Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  A resigned sigh slipped from my lips. Creating a conspiracy-theory mosaic — à la Carrie in Homeland — was typically an indicator that someone was about to plunge straight off the deep end into Crazytown. If Simon and Fae saw this, they’d have me committed to a mental facility immediately, no questions asked.

  Fae had been right that day in Two Bridges, when she’d said I’d stumbled down the rabbit hole.

  Naive blonde girl wandering a strange, unfamiliar landscape?

  Check.

  Enemies lurking around every corner, waiting gleefully for a chance to chop off my head?

  Double check.

  * * *

  I should’ve known the day was going to be a train wreck when I spilled coffee down the front of my favorite little black dress and got whacked in the head by four separate umbrella-wielding madmen on the way to work.

  Rain in New York is always an experience. Never in your life can you be nearly bludgeoned to death by the overwhelming volume of commuters’ umbrellas competing for airspace overhead, except on a rainy day during rush hour in the city. As if the overflowing sewer drains and traffic jams didn’t cause problems enough, whenever the slightest drizzle fell from the sky, New Yorkers would have their umbrellas out in spades, poking each other in the eyes and pushing one another off the sidewalks rather than risk a single raindrop wetting their hair.

  I’d have to check the city records to verify it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were far more casualties on rainy days than sun-drenched ones. I’d nearly died just this morning, when an overzealous power-walker elbowed me off the street into the path on an oncoming taxi. I’d escaped with my life, but my black and white Miu Miu pumps hadn’t been so lucky — the puddle I’d landed in was deep and spilling over with grime, leaving stains no amount of suede-cleaner would ever lift.

  Work itself hadn’t been so bad, I guess. Sebastian wasn’t there to torment me from afar and Angela had finally assigned me a project in my wheelhouse, writing a period piece that would be sandwiched between the 1920s and 1930s photo spreads in the Centennial issue. I spent my day settled at one of the work stations in a quiet corner, researching the years leading up to the Great Depression and immersing myself in a world that was, surprisingly, not all flapper dresses and finger curls. It was hard to tear myself away to break for lunch — I’d become enthralled by all the fashion and flagrancies that made the Jazz Age so deliciously immoral — but when the two Jennys invited me to grab salads with them, I couldn’t say no. We ended up at a small cafe just around the block, where the lines weren’t too long and the food was inexpensive but remarkably good.

  “This project is so much fun,” Jenny S. squealed, pouring some vinaigrette over the bed of lettuce on her plate. “Way better than some of the other spreads we’ve been working on lately. Remember the sex position shoot we had to do last month, Jen? With the chocolate sauce we had to smear all over that model’s ti—”

  “Please!” Jenny P. interjected forcefully. “Don’t remind me.” She grimaced before stuffing a forkful of salad into her mouth.

  I laughed, easily envisioning the horror. Practically every month Luster featured a photo spread of scandalous poses inspired by the Kama Sutra, typically accompanied by a user guide of helpful tips and tricks to spice up our readers’ sex lives. Despite all my complaining, at least I could say my column rarely strayed in that direction.

  “Seriously, though, we are so totally lucky to be working on this,” Jenny S. gushed. “And with Sebastian Covington of all people. I mean, the man is like the hottest thing in photography right now.”

  “Not to mention the hottest thing in a five hundred mile radius,” Jenny P. chimed in.

  When I remained silent, they both turned to stare at me expectantly. I felt my cheeks heat.

  “Yeah, he’s hot I guess,” I mumbled, dropping my eyes to my plate. “Why is it so delicious when they put strawberries on top of salad? I mean, you’d think fruit and lettuce would be a totally gross combo, right? And yet—” I stuffed a large bite into my mouth. “—delicious.”

  My oh-so-subtle attempts to drive the conversation elsewhere were ignored. Sigh.

  “Ohmigod!” Jenny P. had a terrifyingly astute gleam in her eye. “You totally like him!”

  I shook my head in denial. “That’s ridiculous,” I snorted.

  “Oh, girl, you’ve got it bad.” Jenny S. nodded her head in sympathy.

  “He’s dating a model!” I deflected. “I’d never be attracted to someone who was into girls like Cara.” I crossed my fingers under the table as the white lie slipped out.

  Both Jennys gaped at me.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if there was a lettuce leaf stuck between my front teeth.

  “Sebastian isn’t dating Cara,” Jenny P. said.

  “He’s not?”

  “Of course not.” Jenny S. laughed. “Maybe they’re together in Cara’s deluded dreams. But definitely not in reality.”

  “Cara follows him around like a puppy after her master, and he lets her because it’s the only way to get her to pose for photos.” Jenny P. explained. “She’s not the most cooperative model in the industry, or so I’ve heard.”

  “No kidding.” I laughed, thinking of my trips to Starbucks and Whole Foods.

  “Apparently Sebastian took this job as a personal favor to Mr. Harding. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. Plus, he’s a total professional. I really doubt he’d ever get involved with someone he works with.” Jenny P. smiled at me reassuringly. “But, girl, you’ve totally got a shot. You’re hot.”

  “Plus, I’ve seen him watching you a few times,” Jenny S. murmured, her gaze distant with thoughts. “With this sad, almost-longing look.”

  “That’s crazy.” I dismissed her words in a flat tone, though my heart was racing inside my chest. “Have you been huffing too much glue over there in set design?”

  Jenny S. responded as any mature adult would — she stuck out her tongue in my direction.

  Jenny P. clapped her hands three times, a sunny smile crossing her face. “This totally calls for some matchmaking, don’t you think, Jen?”

  “Please, don’t do anything,” I begged them, watching in horror as they locked eyes and grinned at one other.

  “Ooookay,” Jenny S. drawled. “We promise.”

  Jenny P. winked at me. “Yep, pinky swear.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. They laughed in unison.

  I was so screwed.

  * * *

  After lunch, I became so wrapped up in writing and researching my 1920s story that I stopped worrying about the Jennys and their undoubtedly devious plans to force Sebastian and me into some kind of staged interaction. So at a quarter to five, when Jenny S. approached my work station with a stack of files in her arms and said that Angela wanted me to bring them down to the billing offices on the fourth floor before I went home for the night, I thought nothing of it.

  “Thanks, Lux!” Jenny S. called, bouncing away with a pleased look on her face. I chalked it up to the fact that it was nearly happy hour and went back to my story.

  That was my first mistake.

  My second mistake was waiting until after five to complete her task. I figured I’d simply stop at billing on my way down to the lobby, rather than make two trips but, as usual, I lost track of time, so it was closer to five thirty when I actually made it into the elevator with the stack of files in hand. The building had already begun to empty out, as most people had a tendency to race for the exits as soon as possible, especially on a Friday. So, when I stepped out of the elevator onto the fourth floor, I found the billing offices completely deserted.

  “Hello?” I called, looking for signs of life. The only sound I heard was the dull clicking of my heels against the smooth marble floors as I crossed to an empty secretary’s desk. From the looks of it, everyone had already gone home for the weekend.

  “Anyone here?” I walked further into the office, thinking perhaps someone in the back was still ling
ering to finish up paperwork or a final report. When no one answered, I reached into my purse with my free hand and began rooting around for my cellphone. I’d have to call Jenny S. and ask where to leave the files. Hopefully they weren’t time sensitive.

  “Ms. Kincaid.”

  The unexpected sound of a man’s voice breaking the quiet of the office startled me and my phone slipped from my grasp, landing hard against the shiny floor and rattling to a stop beneath a nearby desk. My hand flew up to clutch my chest while my head whipped around to get a look at the man who’d just appeared from the back office.

  I was going to murder the Jennys. Preferably with some kind of slow, painfully archaic torture device that gave them an eternity to reflect on their poor matchmaking decisions before they finally succumbed to the darkness.

  “Hi,” I blurted, staring at him. He looked wonderful, even dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted henley. A little more informal than usual, perhaps, but it suited him. He’d never been one for suits or ties. I had to curl my hands into fists to keep them from smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress or fidgeting with the tendrils of hair that had escaped my clip.

  Sebastian cleared his throat and my eyes flew back to his face. I was sure my cheeks were on fire — inappropriately checking out your boss’ chest muscles was a definite no-no, especially when he was the ex-boyfriend you were supposed to hate.

  “Files,” I said dumbly, gesturing toward the stack still clutched in my right hand.

  Sebastian’s brows rose but otherwise he didn’t move, standing with his hands stuffed into his jean pockets in a relaxed fashion.

  “These are, um…” I swallowed, trying to clear the nervous lump that was lodged in my throat. “They’re, um… files… Obviously.”

  I knew I was rambling and not making any sense whatsoever. But he was looking at me and still not saying anything and, well, I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. He left me totally unbalanced, reeling like a wind vane in a storm. I gulped again, worried my airway might seal permanently if I didn’t take a breath soon.

  “I was supposed to drop these, um…” I trailed off like the babbling, incoherent idiot I’d evidently become, at an utter loss for words. “Um…”

  “Files,” Sebastian supplied, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

  “Right, of course, they’re files,” I agreed, cringing internally. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball of embarrassment and die rather than continue this conversation. “I was supposed to drop them off here tonight. So, um…”

  Grimacing at my total lack of social grace, I edged backwards slightly so I was next to the secretary’s desk, and piled the files in her wire inbox basket. With a fleeting glance back at Sebastian, I bobbed my head and turned to go. “Okay… have a good weekend, then, Bas—Seb—” I cleared my throat, blushing furiously. “I mean, Mr. Covington.”

  Fuck, shit, damn. Could I be anymore awkward if I tried?

  I made it about three steps toward the elevator before Sebastian finally spoke again.

  “Ms. Kincaid,” he called softly.

  So close, I thought, staring longingly at the elevator doors. I sighed and turned to face him. He was standing a bit closer now, and in one hand he held my battered phone.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, slapping my forehead with one palm. “Completely forgot about that.”

  I approached him, trying to walk with confidence even though I was shaking like a leaf. His silence was terrifying, but the possibility of what he might say when he finally broke it was infinitely more so. My fingers trembled visibly as I reached out into the air between us, and he watched their progress with the intense gaze of a predator stalking his prey.

  Our hands brushed as I removed the phone from his palm and, in what was quite possibly a figment of my overactive imagination, I swear I felt a jolt of electricity shoot up my arm straight to my heart. Yanking my hand backwards, I lifted my gaze to meet his.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

  I spun to go, but found my progress halted by a firm grip on my arm. A glance down confirmed it — Sebastian’s hand was wrapped around my bicep in a gentle but insistent hold. I lifted confused eyes to meet his, which had softened to show a hint of remorse. There was no time to dwell on the fact that he was less than a foot away, that he was touching me, because he opened his mouth and said two little words that short circuited my entire thought process.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

  “For the other night, for the way I’ve treated you all week… I’m sorry.”

  I barely kept my jaw from falling open. He released his hold on my arm and sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair and mussing it in an instant.

  “I thought — well, it doesn’t really matter what I thought. The bottom line is, I brought you here for the wrong reasons. And I’ve been punishing you for something I should’ve gotten over a long time ago. We were kids, we didn’t know anything back then. It’s not fair to blame you. I mean, after all, what we had?” He laughed lightly, though his eyes were deadly serious. “That wasn’t even real.”

  He stared at me, watching as his words hit home. I tried my best to mask my expression, to conceal the pain his statement caused me, but I could only withstand so much before my facade splintered.

  Because it had been real. It was still real — the realest thing I’d ever felt.

  “Right?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes searching mine.

  “Right,” I agreed in a small voice, forcing myself to nod.

  Something flickered briefly in the depths of his eyes, but disappeared too quickly for me to identify it.

  “I’m tired of tiptoeing around one another at work. I’m sure you are too. And from everything I’ve seen, you’re an asset to this project. So from now on, I’ll play nice. I promise.” He held out a hand for me to shake. “Sound good?”

  I subtly pinched the fleshy part of my hand to ensure that I was, in fact, awake and not lost in some strange dream-fugue state. Was he really giving me a clean slate? Letting me off the hook after everything I’d done to him? It seemed too good to be true. But if he had an ulterior motive of some kind, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it might be.

  With my eyes fixed on his face, I slipped my hand into his and tried not to show how much the simple act of our palms meeting affected me. Outside, I was professional, shaking his hand with the perfunctory composure of any colleague. But inside, I felt that small touch radiate up my arm and out through every corner of my body. His touch filled me, made me feel truly alive, as though my most vital atoms and particles had lain dormant and were only now rousing after a seven year hibernation, stirred awake by the siren song of Sebastian’s touch.

  It took all the strength within me not to let my eyes drift closed at the sensation, not to lean into his touch like it was the only source of oxygen in an airless room. Instead, I forced my fingers to unclasp and my palm to drop, falling like dead weight to my side. His eyes still trapped mine, searing into me with their intensity, but I managed to simply nod. I took a step backward, so there was a bit more space between us.

  “Thank you,” I said, accepting his apology as though he were any other coworker who’d eaten my yogurt out of the communal fridge in the break room, or “borrowed” my favorite pen from my desk drawer and never returned it. I shifted my weight from one heel to the other, wholly uncertain about what to do next.

  “We might never be friends again,” Sebastian acknowledged. “But there’s no reason to be at war. Plus, I can’t imagine Jamie was pleased to hear that we’re acting like enemies.”

  I stilled. The air caught in my lungs as Sebastian talked on.

  “Actually, knowing him, he’s placed bets on who’ll come out victorious. God, if you’ve told him about any of this, he probably thinks I’m a real asshole now, doesn’t he?” Sebastian shook his head, a small smile on his lips — one o
f the first I’d seen from him since our unexpected reunion. “Oh, well. Tell him I said hello and if he’s up for it, I’d love to grab a beer sometime.”

  Sebastian looked up at me, that little grin still playing out on his lips, and finally seemed to notice my silence. His smile faltered a bit and something changed in his eyes.

  “He’s here in the city, right?” he asked. “I can’t imagine you two would ever live very far apart.”

  I took a deep breath, my chest aching with the effort, and felt my eyes well up with tears.

  “Lux?” Sebastian asked, finally using my name. Hearing it from his lips only pushed me closer to the edge. “How’s he doing?”

  A single tear fell down my cheek as I struggled to find the words. My lips parted but, looking at Sebastian as the hope slipped from his expression, I found I couldn’t speak at all. It didn’t matter, though — my strangled silence said everything he needed to hear.

  The realization came swiftly for him, an arrow straight to the heart, and with it a total change in his demeanor. His forehead furrowed in shock and his mouth pressed firmly into the frown I’d come to know so well, but it was his eyes that changed the most. The soft look faded away, replaced by two chips of greenish brown ice that glared at me with every ounce of dislike he could muster.

  “When?” He bit out the word like a curse. Another tear tracked down my face.

  “Three years ago.” My voice cracked.

  He stared at me, a dark look clouding his expression. “Three years.” His laugh rang out in the empty office and I flinched at the bitter, mirthless sound. “How could you not tell me? He was my friend, too. I should’ve been there. I had a fucking right to be there, Lux.”