Ropes of Lies

by Kathy Noumi

  “Not even her?” he said under his breath.

  “Not even her.”

  He slapped my back. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Six

  Eden

  My heels tapped across the lobby floor with a quick pitter-patter. It almost sounded like a woodpecker, pecking, pecking, pecking away. Inhaling deeply, I gripped the large antique brass handles of the ballroom door, straightened the necklace with the tiny gold feather pendant around my neck, and then hauled it open. A few strides later, I rejoined Khloe and Sophia, who were sipping their drinks and chatting.

  Abruptly, a shrill echo struck my ears. Everyone impulsively flinched, some covering their ears to block the sound. Then a tall, awkward gentleman with thick black frames and a square jaw began tapping on the microphone.

  “Hello? Check, one, two . . . Hello and good evening. I’m Lyle Abbot, and on behalf of the Eco-Developers Foundation, I would like to welcome everyone and thank you all for joining us for such a great cause. We’ve got a lot planned this evening, so, without further ado, I’d like to introduce a dear friend, a man who has truly shaped this industry. Please give a round of applause for our guest auctioneer—Mr. William Winthrop.”

  The crowd broke into applause. Mr. Winthrop stood up and made his way toward the stage. The back of Jameson’s head remained stock-still. He didn’t clap along with the crowd. When the applause died down, Mr. Winthrop’s deep voice echoed throughout the room.

  “Thank you, Lyle. That was quite an introduction. How is everyone doing this evening?” He paused for an instant, adjusting the microphone, and then resumed his speech. “It’s a great honor to be the auctioneer this evening. So, let’s get down to it. There’s a long list of items tonight. I’d like to just dig in and start. Here. We. Go.”

  Sophia leaned across Khloe’s lap and whispered to us both, “I want the painting Kathleen Patrick donated. They had it on display at a gallery last month.”

  Tommy eyed Sophia. “You’ve been to the Crystal Moss gallery?”

  Sophia’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Uh . . . yeah. I mean, yes, I have. You’ve been there before?”

  Tommy ran his tongue over his teeth and shot her small, lopsided grin. “It’s a great gallery. A few of my pieces have been shown there.”

  They locked eyes, appearing to forget that other people were around. Their intense energy was broken by Mr. Winthrop’s bellow that the first item up for auction was a pair of three-karat diamond studs donated by a local custom jewelry company called Diamond Days.

  As everyone at the table made small talk, I counted down the seconds until the Kaleidoscope Building was announced. Jameson remained distant, which was a relief. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the stage once, clearly making a point of not turning around. If he had attempted to take a gander in my direction, I would have reached across the table to give him the second slap of the evening. God knows he deserved it. Why did he mention the rules? Did he think we’d pick up where we left off?

  Fuck him. Fuck his rules. Why was he so damn hot? Why did I let him kiss me? Was I losing my fucking mind? Or maybe I had a moment where I wanted him to do some of those bad things to me.

  No! You are not, I repeat, NOT sleeping with him, Eden.

  Over the speaker system, Mr. Winthrop’s enthusiastic auctioneering snapped my attention back. “Our next auction item is very special. Rarely do we auction off property, but it is fitting for such an occasion. We’ll start the bidding for the Kaleidoscope Building at one hundred thousand dollars.”

  Mr. Davenport and Jameson looked at each other. What was that? The Kaleidoscope wasn’t about to go to anyone else. Especially not Jameson.

  This was my chance to show my bosses I could run my own project. I raised my paddle.

  “A hundred thousand dollars. Can I get a hundred and fifty?” Mr. Winthrop said without even a slight flinch.

  Jameson shifted in his seat. The expression on his face was the tell-all kind. His pupils narrowed, his jaw tightened, and the heat of his scowl was fierce enough to set an entire forest ablaze. I should have been wary of his frown, but I didn’t care. The vein in his neck throbbed, which was all the more rewarding for me. I bit back a smirk.

  And there it was, the simmering darkness. The other side of him, one no one really knew. I could only describe it in simple words: an eclipse. Jameson, a burning ball of fire who could be consumed by brilliant black. It’s what drew me to him. The filthy, dirty, dark man he truly was rarely came to the surface. He let me see that side of him once, and while fleeting, I knew it always lingered there, seething beneath the surface.

  Jameson briskly grabbed his paddle off the table and mouthed the two little words he’d used to ignite our feud: “Game on.”

  I narrowed my eyes. He promptly hoisted the paddle into the air.

  I was not about to lose. There was too much riding on this. When Jameson turned back to face the stage, I impulsively raised my paddle, provoking a gasp from both my friends. Under my breath I whispered, “Take that, bucko.”

  Again, Jameson rotated his body around to face me, his eyes flickering with menace, but the dark glare meant to scare me off only fueled my need to win. If he thought he had this one in the bag, he was dead wrong. Without wavering, he lifted his arm, flapping the paddle toward the stage.

  With a bit of disbelief in his tone, his father announced, “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Do I hear three hundred thousand?”

  “J. R., what are you doing?” Tommy asked in a hushed breath. His attempt to be discreet wasn’t effective, but it pinged my brain that something was off, as did Tommy’s furrowed brow and the crinkles around his eyes. I couldn’t figure out what was worrying him—they certainly didn’t need the extra cash.

  “Bidding,” Jameson bit back. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

  I peeked at Khloe, who was observing me like I was her favorite telenovela. “What are you doing, Eden?” she murmured, tilting into my shoulder.

  “Getting that promotion,” I said as I raised the bid even more.

  She lowered her voice even more this time. “You don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I do. I’ll explain later.”

  “We have three hundred thousand. Do I hear three hundred and fifty thousand?” Mr. Winthrop picked up the pace, shouting out numbers like a pro. His words came out rapid and brash, swifter than bullets. He would have made a seasoned Sotheby’s auctioneer proud.

  Jameson didn’t waste a second, firing his paddle into the air. The other guests at the table were holding their breaths, eyes darting back and forth between Jameson and me. Our fiery battle had generated more attention than I’d anticipated.

  Before his father could bellow out the next bid, I stuck my number above my head, hoisting the cardboard above me like a flag for all to see.

  The hum of my blood pumped within me, drowning out the gasps from the crowd. I wanted this so bad I could taste it. A victory over Jameson would be monumentally delectable, particularly one so public.

  Mr. Winthrop named another hefty amount. Jameson scowled at me then twisted, shouting, “I’ll give you five hundred thousand!”

  My chest rose and fell more quickly as the bid grew. Jameson fidgeted with his phone, grinning at me as he took a swig from his scotch glass. We were each determined to win no matter how high the bid went.

  My adrenaline vibrated harder, faster, louder. I leapt to my feet, calling out towards the stage, “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Jameson pushed his chair back, his voice rugged when he barked back, “One million!”

  “One point five million!” I shouted.

  Jameson glared at me, his paddle waving well above our heads. “Two million!”

  “Three!”

  His nostrils flared a second time, and his brow creased into a deep vee, its edges sharper than a knife. “Five million!”

  I would have needed a stack of Benjamins taller than this hotel to match Jameson’s bid, but all
I had was the godawful inheritance my gutless father left me, which came to a grand total of four million twenty-two dollars.

  Six hundred and fifteen days ago a lawyer contacted me. Five hundred and ninety-eight days ago the trust transferred to my name. Since then, the guilt money had sat there, mocking me. I had never intended to touch it, but then this opportunity arrived and I figured it would be for a good cause.

  Five million. I never imaged the bidding to exceed one million, let alone five. Every nerve ending on my body quaked. My skin was raw, burnt, charred. The asshole had me by the throat, and all I could manage was to blink in disbelief. FUCK!

  “Five million going once, five million going twice, five million going three times . . .” Mr. Winthrop waited a few beats before he bellowed, “Sold!”

  Chapter Seven

  Jameson

  Victory was mind-blowing. My hands still shook. My blood still boiled. Even my forehead remained misted with sweat. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could beat the high of a win.

  I was a step closer to gaining control of WSquared, and my father wouldn’t know what hit him. If he wanted to bribe city officials and grease the palms of the zoning committee, he could dig his own grave. I wouldn’t be going down for his fucked-up mess.

  Eden had been collateral damage, but I couldn’t let her have this. I had to clear my name. The Kaleidoscope had once been owned by my father, and he’d used it as a bribe. The proof was in the sealed ownership documents, which I could only obtain if I transferred the deed to my name. The shitstorm that would rain down upon our company because of deals like this could annihilate our family’s empire from the face of the planet.

  People swarmed around me like flies to a bright light, buzzing and circling when all I wanted to do was find one of those electric fly swatters and zap them into oblivion. I tuned it all out. Waving everybody off, I turned around.

  “Miss Black . . .”

  I swallowed the sarcastic comment I’d been about to dish out. Eden had been sitting there a second ago, but now all I saw were the gold spindles on her chair. Dammit. She wouldn’t have left—it wasn’t like her. Or would she? God knows she’s got a temper. I scanned the table for her sparkly bag and her phone with the polka-dot print, but all I spotted was a place card with her name scribbled in fancy cursive.

  Twisting in my seat, I caught a glimpse of her black skirt swishing past the ballroom doors. I frowned as her face flashed through my mind. Not wearing the fun, sizzling expression she’d challenged me with all night, but the one right after my father announced I’d won the auction. Her jaw had dropped, and those gorgeous red lips had parted in astonishment while her blue eyes had stared vacantly at the stage.

  Suddenly, it felt like the building I won was crushing me. I loosened my tie and rubbed my chest in an attempt to ease the burning tension. The rush of adrenaline from winning dwindled faster than a plummeting stock in a recession.

  Running away wasn’t like her. Eden was a force to be reckoned with, a cobra in a den of garden snakes. Dammit.

  Winning should have felt euphoric, the reward for fighting hard, but now I wasn’t so sure. Why did I feel guilty about this? I had won the bid fair and square; I played by all the rules. Eden had pushed back, hard, not giving an inch under pressure. This was typical for us.

  So why the fuck did she run off? I mean, I assumed this was important to her but—No. Stop this shit right now. Did you lose your balls tonight? She fucked you over, remember?

  Only then did I realize I was still gaping at the doorway through which she’d disappeared. Did I expect her to come back?

  Straightening my tie, I reached across the table and took Tommy’s drink, gulping a mouthful of scotch. The smooth malt liquid chilled my insides as it slid down my throat. The lump that had been caught there dropped into my stomach with a loud thud.

  The truth slapped me in the face: I didn’t know Eden the way I used to. Maybe I never knew her at all.

  I headed for the lobby to search for her. When I heard the subtle drumming of stilettos, and my head spun around so fast I was positive my neck cracked. There she was, eyes cast down as she rummaged through her clutch.

  Even with a worried scowl, Eden embodied perfection. The way her brow furrowed when she bit her top lip drove me mad. The way she swayed was sexy as hell. Then there was the subtle roll of the hips. Christ! My dick twitched. I’d been stupid around her since we’d met.

  She was getting ready to leave. A plethora of phrases inundated my mind.

  Sorry I outbid you.

  No.

  You almost had me there.

  I couldn’t say that.

  The clasp on her bag snapped shut, the echo resounding through the lobby. Her gaze slowly traveled up, higher, higher, and then Eden’s eyes met mine. My breath caught, and my pulse accelerated tenfold.

  It was like a switch flipped when she noticed me. A contemptuous swiftness entered her stride as she set her sights on her target: me. It was hot as fuck, and I could no longer breathe normally.

  Don’t let her see you sweat.

  She was only five tiles away now, and I began to sense that familiar current of magnetism. Eden did things to me, things I wished she didn’t. It was hard enough hating her from a distance. Admiring her up close equaled CIA-level torture. It hurt worse than staring directly into the sun without the ability to look away.

  I shot her a smile, not sure what else to do. She bit down on her bottom lip. The plump shape turned a shade of scarlet I’d never been able to erase from my memory.

  My brain ventured to our earlier encounter. Her pressed up against the wall, my mouth on her skin. It took everything inside me to hold back. Instead, I slid my hands into my pockets, forming fists where I hoped she couldn’t see them.

  “Miss Black.” I straightened my shoulders.

  She tugged her earlobe, twirling the earring that dangling there. “Winthrop.” The ease from a moment ago had disappeared. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “Where did you get that kind of money?” I blurted unintentionally.

  Folding her arms over her chest, she rolled her eyes. “We’re all entitled to our secrets, aren’t we?”

  Her eye rolls always triggered a need for her. “Don’t worry,” I snapped. “I’m sure there’s a nice purse you can spend your spare change on.”

  What the fuck is going on with you? Why would you say that?

  A winter storm was brewing in Eden’s glare, and I cursed myself for being such an ass. What was it about her that made me so impulsive?

  “How do you know I didn’t just up your bid for shits and giggles? Maybe I wanted to watch you squirm, then let you spend your daddy’s money.” Eden cocked her brow, shooting me a half smirk. I had to give it to her; she knew how to pick herself up without flinching.

  “I know when I’ve outmaneuvered someone.” I chuckled, cocking a brow back. “You’ll have to practice a little harder to play in the big leagues, sweetheart.”

  Dammit. Why the fuck can’t I shut the hell up?

  Eden flipped me off while sauntering away.

  “I’m sorry. Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  Why? Why the fuck couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Take the high road? Be the bigger man? She messed with my head. She hadn’t succeeded in placing the winning bid on the building, but she had succeeded in breaking my cool. Tonight’s scoreboard read 1-1.

  A husky voice was serenading the ballroom when I returned. It reminded me of Louis Armstrong, whose raspy voice and pain-filled lyrics could heal any aching soul.

  I made my way back to the table through the maze of people. The dance floor was jam-packed, couples swaying, nuzzled in each other’s arms. God, what I wouldn’t give to hold Eden. Wait . . . what? No! I spotted Charles dancing with Khloe in a far corner.

  I took a seat, picked up the fresh glass of whiskey the server left, and threw back a large gulp. When I placed my tumbler back down, the evening’s emcee tapped the microphone. “Last call, l
adies and gentlemen.”

  Tommy sat across from me, fingers tapping away at his phone. I couldn’t bring myself to give him the answers he wanted. My skin crawled, my stomach churned, and yet, somehow, I couldn’t care less about my family drama.

  Eden.

  Eden.

  Miss Black.

  Her face before she scoffed off . . . Like a 1920s silent movie, the memory of her leaving played in slow motion, over and over, infinitely repeating. She was pissed—the understatement of the evening—but I’d never get over how provocative she could be in her resentment. I craved her more than life itself. Somehow it didn’t matter how long ago our relationship had been or how we could never tell anyone about us because of our jobs. One fact would never change: I wanted her but couldn’t have her.

  I had to get the fuck out of here. Now. When I finally made it through the revolving doors, the smell of wet, soggy pavement slapped me in the face. The valet attendant’s unflattering poncho signaled the rain hadn’t eased up. I reached inside my suit pocket, pulled out the ticket for my car, and handed it to the gentleman.

  Thirty minutes later, my phone pinged while I was on I94. Donna’s name flashed across the screen in red for the second time. Shit.

  I clicked the speaker in the car to hear my assistant’s voicemail.

  “Mr. Winthrop, a Mr. Sal Thompson called the office this evening several times. He said it was urgent and needed to speak with you immediately, no matter the time. I’ve sent you an email with all the information. Have a good night.”

  Pulling into the driveway of my Lake Forest home, I scanned the clock on the dash. Midnight. After punching in the numbers at the call box to lift the gate, I parked, turned the engine off, and threw my head against the cushion while silently wishing I could knock myself out until morning.

  I knew Sal from Delbarton Prep, our private high school. He was a year ahead of me, but we both rowed, so I met him on the first day of tryouts. What the hell did he want so urgently? I pulled the phone from my breast pocket as I entered through the side door. Kicking off my shoes, I dialed the number Donna had sent in her detailed email.