels. Not when its “king” was a tyrant with an ego so fat, it could break a dollar into change just by sitting on it.
“Why are you following me?” I hissed.
He trailed behind me in the lobby, his threat still ringing between my ears. The man made washed-up child actors look sane.
“I work here.” His offhand comment needled its way beneath my skin.
“Take the next elevator.” I stabbed the elevator button, pulled up my sweats when they slid down again, and turned my nose up to inhale, hoping he read it as defiance.
Did the cleaning products smell like cinnamon rolls or was I actually that hungry?
“You’re having a hard time understanding the employee-boss dynamic.” Nash’s arm shot out, blocking me from entering the elevator. He crept forward, but I felt his presence tumbling toward me at the speed of an avalanche. A cloud of frost and wrath descending on my sanity. “I could give you a refresher course.”
“I don’t need anything if it’s from you.”
Other than money.
The thought tasted bitter. Oh, how the tables had turned.
I dipped under his arm and sliced through his overwhelming scent, clutching onto my sweats so they wouldn’t slip off. I needed my jeans back from his bathroom floor, but A—he had probably burned them and B—on the off chance he hadn’t, asking him nicely would bring attention to that night.
No, thank you.
I continued from the elevator, “Why don’t you take your lessons elsewhere? I’m sure Stalin, Mussolini, and Hitler are begging to learn a thing or two from you.” I pivoted to face him, pressed the close button, and added, “In hell.”
He left without a word. I waited until the double doors shut and jabbed the button for level sixteen, hoping to drop my bags off in the closet before work. Except the doors opened on level two. Nash stood in front of the elevator, so fucking smug, I couldn’t take it much longer.
He must have run up here in order to press the button on time. What kind of person did that?
Devious intent glinted off his eyes. Trouble had found me, disguised as a gentleman in a Westmancott suit and Brioni loafers. He was a gentleman like I was a fairy tale. As in, not at all.
