#1 Lie

by T Gephart

  Dave tilted his head to the side, his acting talent getting a workout. “Huh, is that so? Welcome back. I’ll go put some clothes on.” He turned to his brother. “Get whatever.”

  He disappeared down the hall to where I assumed his bedroom was, shutting the door with a slam.

  Nick rolled his eyes, offering an apologetic smile. “I told you he was moody, you good with sausage?”

  “Yeah, whatever is fine.”

  If I were a normal person, I would have assumed from Dave’s frosty reception that he wasn’t pleased to see me. Of course, I wasn’t a normal person so I wasn’t about to take the hint. Instead I was intrigued, curious to see how the night panned out, like an experiment in torture or something.

  Nick gave the phone his attention, ordering pizzas while directing me to go grab some drinks from the kitchen. Which I was more than happy to do considering it gave me the chance to explore Dave’s habitat and generally be nosey. Not sure I was going to find any answers behind the condiments, but it beat sitting in the living room waiting to see if his mood had improved.

  “Looking for something?”

  My head snapped up when I heard the voice behind me. My interest in the fridge and trying to decipher which of the ten different varieties of beer would best suit pizza was no longer important.

  Thankfully he was dressed, hiding that delicious body of his in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, which would hopefully reduce the temptation. Not that I didn’t know what was underneath, my brain being an asshole and filling in what we couldn’t see.

  My eyes shot over his shoulder, checking to see if we were alone. “If you want me to go, you should just ask me to go.”

  “Did I say I wanted you to go?” He bent down, reaching across and grabbing three beers, his body just barely touching mine.

  “No, but I would hate for you to have to put up with an asshole director all night.” I stood defiantly, the refrigerator door still open while I dared him to deny it.

  He laughed unapologetically as he twisted the caps off the bottles and handed one to me. “Well that’s just part of the job now, isn’t it? Not complaining while I stand there, look pretty, say my lines and then leave.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low. “You knew there was a plan. We had to stick with it.”

  “Yeah, the plan. It was just a job, wasn’t it? My mistake.” He took a long pull from his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the liquid traveled down his throat. It was as if he was trying to be intentionally sexy, teasing me with what I no longer had a right to have.

  “Actually, about that.” I dug out the check I’d stuffed into the pocket of my denim jacket. “I didn’t have a chance to give this to you before, but here.” I held it out in my fingers.

  His eyes dropped to the paper, reading what it was and then flashed back to me. “Are you fucking kidding?” If he’d been frosty before, he’d turned down right icy now, the bones in my body chilling from his glare alone.

  “Look, I know it’s not a lot and you deserve more. And I will reimburse you any other additional costs—”

  “Keep the fucking money,” he sneered, moving closer and lowering his head so his face was inches away.

  All I had to do was reach up and I’d be able to kiss him but I didn’t dare, too worried he wouldn’t kiss me back. I may have made the biggest mistake in my life, but I still had my pride.

  “Yo, what’s taking so long on those drinks?” Nick called from the living room.

  “Be there in a minute,” I shouted back, quickly shutting the fridge door and grabbing another bottle from Dave.

  I strode out to the living room, settling back on the sofa and handing Nick his beer. I didn’t bother drinking mine, setting it down on the coffee table as I pretended to be interested in the conversation.

  “So how’s the break? I’d have thought you would have taken a vacation after wrapping for the season?”

  Dave joined us, drinking his beer as he turned on the television.

  Nick ignored Dave who was channel surfing, taking a sip from his bottle before answering. “Jeremy is trying to get me a part in this movie while we’re on hiatus. I didn’t want to take off until I knew if I had a chance.”

  “Hmm.” I nodded, trying to concentrate on the words he was saying while pretending to ignore Dave. He could have literally told me he was giving up acting and joining a circus, and my response would have been the same.

  He shrugged leaning back into the sofa. “Anyway, no point talking about it, it’s either going to happen or it isn’t.”

  “How very pragmatic, brother.” Dave laughed.

  I hadn’t meant to turn my head, deciding the best course of action was to pretend he was invisible. But the minute I’d heard his voice, my head rotated all on its own, like a homing beacon had been activated.

  “Well that’s a good way to be,” I offered. “I don’t think half the directors in Hollywood know what they want anyway. Hopefully they’ll see reason soon enough.”

  “Interesting concept.” Dave stroked his chin, giving it some consideration. “Directors are generally self-centered pricks, so there isn’t a lot of room for reasoning.”

  Ouch.

  “Well, some directors have a really tough job,” I spat back defensively. “It’s not as easy as it looks. If it were, then everyone would be doing it.”

  Dave threw his head back, his body shaking as he laughed. “You’re a riot, Jess. Seriously, no wonder Jeremy loves you. You can sprout bullshit and sound convincing doing it.”

  “Dude.” Nick shot his brother a look of irritation. “I know that gig in Dallas was shit, but it’s not Jess’s fault.”

  Nick couldn’t have known.

  Known that it was exactly my fault and I was the reason his brother had such a terrible time in “Dallas.” I was the asshole he was mad at.

  “You’re right. No one held a gun to my head, and I should have left.” Dave’s feet dropped to the floor and he stood up. “Let me know when the pizza gets here, I’m going to run lines in my room.” He turned, taking his beer and strode down the hallway away from us.

  Nick shook his head, rolling his eyes at his brother’s behavior. “I always thought Roman was pricklier, but Dave is giving him a run for his money at the moment. Try not to take it personally, he probably just needs to get laid.”

  Great.

  Because I didn’t have enough anxiety, I needed to think about Dave having sex with someone else as well.

  And as much as I wanted to go down that hall and ask him why he was so upset, I couldn’t. Because I had no right to. We’d had a friendship and I had ruined it. Possibly even making him feel used when I’d hired him to be my boyfriend. What was worse was that I blurred the lines by sleeping with him and kissing him. And not because I didn’t want to do those things—because I did—but I’d wanted him to know he’d been doing them with me. Not Jessica his costar or the idiot who’d hired him, but me, the person who had fallen so head over heels for him she was scared to even admit it to herself.

  “So how is Roman doing?” The option to change the subject too tempting to resist.

  Nick’s face lit up, excited to talk about his older brother. “Can you believe he’s getting married? At first I assumed there was something wrong with her because who in their right mind would marry Roman? But no, she’s brilliant and beautiful and just unlucky enough to fall for my brother.”

  I sighed wistfully, the change in subject not going to plan. “You know, they say that you don’t really choose who you fall in love with. Love chooses you.”

  “Pfft, sounds like a load of bullshit if you ask me. Meh, whatever, as long as everyone is happy, who gives a shit. I’m in no hurry.” He took a sip from his beer and turned up the television, his smirk widening. “One of Eric’s movies is on, we should watch and live tweet it. It drives him fucking insane.”

  I shook my head, turning to the screen as the opening credits rolled. “Tweeting is for suckers, l
et’s Snap it instead.”

  “Fuck yeah.” Nick clinked his bottle against mine and grabbed his phone.

  It was a distraction, and one I was desperate for. Hoping the silliness would get my mind off love, my gran and all things Dave Larsson, I gave Nick my full attention. It was a good excuse to stay and I’d even managed a real smile or two.

  Dave emerged when the pizza arrived, surprising us both by sticking around. While I assumed he would have snagged a couple of slices and disappear again, he didn’t, watching me as I joked with Nick.

  Eric sent us a bunch of eye roll and middle finger emojis, but overall was a great sport about our online shenanigans.

  Dave wasn’t so accommodating. He didn’t speak, just watching us curiously while Nick remained oblivious to the heated glares Dave tossed my way.

  And I had no idea what those heated stares meant, if it was anger or jealousy. Surely he didn’t think I’d moved on to his brother.

  Or was it lust that simmered beneath.

  Because as pathetic as it sounded, I couldn’t turn that part off.

  Even though what had been between us was so much more than sex, when he looked at me the way he did, it had the power to undo me.

  Even if he hated me, I still wanted him.

  Clearly I was a glutton for punishment.

  THE WEEK HAD BEEN A busy one. Not only had things been hectic at work, but I also made sure I called Gran every opportunity I got.

  She was still with us, insisting there was nothing wrong despite a decline of her organ functions. It was only after a conversation with my mom that I got the truth, the doctor saying it was only a matter of time. Of course, Gran continued to believe she was fine. Even though her body was slowly giving out, her spirit was still fighting. She’d joked that as the only one of her grandkids still single, she was holding out for me to find my other half. And I’d have stayed single forever if it meant keeping her around.

  But even burying myself in distractions couldn’t make me forget about my date with Dave on Friday night.

  I’d assumed our date for Jimmy Ferrara’s opening was still on given he hadn’t called to cancel. But then again, he hadn’t called to confirm it either.

  More to the point, he hadn’t called for any reason.

  Which was why on Friday evening, when I was sitting around my living room in a black cocktail dress and heels, I almost expected to be stood up. I wasn’t even angry about it, knowing that I was probably the last person he wanted to see, even if our date was supposed to be professional.

  We hadn’t even discussed if we were meeting at my apartment or his, or at the gallery—the plan completely hinged on a commitment made over a month ago, and then casually mentioned last weekend. It was stupid to even expect he’d remember, let alone want me to still go.

  Deciding to swallow my pride, I grabbed my clutch, locked my apartment and went down to the courtyard where my Lyft driver was waiting. I reasoned that I wasn’t driving so I didn’t have the hassle of trying to find a parking spot. Because hoping he might drive me home and giving me the opportunity to talk was even too tragic for me to think about.

  The driver did his best to make small talk, probably assuming I was the rudest customer alive when I returned his efforts with one-word answers. My nerves were wound too tightly to talk; the mental energy required to maintain a conversation being used to calculate how long I should stand outside the gallery like a loser before I went home.

  “Thank you.” I opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk, my arrival in an ordinary car getting some serious side eye from the valet.

  The beautiful people had already started to roll up, black shiny limos spewing out women in evening dresses and men in tuxedos.

  “Do you have a ticket, ma’am?” A man—who was older than dirt—dressed in livery looked at me like he knew I didn’t have one.

  Pushing my shoulders back and refusing to be intimidated, I responded, “I’m waiting for a friend.”

  Done thumbing his nose at me, Old Man River gave his attention to other guests, making his face crack with smiles as he directed them inside.

  “Something on fire?” A suited-up Jeremy looked at me with concern. His wife, Hilary—who was decked out in more Harry Winston than a Fifth Avenue window—hooked her arm around his as she shook her head.

  “Jeremy, you promised.” The words barely audible from the caged teeth of her fixed smile. “At least pretend you’re not working tonight.”

  She was a smart woman and knew the score with events like the one she was about to step into. They were more about networking than about any of the art on the wall.

  “I’m here for pleasure,” I lied, smiling like I wasn’t skulking around the doorway like a thief.

  “Good for you.” Hilary gave me a reassuring rub on the arm. “If Jeremy had his way, I’m positive you’d be chained to your desk. And thank you for my anniversary present last month, you have excellent taste.”

  Jeremy laughed nervously, tapping his wife’s hand. “What are you talking about, honey? I went to Tiffany’s myself.”

  “It was Cartier.” She rolled her eyes. “And I know it wasn’t you.”

  While being pulled into a domestic dispute on the sidewalk sounded like a good way to pass the time, I resisted. Instead I gave some bogus explanation that she calmly accepted, smiling even though she knew it was horseshit. I should probably look into some kind of meetings for Dishonesty Anonymous; the lies I’d told recently far outweighing the truth.

  Jeremy and Hilary disappeared—like all the other people of note—through the double glass doors under the guise of getting their culture on. While I stood outside looking a high-priced hooker, checking the time on my phone and counting down the hour I had mentally agreed to wait. I figured an hour would be reasonable, giving him the chance to show, without totally decimating my self-esteem.

  The hour was almost up when I stepped away from the door. I was undecided if I was glad or sad that he hadn’t showed, resigned that the outcome was one I had expected. My finger hovered over the app to book a ride when a sporty black BMW pulled up. Dave stepped out in a designer suit—no tie with the buttons popped on the shirt—and handed the valet the keys.

  “I went to your apartment.” He kept his eyes on me as he strolled over to where I was. “I wasn’t sure if you were dodging me or had gone out.”

  He smelled good, the freshness of his cologne all-encompassing as he moved closer.

  I tossed my phone in my bag, trying to act like I wasn’t about to leave or doubt that he would show at all. “I assumed we were meeting here.”

  His hand went to my lower back, leading me back to the door. “Perhaps I should have clarified.”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that clarifying would have meant talking to me, which he didn’t seem too enthused to do. So instead I smiled smugly at the old dude at the door as Dave flashed our tickets.

  My skin electrified as he pressed his palm to my back. Even through the fabric of my dress it tingled, my body seeming to forget that the casual touch was all we were going to get. But ignoring that logic, I—as discreetly as humanly possible—leaned back into his touch to allow maximum contact.

  “Champagne?”

  We were greeted by a waiter balancing a tray of tall crystal flutes. Thankfully he was about five decades younger than his buddy at the door and seemed to be in a better mood, managing a smile as he offered refreshments.

  I was just about to reach for a drink and tell him not to go too far when Dave snagged two glasses, thanking him before passing one to me.

  He lifted his glass in a wordless toast, bringing it to his lips as he swallowed.

  I hated the uncomfortable silence.

  Wishing he’d say something—anything—to me, but likewise worried anything I said was going to be embarrassingly emotional.

  And it was only going to get worse unless I thought of something fast.

  “Julian Schubert is by the large red canvas.” My head tilt
ed in the direction of the huge red painting as I took a sip. I’d hoped by slipping into professional mode I could avoid a mental breakdown in public and stop myself from asking him to love me.

  Because that would make sense.

  Dave turned casually, spotting the popular director by the large abstract. “He won’t even consider me for work. He once called me a poor man’s Eric Larsson,” he said with a chuckle.

  “He loves your brother.” I tried not to laugh while secretly being elated he had said more than five words to me. “But he’s big on first impressions. He once hired a guy who washed his car because he thought he had the right look for a movie. The man had zero acting experience, but Julian couldn’t be swayed.”

  Dave’s eyebrow rose, shifting his gaze back to me. “So what am I supposed to do? Go over there and ask to wash his car?”

  “No.” I shook my head, knowing it would be the only chance he’d probably get close to Julian in a social situation. “His wife died a month ago, but it’s not public knowledge. He bought her a Collie last Christmas, Roger, who for all intents and purposes is their child. He’s a sucker for pet talk and could literally spend hours telling you about the new jacket he bought for his dog. If I were you, I would casually mention how Jimmy Ferrara started off painting puppy portraits at Central Park. I bet that would not only get his attention, but engage him as well.” I looked over at Julian who was ignoring almost everyone around him. “It’s not like you have anything to lose.”

  His brow furrowed, narrowing his eyes. “How do you know all that?”

  “I work for Jeremy, it’s my job to know.” I took a sip from my glass, hoping the champagne would make me less jumpy. “Go, that’s why we’re here, right?”

  He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Yeah, that’s why we’re here.”

  “So go, I don’t need to be entertained. I’m just going to wander, look at the art and ooh and ahh like I know what it all means.” I waved my glass in the direction of the paintings.

  He nodded but seemed to hesitate, not moving from where he was standing.

  “It’s okay, Dave, honest.” I nudged him with my shoulder. “Go.”