“What?” Her head shook until Rosco nipped at her neck to stop her. “No, that’s not it. Why would you think that?”
I pushed aside my laptop, ignoring the last question. “Spill.”
She cocked a hip against the wall and rubbed at Rosco’s belly, a nervous habit of hers. “Reed called me.”
Already, I knew I’d hate the punchline to this story.
Not because I hated Reed. I didn’t. The opposite. He was the one who hated me, and I didn’t blame him. I deserved the hate, definitely more than I deserved Eastridge’s naive adoration.
Didn’t mean I accepted it.
“Spit it out, Lowell.”
“I owed him a favor. He cashed it in. He wanted me to get Emery Winthrop a job for the company under Emery Rhodes. That was before I knew about the S.E.C. investigation. If I’d known it would cause problems, I wouldn’t have done it.”
This was the thing I admired about Delilah. She possessed the rare ability to admit when she was wrong. Her confidence was unmistakable. The humility required to pinpoint and admit her mistakes didn’t lessen it.
“Where is she working?” I asked, wondering if I could fire an entire department without a settlement.
“The design department as an intern.”
Fitting.
She’d always had her head buried in a sketchbook.
I pulled out my phone and shot a message to Durga.
Benkinersophobia: How would you treat someone who fucked your family over? Who hurt your family so badly, it’ll never recover?
Durga: Assuming I like my family?
Benkinersophobia: Clearly.
Durga: Like dirt.
Durga: Like less than dirt.
Great minds think alike, Durga.
Delilah continued, “It’s for the duration of the Haling Cove project, and the upper half of the floors are mostly designed based off old schematics. The budget is tight because we had to grease too many fingers to get the zoning and plans approved so fast. We took the money from the design budget.” When I didn’t speak, Delilah asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”
I hate Emery Winthrop.
She epitomized everything I stood against. Also, she’d known about her dad’s embezzlement and had done nothing about it. To think I ruined my relationship with my brother over her.
I didn’t say any of that.
Instead, I pressed the shin Delilah’s heel had pierced against the desk’s leg until the pressure drew more blood. “I got stuck in the elevator last night.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“I got stuck in an elevator last night with Emery,” I amended.
“Fuck.”
One word, but it summed the entire situation up. I had a Winthrop working for me while a nosy S.E.C. prick was investigating me for insider trading over Winthrop Textiles. Fuck, indeed.
Delilah paced, her heels putting temporary little dents into the carpet.
“For almost two hours.” I watched the dents disappear before lifting my head to face D. “Maintenance had left for the weekend, and a twenty-four-seven crew won’t get hired until the hotel is done. The electricity didn’t come back for about two hours.”
“You were stuck in an elevator with Emery Winthrop for two hours?”
“She spent a part of those two hours knocked out.”
“Sleeping?”
“You could call it that.”
“I’m not even going to ask what that means, except to say I’m not representing you in that lawsuit. Her parents are loaded.” She picked a strand of lint off Rosco that I’d mistaken as a fifth hair. “Knowing the Winthrops, they’d probably bribe the judge.” Delilah stepped in the kitchen and filled a bowl with water for Rosco. “Is she going to be a problem? I can fire her. I included a thirty-day clause in the employment contract she signed. She’s been here about a week. Totally fireable.”
I considered it for a moment, but Reed didn’t need more reasons to hate me. It would only hurt Ma. “No. I’ll take care of it.”
By take care of it, I meant I’d put Emery Winthrop in her place. The liar. She’d told me she was a caterer, and I’d believed it because Reed had mentioned to Ma that Emery was figuring out what she wanted to do with her life. I should have expected her to lie. The Winthrops had turned lying into an art.
Reed would blame me if I fired Emery. He couldn’t say anything if she quit. Making her job miserable enough would bring me pleasure.
Delilah disappeared into the spare bedroom before exiting with a giant L.V. suitcase she must have brought while I was in the shower. “I know you’re here until the hotel is done, so I’m staying in the room next door until we take care of Vu. I had it set up this morning.”
Rosco lapped at the bowl while Delilah lugged the suitcase toward the door and called one of the security guards to help her move in next door. I side-stepped him and leaned against the kitchen island, watching her stack her Birkin bag on top of the suitcase.
Delilah had moved to Eastridge years ago to work full-time in the company headquarters, but she basically traveled with me as I jumped from new hotel location to new hotel location in order to oversee their construction.
She referred to me as a walking liability, and I referred to her as my personal Swiffer, cleaning up my messes with a quick spritz and a back-and-forth swipe. Convenient. Effective. Reliable.
“How much does your husband hate me?” I pulled out my phone to check for messages from Durga, not really caring about the answer.
My software designer had encouraged me to try the Eastridge United app and test functionality. I’d never intended on keeping a pen pal, let alone for this long. If you could call Durga a pen pal. Did other people who used the app sext late into the night?
I palmed my dick. Delilah grimaced at me, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.
She covered the bottom microphone of her phone with her fingers. “Only when it’s cold at night, and he wants something to fuck other than his hands.”
“Lovely image.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it.”
I picked at the breakfast spread and popped a fresh strawberry into my mouth. “One more thing.”
“Great.”
“Pay last night’s date a bonus.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Booted her without a place to stay until her flight at eight this morning. It might have been storming.”
“You’re an ass.”
“So you keep saying.”
One of the security guards showed up and grabbed Delilah's bags. Rosco trotted after her as she left, leaving me alone in the room with the half-empty water bowl still on the floor—and a puddle beside it.
Loneliness sometimes felt crippling. Not in the sense that I needed someone near me at all times, but in the sense that I found no difference between standing in a crowded room and standing in an empty one. I still felt hollow with every breath I took.
Dipping my eyes to my phone, I read Durga’s message.
Durga: Would you shoot your best friend in the arm for five million dollars?
As always, I wondered if Durga had a wiretap into my head.