Ropes of Lies

by Kathy Noumi

  A familiar face skated past the ballroom doors. Sophia Leigh, my boss’s daughter, remained bright-eyed and bouncy no matter the occasion. She scurried over, her slender, toned arms flung outward, and I braced myself for the impending impact of her perfect runner’s body crashing into me with the force of a Bobcat truck.

  She was a notorious giver of bear hugs, in or out of the office. I would have hated her if she weren’t so full of life. She had her father’s green eyes, and to top it off, cascading waves of dirty blond hair.

  We’d met my first week at Pryce & Leigh, quickly bonding over our mutual hatred of the horrible sludge they called coffee. When I introduced her to Khloe a few months later, I crossed my fingers so hard I thought they’d fall off; I could never tell if two women would get along or not.

  “Eden, babe, where in the world have you been? I spotted Khloe a few minutes ago greeting some fancy clients, but I don’t think she saw me.”

  With Sophia’s arms firmly draped around me I couldn’t inhale. Her tight grip squeezed the air from my lungs. “Oh.”

  Her voice went from ordinary to a squealing pitch when she added, “I cannot believe how impeccable the decor is. Khloe outdid herself. Dad is going to kiss the ground she walks on when he sees this.”

  I glanced around the room again. “Yeah, I’m proud of her. I know the partners will be impressed. Hopefully I win some brownie points for suggesting her services.”

  Sophia poked my shoulder. “You look unbelievable.”

  I plucked the sides of my dress away from my body. “Not too shabby, right?”

  “It’s hideous.” She giggled, slapping my arm. “Take it off this instant and give it to me.”

  “You look beautiful, too, Soph.” I took a second to appreciate the luxurious cream-colored lace fabric of her dress.

  “Oh, this old thing? Back of the closet,” she teased. “I look like a giant doily compared to you.” Sophia hooked her arm in mine. “Now, tell me where I can find all of Chicago’s eligible bachelors, preferably those under forty.”

  Laughing at her bluntness, I shrugged, rolling my eyes. “In that dress, I’m sure they’ll find you.”

  She laughed. “See, you can be fun when you want to be, Eden. You should relax more.” She batted her false lashes. “You’re only one year away from thirty. You might want to go on a date or two. Seriously, how long’s it been?”

  I gave her a disapproving look out of the corner of my eye. Too much at stake, I thought, but said, “Well, Miss Nosy-Pants McGee, if you must know, I don’t have time for men. I can worry about them after your father and Mr. Pryce give me the promotion.”

  She held up both palms in surrender. “All right, I get it.”

  She shifted her arm so it hung around my shoulders, taking in a view of the room. The space seemed to overflow, pulsating like a living, breathing organism. A dull hum of babble swelled up through the crowd. Men huddled, drinking and observing.

  Sophia abruptly grabbed my arm, squeezing so tight I prayed I wouldn’t bruise. Her eyes widened in an I’ve-spotted-vintage-Chanel gawk. “Hello, Mr. Deliciously Dangerous.”

  Men were swarming the bar, buzzing around like bees sucking nectar. I couldn’t tell which one she referred to. “Who?”

  “Twelve o’clock, black tux, scotch in hand. Sexy, wavy, slicked-back hair. Good god, he’s gorgeous.” She licked her lips. “He’s got the Henry Cavill look, but somehow even leaner, I think. Damn, men like him shouldn’t be allowed to roam around freely without warning labels.”

  A shiver shot straight through me, but I managed to mutter, “His name is Jameson. I don’t think he resembles Henry Cavill.”

  “He does. Don’t kid yourself. That man is a piece of art, and well-off by the looks of him.”

  “Well-off is an understatement,” I grumbled.

  Sophia and I watched Jameson for a minute, then a cold tip of something poked me on the shoulder, sending a chill down my back.

  We turned to see Khloe cackling at us, finger still suspended in the air.

  “You two should see your faces,” she said between giggles. When she managed to calm down, she asked, “So, how are my two best girls doing?”

  “Well, Eden and I are drooling over tall, dark, and delicious over there.” Sophia angled her head toward Jameson.

  Khloe’s expression went from cheerful to one of pure shock. Placing a hand over her mouth she whispered, “Oh my god—that’s William Winthrop’s son.”

  “Who the hell is William Winthrop?” Sophia blurted out.

  Khloe whacked Sophia’s arm. “Only the richest man in Chicago. He owns WSquared International Developers. They have properties all over.”

  “So does Daddy,” Sophia chimed in. “Big whup.”

  “We’re sitting with them.” Khloe winked at us.

  My chest no longer held a pumping organ. My heart had sunk into my stomach. A swell of nausea rolled in my belly, leaving my head spinning.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” The three of us glanced up at the stage, where a man in a tux fidgeted with the microphone stand as he tried to drop it to his level. “Would everyone please take their seats.”

  I’d succeeded in avoiding Jameson thus far, but of course, with my luck, I not only had to see him tonight, I had to sit with him as well. If anyone ever figured out we’d slept together, all my credibility would vanish. And I’d lose my job. Everyone would think I’d merely worked at Pryce & Leigh as a spy for Jameson. Goodbye corner office.

  I sucked in a breath for the hundredth time; the boob sweat dripping down my torso was a sure sign I needed to get a grip. And fast!

  “Let’s go, ladies.” Locking elbows with both of them, I took the first step toward our table. My goal: remain composed and determined. The Kaleidoscope Building would be mine, no matter what. It would show Mr. Pryce I could take on a multimillion-dollar project on my own. I’d deliver him impeccable work, better than anyone on his staff.

  We made our way through the crowd, zigzagging left and right until I saw the number peeking through the flower arrangement on a black card; three. We’d arrived first. We sat with me on one end, Sophia on the other, and Khloe in between.

  Before I could breathe a word, Jameson and his father materialized at the table. Tall and handsome, they towered over all three of us. I was about to endure an entire dinner with Jameson seated across from me. The memory of his mouth at the crook of my neck sent a prickle right to the same spot.

  Don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on.

  Khloe stood, greeting Mr. Winthrop with a firm handshake. “Hello, William. It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Khloe, it’s always a pleasure. You’ve pulled off quite the soiree. Amazing turnout, and you look stunning, might I add.”

  She gave him a polite smile. “You’re too kind.”

  Jameson held out his hand. “My father speaks highly of you, Ms. Sharp. Nice to finally put a face to a name. You’ve done an outstanding job.”

  “Thank you.” She grinned before turning to me. “This is my good friend, Ms. Black.”

  Mr. Winthrop’s ice-blue eyes were an odd contrast to Jameson’s deep brown, but the two men shared the same dark auburn hair color. How did men do it? Look better with each passing birthday, while women had to use anti-wrinkle creams and work out every day to keep a youthful glow?

  William had on a crisp black tux with a matching black bow tie and a fancy cobalt silk pocket square. He was a titan in the property development circle, incredible at his job, but a complete shit to work for.

  His blue eyes bore into mine. “I think we’ve met before,” he said as he seized my palm, shaking firmly.

  When I stared a moment too long, Khloe cleared her throat, her signal for me to say something. Anything. I gave him a pageant smile, cool and fake. “Yes, we have. Nice to see you again.”

  Tipping his head slightly, Jameson straightened his cuffs and made a point not to shake my hand. “Miss Black.”

  Breaking the
uncomfortable moment, Sophia chimed in with her best ready-to-mingle voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’m Sophia Leigh.”

  She reached for Mr. Winthrop’s hand first, then Jameson’s. Her handshake lingered for one too many beats. The feeling of annoyance crept back into my gut, settling like a sharp rock. Jameson had perked up when Sophia introduced herself, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I felt a twinge of possessiveness and immediately averted my gaze. What the hell is happening? Why do you care? Relax!

  “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Leigh.”

  “Good evening, everyone,” announced Mr. Leigh, who’d come to stand at Sophia’s back. My boss stood near the open seat next to Mr. Winthrop. “I see you’ve all met my daughter.”

  Soph’s dad was a handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair that he always wore neatly combed back. The little crinkles around his eyes made him appear wise.

  Before our butts could warm the seats, an attractive man strolled up. He had a strong, angular jaw and hair that could only be called “effortlessly wild.” His facial scruff and burgundy silk tie were not typical for a black-tie affair.

  Jameson embraced the man in a friendly hug, and Mr. Winthrop followed suit.

  “Davenport—about time.” Mr. Winthrop’s gruff voice turned cheerful. This man was definitely a member from the rival camp at WSquared, or at least a close friend of the family.

  Davenport let out a muffled laugh. “Damn rain had traffic on gridlock. It took the driver forever to get here.” He rounded the table, introducing himself to each individual, a diplomatic networking tactic. When he made it to Khloe, a glint of admiration flashed in his eyes. He reached for her hand, shaking it one too many times. “I’m Charles Davenport. And you are?”

  Khloe blushed crimson. I’d never seen her flush in all the years I’d known her. She cleared her throat. “Khloe Sharp. Nice to meet you, Mr. Davenport.”

  They stood there in a daze, gawking at each other like no one else existed.

  Before anyone answered, Mr. Davenport cocked a brow at the air above my head. I twisted, my gaze shifting gradually upward.

  A dashing man wearing an immaculately pressed pitch-black tux lurked just inches from my chair. His hands accidentally brushed my shoulder, provoking a shiver across my skin. He had a presence about him, one that filled the ten-foot bubble around our table. And his eyes were the most incredible color—a shade I had imagined only the Mediterranean Sea possessed.

  “What do we have here?” He glanced down at me, then quickly around the table. “All these beautiful women. No wonder my brother was eager to sit down.”

  Jameson winked. “Ladies, don’t mind my little brother. He can be a bit rude.”

  “That’s rich.”

  Jameson narrowed his eyes at me. “Excuse me?”

  Holy shit! I said that out loud.

  I glanced around the table. My boss’s eyes pierced through me, each scowl a sharper dagger than the last, while Soph’s and Khloe’s bulged. The panic button going off in my head didn’t help matters.

  You will NOT pass out! Head down. Breathe. Count to ten . . .

  “Calm down, J. R. You’re an ass and she knows it.” Jameson’s brother pulled out the chair next to mine and eased himself into it as Mr. Davenport leaned over to grab his arm.

  “Come to make trouble have we now, Tommy?”

  “Maybe?” His voice plunged mischievously before he shrugged his broad shoulders and gave Charles an artful wink.

  My mortification hadn’t worn off yet. I studied the plate in front of me, trying to count how many career casualties this train wreck would claim, when Jameson’s brother graciously extended his hand. “I’m Tommy Winthrop, and you are?”

  For almost a full thirty seconds all I could do was blink. It was my chance to turn on the charm, redeem myself. What is wrong with me today? Get it together! Finally, I smiled at him, taking his hand. “Eden Black.” The Winthrop men were from quite the gene pool, one where the drop-dead-gorgeous factor was clearly dominant. With Jameson across from me, and Tommy on my left, it was hard to believe I’d come here strictly for work.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I snagged a glimpse of Jameson glowering at his brother from across the table. If looks could kill, Tommy would be a goner. His elbows were propped up and he’d clenched his fists so hard the knuckles turned white.

  Jameson’s gaze shifted and our eyes met. Something about the way he watched me made me nervous. What was up his ass, besides the obvious?

  Tommy leaned in and whispered, “You look lovely, Eden.”

  Jameson scowled even more, and I guessed he’d overheard Tommy’s comment. He pushed his plate away abruptly, hard enough that it clinked against the silverware. The clang ricocheted over the chatter at the table.

  When he addressed Tommy, his tone was ice-cold. “I wouldn’t take a bite of that forbidden fruit if I were you.”

  Tommy gave Jameson a fuck-you glare. I closed my eyes. Shit! Shit! Shit! Shiiiiiiiiit!

  When I opened them, Jameson had picked up his scotch glass and furiously stormed off in a huff, leaving the ballroom entirely.

  I suddenly craved the supernatural ability to become a mouse, if only so I could scurry away without being caught. Instead, all I could do was sit there and smile.

  Breathe. Count to ten. One . . .

  Two . . .

  Three . . .

  Oh, fuck this!

  Without thinking, I threw my napkin in my plate, pushed my chair back, and then strode after the infuriating dickhead. He was not about to get away with acting the way he did in front of my bosses and walk away squeaky clean.

  Chapter Three

  Jameson

  I pinched the bridge of my nose until I thought it would bleed. Fuck! How could I have let her get under my skin in front of all those people? I needed to go someplace quiet, even if only for a few minutes.

  The woman standing at the concierge desk grinned from ear to ear as I approached.

  “Hello, sir.”

  “Hi . . .” I checked her nametag “. . . Miss Jefferies. Is there an empty conference room or meeting suite I could step into for a bit?”

  “It’s not technically allowed—”

  “Maybe you could make an exception, just this once?”

  Miss Jefferies blushed. “I suppose we could, Mister…”

  “Winthrop.” I pulled cash from my wallet and slipped it to her.

  Her eyes went round. “Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Winthrop. I apologize; we can definitely make that happen. The conference room at the end of our East Hall is vacant this evening.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your help, Miss Jefferies.” I threw back the rest of my scotch and handed her the glass.

  “Would you like me to show you the way?” Her voice bubbled with hope.

  “I think I can take it from here,” I said, then I turned, straightened my tie, and headed down the hall.

  A minute later, I stood safely ensconced in the darkness of the conference room. When I ventured farther into the emptiness, my shoes tapped against the marble floors. The only noises besides those made by my Oxfords were the incessant thoughts racing around in my head. Every image, every thought, every nagging breath weighed on me more than a two-ton slab of granite.

  “Shit!” The buzzing in my pant pocket shook me from my sorry sulking. The screen’s glow lit up the room as “Mom” flashed across the display. How did she always know when to call? I swiped right to answer.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Jameson, darling, how are you?”

  I exhaled a huge lungful of air that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back. “Could be better. I’m at the Eco-Developers Foundation event.”

  Mom hummed something under her breath.

  “How are you and Amelia?”

  “Your sister is perfect. Her birthday is coming up.” She paused, her breathing slowing on the other end. “Now, tell me how the miserable ogre is doing.”

  I chuckled. My mother had a
way with words when it came to my father. Ever since the day they split, she’d never hidden her disdain.

  “He’s the same. Maybe a few extra boils and warts, though.”

  “Don’t let William get under your skin.”

  Rubbing my forehead, I said, “It’s not my skin I’m worried about.”

  She cleared her throat. “What’s he done this time?”

  Ruined me, I thought, but answered, “Something I’m not even sure I can even forgive.” I squeezed the phone so tight I heard a faint cracking noise.

  “Come back to New York. There are plenty of development firms in the city who would kill to have someone with your keen sense of business.”

  Christ! I wish. If only she knew . . .

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.” I let out a loud grumble. “I have to go, but I’ll call you later.”

  “All right, darling. Love you,” she said, but the word “love” came out too quietly. The way she said it gave away her concern.

  “Love you, too, Mom. Talk to you soon,” I said, then tapped the glaring red button on my screen, ending the call.

  Could this be any more complicated than it already was? My father had royally dicked me over. What kind of father frames his son for his illegal business deals?

  “Bastard.”

  What I wouldn’t have given for another tumbler full of Blue Label right then. Between the company, our clients, and the shitstorm I’d be in with the FBI if anyone found out what my father had done, I couldn’t take one more thing going south.

  To make matters worse, Eden and I were seated at the same goddamn table for the duration of this godforsaken gala. I shook my head, running my hands over my face.

  How many times had I wished she and I could go back and start over? A trillion and one? No, an infinite number would be more accurate. No amount of time could ever make me forget her. None.

  I leaned back against a wall, knocking my head on the wallpaper behind me. When would I ever get over her? Five years clearly wasn’t enough. Maybe an eternity wouldn’t suffice, either. She’d put a noose around my heart, pulled tight, and refused to cut the rope. I could date a thousand new women, but I would never erase the memory of her. It haunted me.