Real Liars

by S. M. West

  “Oh.” My grandmother is now more than interested in the pretty brunette at my side. “How did you two meet? Your name is Hayes?”

  Paige subtly trembles, glancing up at me with wide eyes, but there’s a glint of ire to them.

  She may feel as though I’ve thrown her to the wolves, but Nan isn’t like that. Paige may not have the pedigree or stature of the families we do business and dine with, but Nan doesn’t care about that. Her father was a penniless immigrant when he first set foot on Canadian soil. She doesn’t believe wealth and power make the person and she won’t judge Paige on what she doesn’t have.

  “Easy, Nan, you’re going to scare her away before I even have a chance to show her off.” I chuckle and my fake girlfriend playfully hits my chest.

  Oh, our arrangement is going to work just fine. It’s too early to tell but we may be a match made in heaven. She already reads me well, or at least the cues I give her.

  “We met because of a legal matter. He was kind enough to offer his help and here we are.” Almost every word out of her mouth is true. Smart. Although, I’m sure she wouldn’t call me kind if we weren’t talking to the matriarch of my family.

  “Really? I hope he helped you with your problem. Is there anything I can do?” Nan rests her hand on Paige’s forearm and squeezes.

  “That’s very kind of you, but Zach and I have it under control.” She pats Nan’s hand and peers up at me. “Honey, I’ve got to go. Mrs., um…Nan, I’m sorry to do this but I was just on my way out. I have to get to work, but it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Oh, of course, dear. Don’t let me stop you. My grandson is so secretive, I’m glad I caught you with him. It was wonderful to meet you, too.”

  We watch Paige smooth down the front of her cream dress and I’m drawn to the silky fabric hugging her curves.

  “You said you had to get to work—what do you do?”

  “I have my own business. It’s small but mine. I’m a design project manager.”

  “Oh, a businesswoman, I like it. It sounds interesting—what exactly is involved?”

  “When someone’s renovating or building their home, I will project manage the interior design.”

  “Hmm, sounds fascinating.” Nan clasps her hands in front of her.

  “It can be, or it can be challenging because builders and reno crews tend to over promise and blow past their deadlines.” She laughs.

  “Very true.” Nan nods. “We have a lot of experience with that in our business, don’t we, Zachary?”

  “Yes, we do.” I take Paige’s hand in mine and she opens her mouth, looking down to where we are joined, before shutting it again. “Nan, Paige really does have to go.”

  “Oh, yes. We’ll talk more at the dinner.”

  Once at the door, she stops, glancing back at my grandmother. “I look forward to seeing you Friday night.”

  “You, too, dear.” Nan beams.

  We walk to the elevator and surprisingly, she says nothing, almost as if lost in her own thoughts. “Thank you,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “Pardon?”

  “Thank you for not calling me out back there. You could have.”

  “Yeah, I could’ve and where would that have gotten me? I’d still be no closer to solving my landlord situation.” She pushes the elevator button. “But don’t do it again. Talking with your grandmother made me realize we need to get our story straight.”

  “Yes, we need to.”

  “And I never said yes to Friday. What if I had plans on Friday night?” The elevator dings, signaling its arrival, and she slips into the metal car.

  My hand keeps the door open as I take in the full length of her petite curvy body. “You’d have to cancel them.”

  “That’s not how this is going to go. I won’t be at your beck and call.” She juts out her chin, staring unwaveringly at me. “Anyway, what should I wear?”

  “I’ll take care of it. It’s a formal dinner.” It’s the least I can do with less than a week to spare. “Send me your measurements.”

  She inhales shakily, her dark pupils flaring. “What? Now I know you’re crazy. Not going to happen.”

  A buzzing starts, indicating the elevator doors have been open too long, and I step back, laughing. “I’ll arrange for us to get together before Friday so we can get our history straight.” The doors start to inch closed, and she nods.

  “Goodbye, Paige. I’ll take care of the dress. I bet you’re a knockout in most things.” A wicked grin blooms on my lips. “Or nothing at all.”

  Five

  Paige

  “What do you think?” My mom holds up a lacy black dress. It’s a classic.

  “It’s nice. Kinda has a vintage vibe.”

  “Yeah.” Mom drops it on her bed next to the other dresses she’s pulled from her closet. “It’s a knock-off Valentino, but I love it.”

  “What?” My fingers trace the intricate pattern of the lace. “It’s fake?”

  “I wouldn’t say it like that. It looks exactly like an haute couture evening gown one of the supermodels wore back in the day.” She swings around to face me, resting her head on the doorframe of her closet. “I looked hot in that thing.”

  “Olivia Cassidy, you were a poser,” Bas, my barely teenage brother, says, sauntering into the room with his phone in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

  “I wasn’t. There was nothing false about me and how I looked and felt in that dress.” Mom places a hand on her hip.

  He stops in his tracks, and in a rare moment, he actually gives our mother his undivided attention, as fascinated as I am by what she has to say.

  “Being fake is being something you’re not. I was true to myself and let’s just say people liked what they saw.” She gives us a naughty smirk and wink, and we groan at what our mother is suggesting.

  “Hey, bud.” I pull his ball cap off his head as he’s near me.

  “Stop.” He lunges and tackles me to the bed.

  “You two. The dresses,” Mom scolds. “And my clothes. I’m packing.”

  Mom and Sam, her husband and a celebrated chef, are off to Montreal for two weeks. They are frequent visitors to the fair city. It’s Sam’s hometown and where he has several restaurants.

  Bas makes space on the bed, carelessly tossing clothes to the side, obviously here to stay and sure to get in the way. Mom growls but doesn’t say a word to him.

  Studying the black dress, I worry my bottom lip. Friday is three days away and I’ve yet to find a dress to wear to dinner with Zach. He’ll be coming over tomorrow with dinner, an update on the landlord situation, and a dress. I’m not sure how I feel about him providing a dress and would feel better if I had my own. As for dinner, I’d rather he not see how the other half lives, or more specifically, me.

  The internet can be both a good and bad thing. I looked him up—as well as the Rothwell empire—after our meeting and I was nearly sick to my stomach.

  The Rothwells are worth billions.

  Yes, billions.

  Nan Rothwell lives in Rosedale, the classiest neighborhood in Toronto, where the wealthiest of the wealthy live and while I couldn’t find any details on Zach’s home, there were endless photos of him with actresses, models, and other wealthy women.

  No matter what dress my mom finds in the back of her closet, it won’t compare to what his other dates have worn. Let alone what the other guests will be wearing. What have I gotten myself into? I’m way out of my league.

  “Did you pack?” Mom looks to Bas with another armload of clothes for her suitcase.

  “Uh, I thought you’d do it.” His gaze is fixed on his phone.

  Bas is staying with Pippa’s parents, Sin and Colin, while his parents are in Montreal. He wanted to skip school, but with this being his first year of high school and exams coming up, Mom and Sam wouldn’t hear of it.

  Our mother hits the sole of his foot. “Nope, I’m not. We leave early tomorrow morning. Go pack.”

  He moans and gripe
s at actually having to do something. I’ve got no sympathy. The boy is the baby of the family, Sam and Mom’s love child, and we all spoil him. It’s hard not to. He may have a teen attitude and be a pain in the ass some of the time, but he’s a good kid and proof that second chances are worth it.

  “Hey, go pack,” Sam says to his son as he enters the bedroom. My brother grumbles some more before grunting a goodbye when I call after him.

  “What are my favorite girls doing?” Sam places a hand behind my neck and kisses the top of my head before giving my mother one on the lips.

  “We’re trying to find Miss Paige an evening gown.”

  He arches a brow. “What’s it for?”

  “A work dinner for this guy I’m seeing.” My tone is cool and indifferent.

  When I asked my mom if she had anything I could wear, she had questions. Lots of questions. But she quickly got the hint that I wasn’t going to say more, not yet anyway. It doesn’t feel right lying to her. To my family.

  “This guy has a job?” Sam’s sarcasm goes along with the ongoing joke about the men I date. He thinks I’m selling myself short and disliked Terry—and pretty much most of my exes.

  “Har, har. You’re hilarious!”

  He snickers, pulling me in for a side hug. “Tell me more about him.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I shrug and my mom says, “He’s Zachary Rothwell.”

  Sam’s eyes widen, looking to Mom and then me. “Yeah, that Rothwell,” I say sheepishly.

  “He’s a billionaire,” Mom says, adoration in her tone like we’re talking about Jason Momoa, our mutual and life-long celebrity crush.

  “It’s nothing serious.” My protest is in direct contrast to what Zach said we had to show and tell the world.

  I can’t spring this relationship on them when I’ve never talked about Zach before. In telling my mom the details, I stuck to the truth, or as much as I could.

  “Shit, you sure know how to go from one extreme to another,” Sam laughs.

  “Drew introduced them. He’s helping her with her landlord.” Mom keeps talking, bringing Sam up to speed on the whole Joel Hummel situation.

  My landlord contacted me on Monday about fixing the front door and he’s coming over on Thursday when I’m working from home. Fortunately, Tom is going to be there.

  “Paige, let me fix what needs working on. I’ll see what I can get done before we go,” Sam says, cutting into my thoughts.

  “I’m giving him notice next week that I’m moving. Zach’s lawyers are drafting something, so I don’t care if nothing else gets fixed.”

  “Have you found a place?” Mom closes the suitcase.

  “No. I might have to ask Drew if I can rent his condo.”

  “That’s a great idea. The lease is up in a month. You could stay here in the meantime.” Sam smiles, happy with that solution, and I stifle my groan.

  “Yeah, I might have to.”

  “Honey.” Mom takes my hand and I lift my chin to face her. “It isn’t forever and look at it as a way to save some money in the short term. And if you’d prefer, you could stay here. We leave for the cruise in a few weeks and then Montreal for the summer. We won’t be in your hair. It’ll be like your own place. This is your home.”

  I force a smile and nod, not wanting to be ungrateful. She doesn’t mention Bas because we both know he’ll want to stay with me when they’re on their cruise instead of Jonah’s or Sin’s, Mom’s closest friends.

  “I better get going. Can I borrow this?” I hold up the black dress and her eyes glitter with excitement as she nods her head up and down.

  “You’ll look gorgeous in it. Send pics,” Sam says, and I say my goodbyes.

  The black dress may not be the real deal, but it is beautiful, and if it was good enough for my mother, then it’s good enough for me.

  Six

  Paige

  I shut off the vacuum and with the back of my hand, I wipe the light sheen of sweat coating my forehead. There’s time for a shower before Zach gets here. I rushed home from work to clean my house, all the while wishing we were meeting somewhere else. Just then my phone rings and Zach’s name flashes across the screen.

  “Hello,” I say, out of breath.

  “Hi, what are you doing?” His voice is low and husky, and I ignore the flip-flop in my stomach. “You’re breathless, do I excite you?”

  “What? Not excited. Not at all.” There’s nothing sexy or exciting about sweating from housecleaning but I’m not about to tell him that. “I’m exercising.” That’s not far from the truth.

  “That’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure it’s a breathtaking view.”

  I suck a rush of air through my teeth at his provocative comment. “Who is this?” I pull the phone away and double-check the name on the screen.

  “It’s Zach Rothwell.”

  “Oh, I thought it was a prank caller because Mr. Rothwell would never say such a thing.”

  “That isn’t fair to say.” There’s a hint of humor in his voice. “You don’t really know me. Yet. And I think watching you work out would be sexy as fuck.”

  A burning need coils low in my belly and I bite back an unexpected moan. Why is he being flirty and naughty? He said we were business. And why am I getting turned on by him?

  With a steady breath, I dig deep to find balance. “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re not missing anything. I’m far from pretty right now.” It isn’t a put-down, I’m just saying it like it is and ending his game. “I’m sweaty and sticky.”

  “Keep talking,” he murmurs and I involuntarily quiver.

  “Zach, was there a reason for your call?” Other than making me another kind of hot.

  “I’m not going to make it to your place tonight.”

  The wild fluttering in my stomach dies sharply and my shoulders deflate. As much as I didn’t want him in my home, I was eager to talk some more about our arrangement. The idea of going to this dinner without coming up with a cover story is terrifying and bound to be a disaster.

  “Oh?”

  “I have a last-minute conference call that’s going to be long and another one at nine. A car is on its way to pick you up.”

  “A car?”

  “You’re coming to my office.”

  “You want me to come to your office?” There is a fairy godmother or a granter of wishes because mine just came true.

  “Yes. We’ll have dinner here. We can talk. I’ve got a couple of hours in between calls.”

  “I’m not ready though,” I say more to myself than to him. “You don’t need to send a car. I can—”

  He cuts me off, “Paige, be ready in twenty minutes. See you soon,” and then ends the call.

  The following twenty minutes are a flurry of activity. Shower, dry shampoo my hair, dress, and refresh my makeup. I’m applying my lipstick when the doorbell rings. Right on time.

  The drive to Zach’s office is quick and I’m unexpectedly nervous riding up in the elevator to the thirty-third floor. Staring at myself in the mirror of the elevator, I question the denim maxi skirt with its faded distressed look. I couldn’t bring myself to dress more formal or business appropriate when I’d been in heels all day. Before I can second-guess my outfit, the doors open and Zach’s assistant greets me.

  “Ms. Hayes, good evening. So lovely to see you again.” Her smile is warm and welcoming. “I wasn’t sure if you knew the way to Mr. Rothwell’s office.”

  “Hi, Karen, I’m glad you’re here. I’d have gotten lost on my own.”

  Zach stands at the entrance to his office in a three-piece custom navy suit and I swear my panties wet instantly. I never knew a suit could do that to me. Mind you, I’ve never been with a man who wears a suit on a daily basis.

  “Hello.” His eyes blaze a path from the tips of my toes upward, his smile growing with each inch of my body he burns, until his eyes meet mine. He stares for longer than is comfortable.

  “Hello.” I sound breathy and maybe the suit isn’t t
he only thing to excite me.

  Zach nears, his masked expression unsettling, and my steps falter. He is gorgeous, and this time I don’t find his classic handsomeness off-putting. Black hair, thick and wavy, and mussed enough to see he’s been running his fingers through it. A strong chiseled jaw, darkened with scruff, highly defined cheekbones, and a straight nose pointing to those lips. Damn, his full lips.

  The corners of his mouth tip up into a smile, or maybe it’s a smirk, as if he can hear my thoughts. His laugh lines accentuate the vibrant blue of his irises, framed by thick, black lashes.

  Now standing in front of me, he grasps my elbows and his touch is electric as he bends to plant a quick, soft kiss to my lips.

  Sweet mother of Christ.

  Clearing her throat, Karen smiles at me and he pulls back, eyes still on me. “Karen, we’ll have dinner now and that will be all. Have a good evening.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rothwell, I’ll call the dining room.” She picks up the phone. Taking my hand, he leads me into his office.

  At the far end of the room, an oval conference table that I somehow didn’t notice the last time I was here is set for our meal. A young man dressed in a waiter’s uniform slips discreetly into the room from a door on the other side. He wheels a cart like hotels have for room service over to the table.

  “Would you like salmon or roast beef?” Zach pulls my chair out.

  “Salmon, please.”

  When we’re both seated, the waiter places silver-domed covered plates in front of each of us.

  “Wine?” Zach gestures to the bottles on the table.

  “White.”

  The waiter makes quick work of pouring our wine and then removes a few things from the table, including a tiny bowl with a white substance.

  “Is that horseradish?” I point to the dish in his hand.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it all right if you leave it?”

  “Certainly.” He rests the bowl in front of me before turning to Zach. “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  “No, that’s all.”