Devious Lies: A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Cruel Crown Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  The crowd lived up to the rumors, filling every table in the cafeteria-style hall. I spotted a familiar flash of color and took a spot in line near Maggie and her kids. She allowed the couple in front of me to cut in line.

  I plucked a tray and plate from the rack and slid it down the buffet. Another notch in the conveyor belt.

  “Is it always this crowded during peak hours?” I held out the plate to a volunteer.

  She dropped a quarter-slice of buttered toast in the middle.

  “Always.” Maggie helped Stella lift her plate while Harlan waved his around like a flag. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you during a dinner rush. First time?”

  My nod tussled my hair until it covered the atelophobia printed on my tee. “I try to avoid them, but I had a long day at work and needed sustenance.”

  “You’re in luck. It’s turkey today, and they would have run out if you came any later. Plus, the guy serving it is some serious eye candy.” Maggie slid her tray down and covered Stella’s ears. “I actually think the dinner rushes have been more crowded since he started volunteering because every woman wants an extra side of meat with their protein if you catch my drift.”

  I craned my neck to see this guy, but the line that snaked around the meat station extinguished any hope of catching him. “Is he nice?”

  “He’s not very talkative, but the kids love him, Stella especially.” She held out her plate for my favorite cheap carbs—canned creamed corn and mashed potatoes. “He’s nice to everyone when he does talk, though. It’s infectious, like the world waits for him to smile before it can work again.”

  “So, he’s a nice guy.” It came out harsher than I’d intended. Bitter didn’t suit me, but neither did hunger, a fucked-up boss, or North Carolina. I helped Maggie offer Stella and Harlan’s plates before holding up my own. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”

  Maggie laughed at my sly grin, hip-checking me. We moved down the line at a snail’s pace. By the time we reached the meat station, my food had grown cold, yet my heart grew colder at the sight of Nash carving a turkey before delivering a generous portion onto a kid’s plate like the Food Network’s answer to plummeting ratings.

  He wore his signature button-down, though the sleeves had been rolled up until the edges of his penance tattoo peeked out. The one I wanted to bite down. To hurt him like he hurt me. His presence consumed more space than his body, and for once, he didn’t look ten seconds from killing someone.

  Either way, I wouldn’t take my chances. My heel inched back, desperate to help me flee before he caught sight of me, but I stumbled into the person behind me.

  The noise drew his attention. His eyes landed on me with a precision that scraped goosebumps from my arms. An inquisition in his eyes I couldn’t escape. The First through Sixth Crusades compiled in one defeating glare.

  I was a Matryoshka doll. He kept peeling at my shells, and I wanted to stop him before he reached the center and realized nothing existed inside of me but air and things that vanished.

  One.

  Two.

  Three seconds was how long it took for him to sneer at me, then turn back to the kid he had been serving as if he didn’t know me.

  “That was odd,” Maggie whispered before Stella skipped in front of Nash, taking the kid’s place. “I’ve never seen him do that. You don’t know him, do you?”

  “No.” I couldn’t muster up the guilt that usually accompanied my lies. “Never met him in my life.”

  “Hmm…” A hint of a smile ghosted her lips. She watched Harlan tell Nash about the dog he’d witnessed peeing all over someone’s leg this morning. Humanity suited Nash, but so would a trash bag. “I think he’s hotter when he looks angry. I swear, I have goosebumps all over my body.”

  Me, too.

  That was the worst part.

  I always had goosebumps around Nash. I didn’t know when that had started, but I needed it to end. For starters, he had seen me naked three times and hadn’t wanted me any of them.

  Nash had turned me down so many times, I had no clue why I still craved him like an addict. He boasted the personality of a rabid dog in heat. And if that wasn’t enough, he was probably getting head in the back of a crowded movie theater around the time I learned to brush my teeth.

  “Hi, Nash!” Stella reached a hand out toward Nash, wiggling her fingers. “Where’s my toy?!”

  “Stella!” Maggie clutched onto her shoulder and crouched down. “You can’t demand things from people like that!” She glanced at Nash, an apology in her baby blues. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where she learned that.”

  “But Mommy!” Stella swung side to side, flicking her attention between Nash and Maggie. “Nash says if I want something, I have to demand it. I don’t want to be a little britch about things.”

  “Bitch,” Nash corrected, and I wondered if he was born without any tact or if it had abandoned him after his first birthday. “Not britch.”

  “Oh,” Maggie breathed out, her nosed bunched up like she had caught a whiff of something bad. “One—we don’t curse. At all. Ever. Two—that is not true. We don’t demand things from people. If it’s a reasonable request, we ask politely or we don’t ask at all. Three,” she shifted her focus on Nash, “that’s all on you, Nash. I rescind my apology. In fact, I think I might expect one.”

  Nash smiled at Maggie.

  Actually smiled at her.

  As in, that nice thing civilized humans did.

  Something I refused to call jealousy lashed at my throat, making it difficult to breathe.

  Stop, Emery. You don’t own him. You don’t even like him, and he definitely doesn’t like you.

  As Nash smiled at Maggie, I decided I didn’t like his smile.

  I liked his scowl.

  His sneer.

  His scars.

  Even his indifference.

  I liked his ugliness.

  The slash of his words.

  The pain infiltrating his bloodstream.

  I liked the parts no one else but me could see, because against all odds, I had fleeced secrets out of him, and now they were mine, too.

  I’ve seen your scars. I’d taste them if you’d let me.

  But there Nash was, displaying a human emotion for Maggie without looking human.

  He looked like a god, descending upon Earth.

  An angel seconds before becoming a demon.

  I wanted to scratch my fingers down his face until he lost that smile, then rip his shirt open, point at the constellations of raised skin, and shout, “There! That’s the real Nash. Scarred, and broken, and permanently damaged, and definitely not smiling at a woman who deserves a smile from every man.”

  I also realized I had completely lost my mind, because Nash Prescott gave Freddy Kruger a run for his money in the terrorizing department. He had also made it clear how little he wanted me when he’d walked away.

  Nash carved up the rest of the massive turkey and distributed all but one tiny sliver between Maggie, Harlan, and Stella. “Just saying it how it is, Mags.”

  Mags.

  I was going to vomit. Maybe Nash did inspire my gag reflex.

  “You are so bad.” Maggie shook her head before squishing the three plates onto her tray. “Thank you for the extra portions.”

  Nash snapped his gloves off, reached into his back pocket, pulled out a crudely wrapped present, and offered it to a squealing Stella. She hopped up and down, doing a happy dance I wished I could enjoy.

  “What about me?!” Harlan edged forward on the tips of his toes to get closer to Nash. A rocking chair near its tipping point. Five little fingers gripped onto the edge of the sticky buffet countertop.

  “I’ve got the good stuff for you, Harlan.” Nash pulled out my wallet, sifted through a bunch of bills (not mine on account of me being broke), and plopped ten hundred-dollar bills onto Harlan’s tiny outstretched palm. “Buy whatever you want and give the rest to your mom, so you don’t lose it. Alright?”

  That mone
y wasn’t for Harlan.

  It was for her.

  For Mags.

  Morosis.

  Solivagant.

  Drapetomania.

  Magic words that fizzled and died on my tongue.

  “Sweet!” Harlan jiggled the bills a little before sliding them into his mom’s purse. “Thank you!”

  “Nash…” Maggie’s voice dipped, her cheeks turning a shade of scarlet I marveled at. “It’s too much.”

  “It’s for the kids. Don’t worry about it, Mags.” Nash slid the wallet back into his back pocket. Civility. Who would have thought he possessed it? “In fact, I don’t want to hear any more about it. There’s a line.”

  “Yeah, okay.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, peered up at him beneath a curtain of long lashes, then glanced at me. “Will you sit with us, Emery? We’ll save you a seat. I’m gonna grab a table before they’re all taken and the kids run wild around here.”

  “Yeah,” I promised, reminding myself I was not the person who hated another woman out of jealousy.

  Mags.

  Maggie left me alone with Nash, the silence enough to undo me. I stared at him. He stared at me. The woman beside me tapped her foot and coughed a few times, probably pissed off about her cold food.

  Nash broke the silence first. “Those ten minutes of adulting really took their toll on you. You are a mess.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He ticked a finger, not bothering to keep his voice down. “You snuck into my parents’ house and fucked the wrong brother.” My face flamed, but I was shocked into silence. He spoke so loud. “You turned down a full ride to Duke with no valid reasons.”

  Another finger.

  “Do you understand how worried my mom and Reed would be if they saw you right now? Or do you simply not care about anyone but yourself? You look like you’ve spent the past century starving, and newsflash—it’s not hot, so you can stop now, Anorexia Barbie. That model has been discontinued. Virginia isn’t here to monitor your mouth. Act like an adult. Eat a fucking cheeseburger or ten.”

  Three fingers.

  “On top of being mouthy, you lie to your boss constantly.”

  Four fingers.

  “You took a job at Prescott Hotels that could go to someone who needs the money.”

  Five fingers.

  He ran out of fingers on the hand, but he kept going. Ruthless. “You are so starved for attention that you broke into my penthouse for a shower. You are untrustworthy. A Trojan horse determined to raze my empire to the ground. And now, like a silver-spooned, selfish princess, you are stealing a meal that could feed someone who actually needs it. I’d ask you why, but it would require caring enough to hear your excuse.”

  If murder was legal, he’d probably strangle me right here. In front of everyone. Or maybe slice me open and hang me upside down to bleed out. He seemed like the type to take pleasure in slow torture.

  And still, he had more to say. “I can’t even fathom how entitled you must feel that you—”

  I cut him off, dipping my voice low, because unlike him, I understood civility, “I don’t recall signing up for this TED Talk. For your information, my trust fund gradually pays me. I get one million dollars a year until I turn thirty-one. Then I get two-hundred and fifty-six million dollars in a lump sum.”

  He picked up that sad sliver of turkey with his bare hand—the same ungloved hand that touched the filthy money he gave Harlan—and tossed it onto my plate. Half of it landed on the counter, absorbing those germs. The other half landed on the mashed potatoes and gravy, splattering my shirt.

  “How sad,” he bit out, no fucks given. “Only one million dollars. I feel so bad for you, sweetheart. Allow me to make a donation to the Billionaire Heiress Charity Foundation. I’ll address it to your nine-figure trust fund. Be sure to spare a few cents to someone who needs it more—literally anyone else in the world.”

  Fumes trapped themselves inside my head. The type of anger that gripped my throat and shook the cords until I couldn’t speak a word. I swallowed the frustration and counted down from ten.

  “You didn’t let me finish, asshole. Virginia is holding it above my head, blackmailing me every ten seconds and changing the stipulations of my trust.”

  My hands shook. I clenched them together and hid them under the counter, because showing him he rattled me was absolutely not an option.

  I didn’t care if money had always been a sore subject for him.

  I didn’t care that his parents struggled to put food on the table.

  I didn’t care that he hated overprivileged Eastridgers who possessed no gratitude for the security their wealth afforded them.

  I didn’t care that poverty, my dad, and lack of healthcare killed Nash’s dad.

  I wasn’t thinking of that.

  I thought of my pride.

  Of wasted nights spent tossing and turning over his touch.

  Of the delicious lash his words formed against my skin.

  Of the way he treated me like I was less than human for being a Winthrop.

  Of the way I used to worship him only to be disappointed when he turned out to be a villain.

  Of the way I still craved him.

  Nash consumed me like the heart of a storm. I was trapped outside with no shelter, forced to endure the relentless battering with no control over when it would stop.

  I didn’t choose my parents, but I could choose whether or not to bite my tongue, and I sure as hell would not.

  Nash’s tone was tighter than a coiled wire. “Last I checked, you have two parents, and your excuses are less entertaining than an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.”

  “I haven’t talked to my dad in four years.”

  This made him pause.

  For all of two seconds.

  Then his face hardened like he didn’t believe me, and he finally, finally lowered his voice. It made his words sound like a hiss. “And I pay you over forty grand. I understand that’s nothing to a spoiled princess who has lived in a gilded castle all her life, but do you have one responsible bone in your body?”

  “Yeah. This one.” I flipped him off, waving my middle finger in front of his face. I raised my voice, so everyone could hear, “And for the record, it’s bigger than your dick and feels better, too.”

  I pivoted, clutching onto my mustard-colored tray like it was my lifeline. My tongue hurt from biting it, coated in blood and frustration. So many eyes stared at me, but I had never been the type to be humiliated by mass judgment.

  No, only hazel eyes and a whip-fast tongue snuck under my skin and unsettled me.

  When I glanced down at my food, it felt pathetic.

  I felt pathetic.

  The turkey taunted me.

  It looked dry.

  Shriveled.

  Lonely.

  My spirit animal wasn’t even a chihuahua named Muchacha anymore.

  It was a dirty, sad slice of turkey that I still intended to eat because I was hungry and desperate and two heartbeats away from calling it quits and running to Virginia with outstretched palms and a leash for her to handle.

  But Nash was right about one thing.

  I was a princess, and I had traded in my ballgowns for battlefields.

  He had started the battle, but I would win the war.

  Nash’s taunts stung me, but I ignored him because he didn’t deserve mine. He stared at me from his seat at the couch.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Never saying a word.

  A hunter content to stalk his prey.

  My pursuit for the Sisyphus statue had been less of a punishment and more of a reprieve from Nash. Now I was expected to sit in this office all day as he glared at me like he wasn’t sure what method he wanted to use to kill me.

  I made sure to avoid the soup kitchen during peak hours in the week since our run-in, but I still had to sit in the same room as him during work.

  “I’m just saying that you and Nash are always at each other’s th
roats, and I’ve never seen anything like it. No one stands up to him.” Ida Marie’s voice was a whisper.

  She adjusted her sewing machine. We had taken over Nash’s desk to redo hemming on hundreds of textured gray curtains that came cheaper at this length.

  “Everyone should,” I muttered back. “He’s a tyrant.”

  I’d been born with a spine, and I fully intended on using it. Flowers wilted. Girls didn’t.

  “A tyrant no one has the guts to stand up to except you.” She slanted her head my way, for once looking sharp-eyed. “You either have a death wish or… I don’t know. Something.”

  I fed the thick fabric to the machine, increasing the pressure on the foot pedal, feeling in my element for the first time in ages. “I think you’re looking too much into this. I hate bullies, and he’s the biggest one I’ve ever met.”

  Understatement.

  Nash made Hannibal Lecter look like the second coming of Jesus.

  Ida Marie had the decency to seem ashamed. “Sorry. I thought maybe… you liked him? He certainly seems taken with you.” She released her hands from her curtain for a second, causing the stitch to veer left. “I mean, I sound like I’m five, talking about preschool crushes, but you two are always staring at each other—”

  “Yeah, that’s a hard no.”

  In fact, I had done a good job of avoiding one-on-one situations with him since he left without sex.

  With the exception of the Soup Kitchen Incident.

  I couldn’t see the bruises around my neck, but they existed, rearing their heads every time I remembered what it felt like to be judged by someone I’d once respected. Someone childhood Emery considered a savior.

  “—but I was reaching,” Ida Marie continued. “He’s always with Delilah anyway.”

  I had never talked to Delilah, but I saw her long enough to know she wore a wedding ring on her finger the size of a small country. Nash was a bastard, but he was a loyal and proud one. No way did cheating or being the other man interest him.

  Mags, on the other hand, was fair game.

  And why the hell did it matter?

  Answer—it didn’t.

  The only use Nash provided me was getting off, and I had Ben for that. Our phone sex the past few weeks had been more intense than usual, like we both needed to exorcise our frustrations by way of orgasms.