I shook the purse upside down until another cracker packet fell out. Ripping the seams with deft fingers, I fished around the hole, sliding my finger beneath the fabric until I was sure she had hidden nothing inside before discarding the clutch a foot from her snoring body.
Figuring Emery was passed out for the foreseeable future and the storm didn’t seem to let up, I loosened my tie, pulled out my phone, checked a few emails, and began crushing candy. Twenty minutes later, I’d eaten all of her crackers and paid my way through a couple dozen levels of the game.
A groan that could awaken a bear in hibernation was the first indicator she had woken. The second indicator came as she swiveled her head to take in her surroundings and realized the lone light originated from my phone—and I’d set it on the lowest brightness to hide my face.
To her credit, she didn’t gasp. She pawed at the back of her head and sat up. I watched as she blinked rapidly, unadjusted to the dark, and swiped at the mess of sweat, tears, and mascara.
She faced my direction, staring at me crush two more rows of candy. The words “cold,” “emotionless,” and “bastard” left her lips, a rapid mutter—in that order. I ignored her, letting her sweat it out a few more minutes.
“How long have we been in here?” No hesitation seeped into her voice.
I allowed myself to wonder if anything could shake her before remembering the night we’d accidentally slept together. Wide, innocent doe eyes that made me want to fuck her all over again.
Now I was hard as a rock, and despite the darkness, adjusting myself would bring attention to it. Plus, the Winthrops might have abandoned their morals, but I hadn’t. Getting hard at the thought of someone who’d been an adult all of two seconds was all sorts of fucked up.
“About two-and-a-half hours,” I responded, voice level, though it was closer to thirty minutes.
Amusement lined my lips as she jerked upwards and flung toward me, barely stopping herself from launching completely at me. I was quick to shut my phone off, so she couldn’t see me with the light. The darkness blanketed me, concealing my identity. Concealing our past.
Her heavy pants brushed her chest against my abs. I could only hear her. Feel her. So close, she had my jaw ticking and my pulse racing. Her energy mobbed me, chaotic like the storm. Unpredictable, despite fifteen years of knowing her.
She didn’t back away even though I heard one of her feet slide back like she wanted to but couldn’t bring herself to show weakness.
“Two and a half hours?!”
The vodka on her breath assaulted my senses, but she sounded more sober than I had given her credit for. That, or the situation had sobered her up quickly. Beneath the alcohol, a rich scent hit my nostrils.
Citrus.
Mango.
Vanilla.
Musk.
Almost masculine.
Something familiar.
The scent invaded my space.
She tried to get into my face, probably on her tiptoes to reach it. “I was knocked out for two-and-a-half hours, and you didn’t think to check for my pulse? To see if I was still breathing?”
“You were snoring, and you smell like you took a bath in vodka,” I offered.
“Unbelievable.” She muttered a few curses and stepped back, which did nothing.
I could still sense her.
Feel her.
Breathe her.
“For the record,” she added, “someone spilled their drink on me.”
I caught a quick movement of her hand and tsked twice. “I know you’re flipping me off.”
“It’s dark. How—” She stopped herself, but I had an answer.
Because I know you.
I kept it to myself, content in the knowledge that everything about this situation bothered her. She hadn’t looked at me once earlier, even as I was hyperaware of the long legs and generous cleavage—then disgusted with myself when I saw the name on her name tag.
She plummeted to the floor again, the sound of her snapping off her mask filling the air.
It’s cute that you think you’ve hidden your identity from me, sweetheart. I know your secret. Wait until you discover mine…
As if she could hear my thoughts, she pushed herself away from me, sliding across the marble until her head hit something loud. Probably the metal bar that wrapped around the elevator.
“Ugh.”
My eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, and I caught the outline of her hands reach behind her head and probe. The wince was obvious, her body curling inward before she took a deep breath and straightened.
I felt sorry for her for a split second before I buried my sympathy in a grave beside Dad.
Emery Winthrop secreted wealth from her pores. A trip to the doctor’s and a few bags of fluids to fight the hangover would do nothing to her wallet. Meanwhile, poor people—people who’d grown up like me, like my dad—had spent their lives without the luxury of doctors, refusing to escalate health concerns to situations that required money.
Not until it was too late.
Emery dropped her hands to the elevator floor, beating out an uneven rhythm on the same statuario that lined the mansion she’d grown up in. The mansion full of people who’d ruined my family.
The beat dragged out, rapid and loud in the confined space.
Tap.
Tap. Tap.
Tap.
“Stop,” I demanded, hating her ability to fill the room with her presence.
She didn’t. If anything, her fingers fluttered faster, brushing against a cracker wrapper I’d discarded on the floor.
Tap. Tap.
Crinkle.
Tap.
“Stop.”
Louder.
As if she had one compliant bone in her body that didn’t bend at anyone but Virginia’s will.
Her tapping persisted.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Crinkle.
Tap. Tap.
The elevator felt smaller, like the walls sucked in her direction, pushing me with them. Our breaths fogged the little container—hers heavier than mine. Her chest heaved to the point where her breasts hit her chin after a sharp exhale.
Her lips moved fast, quick mutters I could barely make out.
Tacenda.
Moira.
Koi no yokan.
I’d either heard her wrong, or she’d made up the words. You never knew with Emery. Her palms pawed at the floor, pushing her body further into the corner opposite of me. She stared blindly at me, unable to adjust to the dark as she blinked rapid blinks.
A smile curved my lips. I watched her fall apart, accompanied only by blackness. No mother to tell her what to do. No daddy to run to. No Reed to serve as a conduit of bravery. Meanwhile, I looked like the poster child for Xanax, calm and uncaring as I pulled out my phone and continued to crush candy.
Ding.
Ding.
A game played by children, yet my success brought me pleasure.
“I hope his battery dies, and he suffers with me,” she muttered, probably to herself, but I wasn’t deaf.
My attention clung to her side of the elevator, enraptured by the little differences becoming clearer with each second. Anxiety, mostly. The same quirky Emery, packaged differently and stamped with extra baggage.
Good. How does it feel to live a fucked-up life, Princess? Welcome to the club.
I paid the ninety-nine cents for five more lives after I used my last one and turned the volume all the way up until the crushed wrappers and pinging drowned out her insanity. The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping halted my fingers above a coconut wheel. I waited to see where she’d take this.