Lie With Me

by Holloway, Taylor

  I bit back a smirk. Thank god, no. “Coworker,” I corrected. “I’m his coworker. I’ll step out if you like, Cliff.” I started to make towards the door.

  “Nah, stick around,” he suggested. “I don’t care if you hear. This’ll only take a moment. I’m as healthy as a horse.” He looked at the doctor like he was daring him to disagree.

  The doctor didn’t seem the least bit concerned with Cliff’s feelings on the matter. “If you mean a horse with a defective pacemaker, then yes,” he told Cliff. “I’m afraid your echocardiogram revealed some serious issues that we need to discuss.”

  “You’d better be shitting me, son.” Cliff’s tone was the same one he’d use to scold a dog.

  “Mr. Monroe, I assure you that I am not shitting you.” The doctor smiled a thin, very cold smile.

  I liked this doctor. He gave zero fucks about whether or not Cliff liked what he was telling him or not. He’d probably just finished stitching a stabbing victim back together or delivering a baby or something. It was obvious that Cliff’s feelings were just not high on his priority list. He pulled out the results of the test and began explaining them in as simple of terms as I think he was able. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about at all, though it sounded serious. Cliff looked entirely blank.

  Cliff interrupted after a few seconds. “I don’t know where you’re from doctor, but I don’t speak that language.”

  “I’m from Houston, Mr. Monroe.” Dr. Alvarez’s response to Cliff’s casual racism was equal parts displeasure and sarcasm.

  “Well can you break it down for me? Give me the bottom line? I don’t know what you’re babbling on about.” Cliff was still talking a good game, but I could tell that he was starting to become concerned. His pink skin had turned pale and he clutched his hands together across his middle.

  “Certainly. You have heart disease, Mr. Monroe.”

  “I knew that already.” My boss frowned. “It runs in my family. Everybody has it. My dad died of it. Uncle too.”

  The doctor nodded. “And that genetic predisposition likely contributed to your development of the disease. It has also been exacerbated by your obesity, heavy drinking, sedentary but high-stress lifestyle, and use of tobacco.”

  Damn. Dr. Alvarez was really sassy. I guess he’d seen one too many patients with attitude today.

  Even Cliff didn’t seem to have a snappy comeback for that. “Fine. I guess, um, I guess I need to go on Nutrisystem and scale back on the booze. But why does that mean I need to stay in the hospital? Just up my blood thinners and send me on my merry way.”

  “I will be upping your blood thinners, but before we can, as you say, send you on your merry way, we’re going to need to address your pacemaker.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s off.”

  Cliff frowned deeply. “What do you mean, off? They aren’t supposed to turn off.”

  Dr. Alvarez smirked. “And they say I’m the doctor around here.”

  “What do you mean it’s off?”

  Dr. Alvarez looked at Cliff like he wasn’t sure if he was being messed with and then seemed to conclude that Cliff genuinely didn’t understand what he was being told. “Your pacemaker has malfunctioned. It’s no longer working as intended.”

  Cliff frowned. “That’s… that’s bad.”

  “Yes, Mr. Monroe.” Dr. Alvarez looked relieved that he’d finally gotten through to Cliff. “I’m afraid it’s very bad, but entirely correctible. We need to get you home to New York and scheduled for surgery. Your cardiothoracic surgeon will need to remove the defective device and implant a new, functioning pacemaker. These malfunctions are extremely rare, yours is the first I’ve ever seen. We probably never would have caught the problem if you hadn’t been stung by a bee, had a reaction, and put so much stress on your heart.” He shook his head. “You’re actually a very lucky man.”

  I had to wonder whether or not Dr. Alvarez thought that Cliff was undeserving of his luck. I’m sure he saw plenty of people in this emergency room who had bad luck. People that were just going about their daily lives when something horrible happened to them. A terrible accident or an act of violence for example. Dr. Alvarez probably saw lots of innocent, nice people that had done nothing to contribute to the issues that brought them to his ER.

  Then there was Cliff. He’d been doing his level best to kill himself through poor lifestyle choices for the past thirty years. But even swallowing a bee couldn’t kill Cliff. He just kept on ticking. Like a fat cockroach.

  “Well,” Cliff said to me after the doctor departed, “I guess you’ll be on your own for this deal with Stevenson.”

  “I guess so.” I tried not to sound too excited.

  “I hope you don’t screw this up too bad.”

  His faith in me was always so inspiring.

  I smiled at him. “I’ll be fine. You should focus on getting better.”

  Cliff shook his head at me. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

  “Sure,” I told him. “I got this.”

  6

  Rae

  When I got to my hotel hours later, after spending much more time with Cliff at the hospital than I anticipated, the stock certificates were waiting for me. I stared at them in silent dismay. What the hell had I been thinking?

  And what the hell had Lucas been thinking? Assuming these certificates were real, and I would verify with the Texas Secretary of State’s Corporation Division that they were as soon as they opened the next morning, but I was in possession of five percent of a company worth—potentially—several million dollars. They felt almost weightless in my hands, but I knew they were the most valuable things I’d ever touched.

  The stock wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. What was much more valuable to me in the long run was the boost to my career. This stock was just temporary collateral for my peace of mind. The real win would be sealing this deal. And all I had to do was pretend to be Lucas Stevenson’s girlfriend.

  I flopped down on the cushy hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. This was not how I’d expected this day to go. Not even close. When I woke up in my Brooklyn apartment this morning, I could never have foreseen the day turning out the way it had.

  Usually these acquisition trips followed a fairly unremarkable pattern. Our team—usually four people—showed up to meet with the client. Cliff always did most of the talking in these initial meetings. I stood there and answered technical questions, but mostly it was the Cliff show. He would do his song and dance, the client would nod nervously, and then the next day, we would start the real work of valuation.

  The process ordinarily took between two and five weeks of short visits but revolved almost exclusively around meetings and discussions on technical and financial specs. Then, a tense negotiation would end in either a huge celebration because we bought the business or a crushing defeat because either the company proved to be worthless, wasn’t a good investment, or we couldn’t make a deal.

  This time, it wasn’t going to be like that. I held the key to the deal right in my trembling hands. Actually, I was the key.

  All I had to do was pretend to be the client’s girlfriend for a while.

  My head hurt.

  I’d never been a great liar. In fact, truth and facts were my forte. But I was going to need to learn quickly if I was going to deliver.

  Lucas was already on top of his end of the bargain. In my inbox, a message from him to my boss’ boss, the formidable and terrifying CEO of Azure Group, Carla McKenzie, outlined in no uncertain terms that Lucas only wanted to work with me on the deal going forward. According to Lucas’ email, he felt that I had ‘a unique understanding of his priorities and aspirations’ as well as ‘impressive intellectual and negotiation ability’ overall. Although the wording was professional, something about the verbiage felt like a double entendre and left a strange, unpleasant taste in my mouth.

  Meanwhile, Cliff was clearly down for the count. He would need to return i
mmediately to New York for more treatment and might be out of the office for several weeks.

  The net result was that I was now running this engagement myself. Our CFO wrote me personally to congratulate me on my handling of the crisis with Cliff. She clearly indicated that success on this acquisition would mean a permanent promotion for me, complete with a raise, bonus, new title, and corner office. I’d be skipping over the next five years as second-in-command and moving straight into senior management. The thought was as exciting as it was scary.

  Lastly, Michelle—her email to me concluded, and yes, she was using my legal name because she probably had no idea who I was—I want to reiterate how impressed I am with your handling of the unfortunate events with Cliff this afternoon. The ability to find an opportunity within a crisis is very rare indeed. I look forward to seeing how the next few weeks play out.

  You and me both, McKenzie. I read and reread her email until the words were seared into my memory. Just receiving an email from her was a huge step forward in my career. People like me were like drones to her—interchangeable and disposable workers who would never ascend to her level. Even Cliff was a drone, although a slightly higher ranked drone than I was. McKenzie was the queen bee.

  A group text from Annie shook me out of my email hypnosis.

  Annie: What time are we meeting the client tomorrow?

  Rae: Noon. I spoke with Stevenson about the schedule. He’s not an early riser.

  Kyle: I like this guy already. What’s your impression of him?

  Rae: He’s young and independent. Seems very sharp. You know, just your average tech genius turned millionaire entrepreneur.

  Kyle: Never mind. He sounds like an asshole.

  Annie: He sounds very impressive to me. How are his algorithms? As good as they looked in the prospectus?

  Kyle: Lol. Are we still talking about this deal? Or is that girl code for something else?

  Annie: Haha. I meant the matchmaking algorithms for Notable Match.

  Rae: I didn’t get a good look at his algorithms. Not yet. I forwarded you a few things he sent over though.

  Annie: Awesome! Thanks Rae. I’ll check it out.

  Kyle: Do you have a present for me too? Some new financials perhaps?

  Rae: I sent you first quarter numbers this evening. Get some rest guys, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow. If we start at noon, we may not end until eight or nine p.m.

  Annie: Good night!

  Kyle: Thanks for the financials Rae. See you guys tomorrow in the lobby. Eleven thirty?

  Rae: Let’s make it eleven forty-five. His building is only four blocks away.

  Although my texts to the team were confident, and I hoped they sounded competent, I secretly worried that I was anything but. I changed into my pajamas, curled up under the covers, and couldn’t sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lucas Stevenson’s smiling face and heard his cool, teasing voice. He was basically a stranger to me, but he’d taken up residence in my brain like he owned it.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and if I was really, truly honest with myself, I didn’t want to. In my mind’s eye, I could see him clearly: his height, his strength, his humor, the heat in his eyes when he looked at me. Even though he probably only wanted me because I looked like his ex, I knew exactly what I’d dream about that night. And it wasn’t his algorithms.

  7

  Lucas

  I ended up staying at the Lone Star Lounge a lot longer than I intended that evening. After my adrenaline filled meeting with Rae, I just didn’t want to be alone. The activity and light of the bar were a welcome distraction.

  “Was that Rae I saw you with? I met her earlier you know. We bonded over a medical emergency.” Emma zeroed in on me when the patio emptied out and I moved inside to sit at the bar. Her curiosity was obvious. My buddy Ward was at her side cleaning glasses, and he looked over with interest of his own. The evening rush was over and the room was almost empty at this point, so we could actually talk.

  “She’s part of the valuation team for my app.” My reply was factual and succinct. I prayed she’d let it drop and change the subject.

  Emma nodded. “Did she say if her coworker is doing better? I think the other two people that were with them went to the hospital.”

  “Apparently he’s gonna be ok, yeah,” I answered. The fact that Rae’s boss had unexpectedly become ill had been a real stroke of luck for me. I probably would have never had an opportunity to speak to Rae alone like that if he hadn’t. Still, I didn’t want the guy to die or anything.

  “I’m just glad all that went down outside the bar,” Ward chimed in. “The last thing I need is somebody dying in here. Poltergeists are bad for business.”

  “Rae probably saved that guy’s life,” Emma said. “You should have seen her, Ward. She rolled up in here like something out of a Western. Or Terminator.”

  “Since when do you watch Westerns or Terminator movies?” I teased Emma. She was basically the epitome of Ivy League snobbiness. I couldn’t imagine her enjoying Spaghetti Westerns or action thrillers. She’d probably think both Clint Eastwood and Arnold Schwarzenegger were low-brow Teutonic trash.

  “I watch Westworld,” she said innocently. “Same thing.”

  Ward and I exchanged a glance. With effort, I let it slide. She technically wasn’t wrong, and that was progress for Emma. When I met her, she only watched documentaries and news programming.

  “So, is it normal for you to meet members of your acquisition team for an evening drink?” Ward asked. “Because that sounds more like a date than a business meeting to me.”

  I shrugged, forcing myself to look casual. “Well it’s not like I have an office.”

  That, at least, was true. I worked with a handful of independent contractors, one who helped with graphics, and one who did the books, and one who helped me with the routine programming I didn’t have time for. When we did work as a team, which wasn’t often, we met up in the coworking space in my building, the Lone Star Lounge, or my loft.

  “The Lounge is your office,” Ward said. “I ought to start charging you rent.”

  He wouldn’t dare. “I pay rent,” I replied. “In beers.”

  “When was the last time you paid for a beer here?” Ward asked, rolling his eyes so hard he ought to worry they might pop out.

  Come to think of it… “It might’ve been a while,” I admitted. “But you’ve been keeping track of my tab, haven’t you?”

  Ward treated me to another eye roll. “I’m gonna start. And I’m gonna start charging you rent.”

  “Uh Huh. Send me an invoice.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “I’m good for it.”

  “You had better be. Otherwise I might come collect.” He cracked his knuckles in fake threat. I smirked.

  “I’m sooo scared.” In all honesty, if the threat were serious, I would be. Ward was a former NFL player whose second career owning a bar involved occasional stints as a reluctant, but effective, bouncer. If motivated, he could probably be a real threat. But he wouldn’t hit me. We were friends. Plus, I’m too smart to get in a fight with Ward. I’d distract him and then run away.

  “I outweigh you by like thirty pounds. I could knock you into next week.” He tried for menacing and swung wide.

  I made a dismissive noise. “And um how many of those thirty pounds are muscle?” Ward was so easy to tease, it almost wasn’t even fun. Almost.

  “All of them. I’m four inches taller than you— I have to weigh more.”

  “Two and a half inches when we’re both barefoot if I recall correctly.” We’d measured before, back in college. I didn’t care what his Wikipedia page said about him, Ward was six three and not a centimeter more.

  “Your elaborate hairdo doesn’t count as height.” He laughed at me and attempted to reach across the bar to pat my head. I leaned back, out of his grasp, and frowned at him. That was just rude, and not just the part where he tried to pat me like a dog. I didn’t have a
hairdo. This was just my regular hair. It didn’t like to lay flat. I’d surrendered that fight long ago.

  “It’s irrelevant anyway, because I can outrun you.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Ward talked a good game, but he’d absolutely destroyed one of his knees playing football, prompting his early retirement. After multiple surgeries, extensive physical therapy, and lots of time, he was mostly healed up from the injury, but he’d never be able to run very well again. He was lucky he could even walk. In the early days after his injury, we’d thought he’d be in a wheelchair for life.

  “More like a fact.” I gave him a pitying look. Like me, Ward hated to be pitied. It was an easy way to push his buttons.

  “You can outrun me, but you can’t outrun the collections agency.” He sneered.

  “I don’t need to. I’m about to sell my app.”

  “To your pretty redheaded friend from earlier? What was her name? Rain? I’m still not sure I believe that you weren’t on a date.”

  “Rae. And that was a business meeting.” Mostly. Sort of.

  “Looked like a date to me.” He raised his eyebrows condescendingly.

  I shook my head. It wasn’t. I don’t date. Not anymore.

  “What, were you spying or something?” I asked.

  “Dude, I work here.” Ward laughed at me.

  “So why weren’t you working and not spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “You were too.”

  “I was not.”

  Emma set down a pint glass with a loud thump. She sighed dramatically. “Jesus Christ! Stop bickering!”

  We looked over in surprise at her unexpected outburst. I don’t think I’d ever seen her snap like that before. Usually all the snapping at this bar was done by Ward’s sister Kate.

  Ward looked at his fiancée, affecting innocence. “We weren’t bickering. This is just how we talk.”