Ropes of Lies: A Dirty Liars Novel

by Kathy Noumi

  She pushed the pasta around her plate with the tip of the fork. “Glad you find me so amusing.”

  “Funny, smart, a giant pain in my a—”

  She burst into one of her full-bodied laughs. “Think you’re funny, huh?”

  “You seemed to think so.”

  “I won’t lie, I can be a pain in the ass. So yes, it was funny.”

  I extended my hand to brush her face. “I’ve missed your laugh more than anything.”

  She didn’t pull away. Slowly, she rested her cheek in my palm, letting out a sigh.

  “Sometimes I wonder…” I started, and then stopped.

  She stilled. “About?”

  “Us.”

  Eden abruptly got up and walked over to the bank of windows at the rear of the restaurant. “No point in dwelling on the past.”

  I followed her to where she stood staring at the glassy water. Her arms were now crossed over her chest. I bent slightly, leaning into her shoulder. “Then let’s forget all of it. Start fresh?”

  She closed her eyes. “How? We still work for rival companies. There is no way we could do this . . . ever.”

  I moved to stand behind her. “Can I kiss you?”

  Eden pivoted to face me. Although she didn’t answer with words, her heated gaze, and the way she twirled her earring, gave away her true wish. Gripping her waist, I lowered my lips to hers. This wasn’t anything like the kiss in my office. This kiss remained slow, unhurried, like we had all the time in the world. Her lips were soft, supple, sweet. She tasted of wine, so I lapped her bottom lip to savor more. Eden groaned as I pulled away.

  She watched me, trying to catch her breath. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  Before I could blink, our bodies surged against each other. This time we kissed with more urgency. She smelled of honeysuckle, and my length throbbed against her as I slid my hand down, squeezing her ass. She moaned.

  Eagerness consumed me. All I craved was to get her naked, tie her up, and fuck her senseless. She bit her lip like she anticipated me devouring her at any second. Nothing would please me more, but I’d promised her this would be just a date.

  “You’d tell me if you didn’t want—”

  She placed a delicate finger over my mouth. “When have I ever done anything I didn’t want to do with you?”

  I gripped her wrist, easing her hand away from my lips. “This date.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe it didn’t start off that way, but I want to be here. Seeing you like this . . . it’s reminded me of the old us.”

  Before I could form another thought, she covered my mouth with hers and gave me the type of kiss I’d never be able to forget—one that I knew would creep into my soul and haunt me forever.

  I didn’t want it to end.

  She pressed her hands into my shoulder, putting some space between us. “We should stop.”

  “You’re right.”

  Eden turned and walked back to her seat, picking up her fork. “The food is perfect.”

  “I think you’ll enjoy dessert even more,” I said, taking my place across from her.

  She furrowed her brows. “Was that meant to sound as pervy as it did?”

  I laughed so hard my chest hurt. “No, it wasn’t. I literally meant dessert. But you’re welcome for that.”

  Eden shook her head, smiling.

  “You’ll thank me again once you taste this chocolate raspberry mousse.”

  “Oh my god, yes.”

  After lunch and a dessert, I drove Eden back to her car near Over the Moon. When I pulled away from the curb, the sinking feeling from earlier returned, weighing heavily in my gut.

  DrumBar sat on the eighteenth floor of the Raffaello Hotel. It claimed the title of swankiest bar in Chicago, in my book. Knowing we’d be coming here, I changed after lunch, casual wear didn’t seem fitting for this place. Sporting a fresh plaid navy suit and thin silk tie I headed up in the elevator.

  When you walked into DrumBar, the room empowered you with its masculine decor, lush seating, and dark wood. It recalled a time when men in suits would go to private, invite-only drinking lounges. It was like free time travel back to the fifties and early sixties.

  Nathaniel and I made our way to our favorite table and plopped down on the leather sofa. After I followed suit, a striking waitress dressed in a fitted vest and tight black pants appeared. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  Nathaniel perked up. “I’ll get a Glenlivet, neat.”

  “And I’ll have a Johnny Walker on the rocks.”

  “Black or Blue Label, sir?” she asked.

  “Blue.”

  The waitress smiled at us both. “Very good. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  She strode away. Nathaniel turned his attention back to me. “All right, down to business. Why the fuck do you look like someone crapped on your cupcake? It can’t be just because of…”

  I ran a hand over my hair. Where the hell did I begin? The gala? The FBI? Miss Melanie Eden Black? City Net? Uptown? I had never felt so overwhelmed in my entire life.

  “Crap on my cupcake would be better than the ton of shit I’m shoveling with a plastic spoon.”

  He cocked his right brow. “Is it a chick?”

  “That would be an understatement.” I paused. “Remember that conference we went to? In New York, before you met Lauren?”

  He narrowed his eyes like he was flipping through the pages of a book in his head. “I think so . . .”

  “Remember the girl? From P & L?”

  He shrugged with raised palms. “Sure?”

  “We had a thing, and let’s just say it ended badly.”

  “Man, what does this have to do with today?”

  “Here you are, boys. A Glen, neat.” She placed Nate’s drink in front of him. “And a Blue Label for you. Anything else I can get you?”

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out my Amex, and threw it on the table. “Open a tab and keep ’em coming.”

  She reached down picked up my card, her eyes widening. “Sure thing, Mr. Winthrop.” She sauntered away, hips swaying like a pendulum, a newfound pep in her step.

  “You, sir, just made her panties loose with your fucking platinum card.”

  I shot him a don’t-fuck-with-me-right-now glare. “Not interested.”

  He held up his hands. “Just sayin’. You don’t have to get your panties in a twist. If I weren’t with Lauren . . .” He dropped his hands and smirked at me.

  “You’re—”

  “Shut up and get back to whatever the hell is bothering you.”

  “What’s bothering me is Eden,” I whispered between gritted teeth. “I saw her at the Eco-Developers Foundation gala. Then later that night I unintentionally poached Thompson. He’d called me, and I didn’t know he’d been her client. Anyway, naturally she threatened to take Uptown from us because, well, an eye for an eye. I saw her again Sunday at the regatta. When you called earlier about the . . .” I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper “. . . Feds. I was with her. It’s a fucking mess.”

  He blinked at me in silence; I could tell he didn’t know what to say. Clearing his throat, he picked up the glass and chugged the whiskey. “Fuck.”

  I needed to take the edge off, so I downed some liquid courage myself. “Fuck is right.”

  “Wait, go back, what happened in New York?”

  “Some things should be left in the past.”

  He held up his glass, looking for the waitress. “Damn. Where’d she go? Anyway, why haven’t you ever told me about this chick?”

  “I don’t know. There’s nothing to tell. We had what I thought was something, but she didn’t give it the same regard. End of story.”

  “And you never heard from her again afterward?”

  Nate had been there for me through everything, and I felt like a dickhead for keeping this a secret for six long years. I clenched my fists and tried to come up with the right way to spill the bean
s. “Not exactly.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Back in New York, after we nearly were caught, she told me she couldn’t be with me, so being a twenty-five-year-old immature dickhead, I went after the first client she snagged. And when she found out—”

  “Let me guess, she stole one of yours?”

  “Yes, but then I took it a step too far and made it my own personal mission to steal her clients. Then she’d do it right back to me.” Now that I’d said it out loud, it seemed so petty and childish.

  “I get the point.” He gripped my shoulder and shook his head. “You, my friend, are in deep.”

  The thought had never occurred to me. “I just—I don’t know.”

  “Damn, she did a number on you.”

  I shot him a don’t-you-dare look.

  He glanced around, then, in a hushed tone, asked, “Did you bang her?”

  I rubbed at my temples. “What does it matter?”

  “Do you normally fuck women you hate?”

  “Shit.”

  Nate gave my shoulder another tight squeeze. “You can pretend to be blind about what’s going on all you want, but I’ve never seen you so . . .” he gestured to me with both hands “. . . so unglued. And when have you ever not been focused on your company?”

  Then it dawned on me—every ounce of hate I felt crippled me. She drove me nuts with the way she blew hot and cold, teasing and fighting me at every step, but it was what I relished about our exchanges. I’d missed it. Eden was the personification of a strong, independent, career- driven woman. She was me in the body of the hottest chick in the Western Hemisphere. But we couldn’t be together. Besides the fact of us being at emotional odds, our companies would raise a red flag. It would be a shitshow.

  “She’s not like anyone else.”

  “Oh boy, someone’s in love. We need more drinks.” Nate flagged down our waitress. “And once we have drinks, we can come up with a plan for you to fix whatever the hell you need to with her so you can get your head back in the game.”

  I nodded in agreement, but while that should have calmed me, it made the warning bells in my brain combust.

  How could we possibly be together? I couldn’t jump in a time machine and go back six years, and I didn’t know how to maneuver hiding our relationship. We’re far too grown to be sneaking off, and it wouldn’t last long if we did. What would she say if I told her I wanted more than private getaways and secret meetings? She’d slap you—again.

  Our waitress sashayed back and replaced our glasses. Before taking my first sip, I inhaled the subtle aroma of the liquor, letting the scents of sweet cream, honey, vanilla, and a hint of cinnamon stir my senses. The rim of the glass touched my lips, and the flavors warmed my tongue; the scotch’s essence soothed the day’s setbacks. At least for a moment.

  “Let’s talk about your visitors.”

  “Two agents came to my office alone. They requested to ask me a few questions. I obliged, of course. Then one of the agents, some bald guy, super tall, whipped out his notepad. I nearly threw up my fucking lunch.”

  I waved the waitress over to us for the third time. “I would have.”

  “Once he set up the damn pad, the questions came at me like bullets. What is my affiliation with WSquared? How do I know the Winthrop family? Have I ever worked for William? It was crazy.”

  Tilting my head back, I grumbled under my breath. “Fuck. Nate, we need to finalize those papers.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “We should meet outside the office for safe measure.”

  Nate loosened his tie and nodded. “I’ll swing by your place after work.”

  When the fresh round of drinks arrived at our table, I raised my glass. “Here’s to not going to jail.”

  “Don’t even say it.” He shook his head.

  “Could this day get any worse?”

  Nathaniel raised his glass to mine. “Cheers to taking down your father.”

  Amen to that.

  My cell rang, and I jumped at the vibration. When I pulled it out of my pocket, I read the name across the screen. Fuck, this can’t be good.

  “Donna, what’s going on?”

  “Mrs. Rodriguez has been calling here all day. I finally had to give her an appointment first thing in the morning.”

  I slammed my fist down on the table. “Fuck.”

  Nathaniel mouthed, “What’s going on?”

  I ignored him as Donna’s voice came through the speaker. “Is there anything else I can do, Mr. Winthrop?”

  “No. Thank you, Donna. I’ll take care of this.”

  “Good night, sir.” She ended the call.

  “This woman is going to be the death of me.” I leaned my head back, exhaling the breath I’d been holding in.

  “What now?”

  “Eden moved in on Uptown. Mrs. Rodriguez called a meeting for tomorrow morning.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes practically fell out of his head. “Savage.”

  “Sick part is, I love her drive and should have seen it coming. I guess the damn date meant nothing to her.”

  Nate glanced down at his watch. “It’s still early. Call her.”

  “You’re right, I should. But a few more drinks first.”

  Nathaniel slapped my shoulder. “Can’t say no to more drinks.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eden

  As the tub filled to the brim with bubbles, I jittered from excitement. It had been months since I’d had time for a bath. My phone vibrated with text messages a few times, but I brushed it off, knowing it had to be Khloe or Sophia. Then it rang, Jameson’s name flashing across my screen. When I picked it up, I had four texts and two missed calls from him.

  I need to speak with you.

  When I didn’t reply, he’d sent another, then another immediately after. They were equally cryptic.

  Answer your phone Eden, now.

  Call me.

  The texts were more urgent with each passing message. What in the world was going on? Had he lost his shit in the last few hours? The final message worried me the most.

  WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

  Thankfully, he didn’t leave voicemails after his calls. I sucked in a deep breath and swiped to call him back. All it took was one ring before he picked up. Uh-oh. Not good.

  “Jameson, hey.”

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Miss Black?”

  We were back to Miss Black? Lovely. “I had a relaxing bath planned before you interrupted me.”

  “I meant with Mrs. Rodriguez.” His voice had dropped to a menacing tone.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh? ‘Oh’ is all you have to say?”

  “What do you want me to say? I never agreed to let Uptown go.”

  He didn’t reply for a few moments, but his angry exhales came through the receiver loud and clear. “We need to talk in person. Meet me at the Raffaello Hotel in an hour.”

  “It’s my day off, and I have to be up early tomorrow. Wasn’t lunch enough?”

  “The ball is in your court. You can have City Net back or not. It’s up to you.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Be there in an hour. Text me the exact address.”

  “An hour then,” he repeated right before hanging up.

  Somehow my bath would have to wait for another day. It pained me to waste the exquisitely warmed water and bubbly foam, but City Net was too valuable. Jameson sounded angry. I’d known calling Mrs. Rodriguez would push his buttons, although I didn’t anticipate it happening so quickly. I dressed in a suitably professional sheath dress and coordinating blazer. The right pumps completed the look. Luckily, I hadn’t yet washed my face so I didn’t have to reapply my makeup. With one last glance in the mirror, I headed for the door.

  As I slid into the leather seat of my car, my phone vibrated again.

  Room 77

  Shit. What happened to meeting at the bar? Was he insane? We shouldn’t talk business alone in a hotel room, but fine—I could
be a professional. His text shouldn’t change the outcome of the evening. We were meeting about business. No big deal.

  As I stood at the threshold of Jameson’s suite, my heart raced. I leaned in, my ear close to the thick door in an attempt to listen. Before I gathered the courage to knock, a loud thud vibrated through the maple wood.

  My instincts kicked in and I knocked hard, yelling from the hallway, “Jameson, are you in there?”

  More thumps and bangs came from inside the room and he shouted, “Yeah . . . I’m comin’.”

  His voice sounded a bit slurred. Was he drunk? It was so unlike him. Calm, cool, and collected Jameson never managed to be ruffled or upset. I banged harder on the door with my fists. “Open up.”

  “I’m tryin’ . . . hang—on a min—”

  He had to be smashed. His voice sounded deeper, too.

  Crap on crudités.

  When he finally opened the door, Jameson had a goofy smile on his face. With glossy eyes and heavy lids, he winked at me.

  “Are you okay?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “I’m great now that you’re here.”

  He turned and walked back into the suite, leaving the door wide open and me standing in the hall. The room’s cream walls were covered in fancy art, and its large, king-sized bed was adorned with a plush comforter. After almost a minute, I followed him in, uninvited.

  He reached for a bottle of Blue Label, but I grabbed it from his grasp. If he kept drinking, he would pass out. “Think maybe you’ve had enough? How about we get you in bed?”

  “How about I sit and watch you in my bed?” He took a seat on the tufted chair across from the king-sized bed, pointing at it like I was going to take his bait.

  Not a chance, Winthrop.

  His attempt at sexiness was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked messed up—shirt untucked, hair askew, tie loose—but somehow remained utterly adorable. It was such a relief to see him letting his guard down, even if it meant he needed to get a buzz going to do so. Maybe I could even coax some information out of him? No, doubt he’ll want to talk shop tonight.

  “How many drinks have you had, J. R.?” I used his nickname to annoy him.