Ropes of Lies

by Kathy Noumi

  “What exactly am I planning?” I scowled at him.

  “Don’t play fucking games with me, Eden. I told Thompson not to come this morning.”

  Son of a bitch. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Too bad you forgot to tell Mrs. Rodriguez the same.”

  “Are you certain you want to play this game?”

  “I’m certain you’ll lose, Winthrop.”

  His shoulders rose and fell in a quick half chuckle. “You’re so easily riled.”

  I stared him down. “And I wonder how riled you’ll get when Mrs. Rodriguez hears my pitch and convinces the Uptown board their project would be better off in my hands.”

  Jameson tightened his jaw. He mumbled something I couldn’t make out, and then my back was against the wall in one rushed push. His lips surged against mine, and he bit my bottom lip, hard. A shiver ran down my back and burst between my legs.

  He licked my ear, biting the lobe. With his lips hovering over my skin, he murmured, “You wore this fucking dress to tease me, didn’t you? Or did you wear this for Sal?”

  I didn’t reply. My brain had been liquefied, pureed.

  He leaned in, pressing his body against mine. “Answer me.”

  The truth was, I wore the dress to look professional, but maybe a tiny part of my sick, twisted subconscious wanted Jameson to see me wearing it?

  I tried to speak between kisses. “I didn’t . . . think . . . you . . . would be . . . here.”

  He stopped kissing me, pulling his face back enough to gaze at me as he placed a hand against the wall beside my face. “Anything for your career—right?”

  Something in his eyes changed. The beauty I saw a moment ago had vanished, replaced by something darker, more vengeful.

  “If I were a man, would you even think to ask me such a question, you narrow-minded ass?” I snapped.

  “If you were a man, we wouldn’t be standing here.” He shook his head. “Always with that mouth.”

  I glowered at him, tight-lipped.

  “You want me to drop City Net?” he asked suddenly.

  I inhaled deeply. “Wasn’t that point of my visit to your office yesterday?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Let’s make a bet.”

  “Go on.”

  “The race.”

  “What about it?”

  “You get City Net if I lose.”

  “Let’s say for a split-second I was considering this, which I’m not. What do you get if you win?”

  A sly smile crept onto his broodingly chiseled face. “You agree to have dinner with me. At a place of my choosing.”

  Every last molecule in my body started to vibrate, and I knew the thumping in my chest had grown loud enough for him to hear. I gulped in an attempt to clear away the sandpaper suddenly lining my throat. “Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

  He caressed my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You already know the answer to that question.”

  If I did this—correction, if we did this—then I might get City Net back. Or I’d be stuck having dinner with the one man on earth I can’t stand. Could I make sure it was only a platonic dinner? After what we did in his office? After our kiss earlier?

  “Just dinner?”

  “Yes. Well, I’ll promise to behave if you will.”

  “You’re infuriating.” I turned to leave, but he stepped in front of me. “Let me go.”

  He lowered his tone. “I’d be grateful . . .”

  My eyeballs had surely fallen out of my head. Did he—yes, I think he did.

  “Finish your sentence.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He pressed his hand against the door behind my head. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  At first, I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. His words had me reeling. Did this mean that the man I’d known was still in there somewhere?

  “Eden—”

  A ripple of goosebumps swelled over my skin. He used my first name—Jameson hadn’t used that since I couldn’t remember when. I didn’t know what to say. My imagination was running wild, acting out every fury-induced urge I’d wanted to inflict on Jameson.

  Somehow, I managed to open my mouth and emit a barely audible rasp. “We need to head back.”

  “You didn’t give me an answer.”

  I blinked, trying to reason with myself. “I need to think.”

  He dropped his arm from beside my head, stepping closer. His mouth touched the curve of my ear when he whispered, “The race starts soon—there isn’t time. Give me an answer.”

  This had to be a trap. I’d allowed him to get into my head once before, but I couldn’t do it again. There was too much at stake, and furthermore, he seemed too self-confident for my liking. I could barely breathe.

  The tightness in my chest increased with each breath, and it was all because of him. He made me lose my mind. It remained clear I had to stay far away from Jameson or risk everything I’d worked for. The one promise I made myself: never ever let a man come before my career. But could I say yes if only to get my City Net project back?

  He started to slide his palm around my neck, but I maneuvered out of his reach and swiftly exited. Jameson didn’t miss a step when he marched out of the boathouse after me. His heavy strides echoed behind mine, each blade of grass he flattened with his big feet making a cringe-worthy crunch.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “Yes or no? Pick one. It’s easy.”

  I halted, turned, and glared at him. “Yes.”

  A triumphant grin stretched across his face. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “I have no doubt you’ll lose, but if you somehow manage to win, I’ll still get a free meal. It’s a win-win for me,” I mocked, stopping short of sticking my tongue out at him.

  “You’ll enjoy the food, don’t worry.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “You have to win the race first, buddy.”

  He smiled again, this time with all his teeth. “Did I forget to mention I’ve never lost a race?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jameson

  The oar dipped into the smooth, glasslike water, sending ripples outward. Our team’s synchronized swoop was effortless—drop, pull back, and drop again. With quick, fluid motions, we sliced through the water.

  Still, my head wasn’t in the race. Eden’s words gnawed at me, bite by bite, until my brain was raw and my stomach was tied tighter than a sheepshank knot.

  Why did I think going on a date with her would be a good idea? Was I going insane? No, the truth was that I didn’t give a flying fuck anymore; I wanted her, and I didn’t care if it took one date or a thousand.

  Although Sal Thompson was a friend, I would gladly give up his account if it meant I’d have the chance to get under Eden’s skin the way she’d done mine. Poaching her clients wasn’t satisfying enough; we’d played that game until it was worn out. It was time for a new game, maybe on a different playing field altogether.

  No woman had ever been capable of detonating my temper so easily. Half the time, Eden had me harder than a titanium rod, and then the other half I wanted to shout profanities. She was trouble from the moment I laid eyes on her.

  “In two . . . push for ten!” yelled Chase, our coxswain. He was one of the best guys I had ever met, but when he hit water, Chase assumed the role of our coach’s evil minion. He sat at the front of the shell belting out orders until we crossed the finish line, while coach sat idly on the dock.

  I had to focus. We trained for months before the regatta, and letting the other rowers down wasn’t an option. We all shifted into high gear, powering through the ten brisk strokes it took to pass the other boat beside us. The voices in my head were temporarily forced out by the adrenaline. My pulse was thick and fast, pumping at the same speed of our oars.

  There was no feeling in the world like the sensation of rowing. Imagine listening to every thump of a heartbeat, and then seeing the aftershock—that’s how it felt each time the blade touched down
into the water.

  When our sweep crossed the finish line with a measly one-inch lead, the crowd went wild. I was sucked out of my trance and back into the din of yelling, eager onlookers and her.

  Not even our victory could obliterate the images of Eden from my mind.

  Chase called out, “Check it down!” We all squared our oars and stopped the boat while the other team relinquished their jerseys; it was an old tradition for losers to forfeit their shirts after a race so the winners had something to boast about.

  When we were safely back on the dock, our feet planted on its wooden planks, another bellowed command came out of Chase’s mouth. “Hands on . . . ready up!”

  We picked up our shell and lifted the boat above our heads, its hollowed center curving above us as we marched past the crowd. The cheering continued, and we were patted on the back, slapped on the ass, and whistled at while we made our way to the boat drop.

  Tommy, Sophia, and Khloe ambushed me the moment the boat left my hands.

  “So epic, big bro!”

  Eden’s blonde friend, Sophia, smiled her one hundred-watt smile. “Way more fun than it should’ve been. Who knew boat racing could be so exciting!”

  I tried my hardest to keep my eyes off Eden.

  “Great push there at the end,” Khloe said, interrupting my compulsive staring. She glanced over at Eden, who was a few feet away, then back at me. “I hope you know you two aren’t fooling anyone.”

  Her perception left me unsettled. It wasn’t hard to figure out why Khloe was Eden’s best friend. What remained difficult to sort out was why Eden hadn’t told her about us. Was she embarrassed? She didn’t want her best friend to judge her? I could understand it, but I didn’t have to agree or like it.

  “You’re funny,” I replied with clenched fists. “Thanks for the advice.”

  Eden’s teeth were digging into her bottom lip. Rich, my teammate, had trapped her in a one-sided conversation. As the ugly jealousy monster reared his head, I rubbed my neck, taking comfort in the fact that Eden’s gaze was on my bare chest. I’d discarded my shirt after the race, and now her laser-beam focus was making my skin burn hotter than the sun ever had. Rich mouthed something, and she laughed with her full body; that laugh was the thing I missed most about her. It lit her up. She took my breath away when she was angry, but her laugh, it was better than, well, it was better than anything.

  Rich yapped on about rowing. He hadn’t noticed her beautiful laugh, because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to resist her. I needed to get Eden alone. I couldn’t stand Rich wasting another minute of her time. Sidestepping past Khloe, I grabbed a water bottle and cut in on their little powwow.

  “Enjoying the view, Miss Black?”

  She blinked. “Not particularly.”

  “Rich, bud, I think Chase was looking for you,” I said.

  “Yeah, man. Sure thing.” He darted his attention back to Eden, extending his hand to shake hers. “So awesome to meet you. I’ll text you for coffee.”

  She’d spoken to Rich for all of five minutes and still agreed to coffee? It took everything I had in me not to erupt. Before the race we’d made a bet, but even after she lost, she accepted a date.

  Hello . . . balls? Are you still there?

  She could do whatever she pleased, I coached myself calmly. She only promised me one date, and that would be all I needed to ease this craving for her. Once she was out of my head, I could focus on the takeover of WSquared. My plan would work. All I needed was to have her on my terms.

  “What do you want, Winthrop?”

  I rubbed my jaw. “I came over to ask if you were free for our date tomorrow, but you seem busy.”

  “Well, gee—thanks for asking so nicely.”

  “Is there any way you’re free tomorrow, Miss Black?”

  She rolled her eyes. “We can’t go out in public together.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  She adjusted the gold belt at her waist. “I have something to do tomorrow morning.”

  “And after?”

  “I should be done at some point in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll text you around noon.” I hoped there wouldn’t be any objection.

  In her usual I-object-to-everything manner, she replied, “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

  Her eyes locked with mine. They were blazing with something; lust or fear or maybe it was the hate she’d held onto all these years. Maybe even worry?

  I cocked a brow at her. “So bossy.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Her words: snarky. Her chuckle: perfect. I stood there fighting the urge to laugh.

  Then Eden dropped her line of sight, pivoted, and floated away.

  Tomorrow.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eden

  Every fourth Monday of the month started out the same. Wake up, shower, grab coffee at Bean Tree, and then head to Over the Moon, my favorite bookstore in the entire world. It was my happy place, the spot I went to during the one time per month I could be stress-free and relaxed. Vintage books lined the shelves, old-paper smell filled the air, and an air of morning tranquility tucked itself into each crevice. I had stumbled upon the store my first month in Chicago. It was the first time I wouldn’t see my mother for her birthday, so I’d wanted to hunt down a first edition of her favorite book. The mini-mission led me to this secret little shop where I’d spent almost every day off for the past decade.

  I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of aged books.

  “Hey there, Miss Eden. How are you on this lovely Monday mornin’?” the owner, Millie, asked in her adorable Southern accent. She greeted each customer by name. Millie kept her regular customers coming back with her unbelievably helpful attitude and way of treating them like family. Her pure spirit shined through the minute you stepped inside the door. Small businesses failed left and right, but Millie kept going strong. The store had been around for generations. She bought it from an old friend right after college.

  “I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you?”

  “Same ol’, same ol’. I found the copy of This Side of Paradise you asked me for.” She beamed, darting to the locked closet behind the counter that I called her treasure chest because that’s where Millie kept all the special requests and first editions. She pulled mine out and waved it at me.

  I did a tiny fist pump of triumph. “You are seriously amazing. What would I do without you? Or your treasure chest of books?”

  “Never read a good book ever again?”

  We both laughed. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my credit card. While I passed it to her, someone’s arm reached around in front of me and snatched it right out of my hand.

  I whipped my head around. “What the hell do you thin—”

  Jameson’s shit-eating grin met my furious glare. “My treat, and you can’t say no.”

  Oh good Lord.

  He looked downright delectable, like he’d stepped straight out of the pages of GQ. Him in a tailored suit was bad enough, but now I might need divine intervention to keep from banging him right here in this bookstore. Jameson’s fitted, worn-in jeans hung low on his hips in a teasing, you-can-almost-see-my-pelvic-bones way, and he’d paired them with a weathered gray V-neck tee tucked in at the front. It hugged his chest in all the right places, not to mention that his brown leather belt accentuated his slim waist and screamed “Unbuckle me!” I salivated.

  Stop staring. Get ahold of yourself.

  “Millie, do not charge his card.” I blocked him with my arm mostly so I could test his resolve.

  He bent forward, his lips only an inch from my neck. “I think you should let me pay,” he whispered into my ear.

  “I’m a grown-ass woman who makes more than enough money. Do not pay for my book, Winthrop.”

  “All right you two. Enough. Eden, let the man pay—serves him right for offerin’.” Millie’s smirk said it all. The book wasn’t cheap, and she knew it, but Jameson didn’t. She winked at me while ringin
g him up. “It’ll be eight hun’red seventy-seven dollars and sixty-three cents.”

  Millie watched Jameson like she expected a shocked reaction. There was none—he located his wallet, pulled out his platinum Amex, and slid it to her.

  Millie’s jaw dropped, virtually hitting the counter, and I chuckled. The scene in front of me was more than comical. Priceless. Laugh-out-loud funny. What in the world was he doing here? How did he know about this place?

  Without overthinking it, I spoke the first genuine words I’d given to Jameson in five years. “Thank you.”

  He pressed his lips together, grabbed the bag with the book inside, and reached for my hand. As our fingers entwined, a blissful flicker of excitement ran through me. His touch drove me insane. I tried to let go, but he squeezed tighter.

  “Jameson,” I said in a low voice, “someone could see us.”

  “No one we know would come here.”

  I nodded. He was right. My paranoia had gotten the best of me.

  “I see you already have coffee,” he said. “Did you come here to work?” He eyed my giant tote. When he spotted a table in a far corner, he pulled me along with him.

  “No, it’s my day off. I came to unwind, but my plan is now foiled.”

  Our eyes met. He studied me, tilting his head to the side in an inquisitive way that made me antsy.

  “Would you prefer it if I left?” he asked.

  I cleared my throat. “How do you even know this place exists?”

  Jameson hesitated. “My younger sister loves it.”

  “And you so happened to stop by here today of all days?”

  We reached the table. He let go of the tight grip on my hand to pull out a chair for me, and I stood there blinking. Jameson as a chivalrous, generous nice guy was a conundrum, and one I didn’t even know how to wrap my head around. One minute he cons me into a date, then the next he buys me an outrageously expensive book. What alternate universe had I been dropped in?

  He took the seat across from me. “It’s my baby sister’s birthday next weekend and I’m flying to New York to see her. Wanted to pick something up today since I knew I’d be busy all week.”