Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 1)

by Lauren Rowe

  Whoa. That’s quite a tip on top of what Reed’s already paid me tonight. Thanks to him, I’m already having the best night of tips of my life, by far. And I’m grateful for it, of course, given the medical bills stacked on my father’s kitchen counter. But I’m also wary. Does Reed think he’s finding my “price” with these tips—and bribing me with it? If so, he’s dead wrong about that. If I decide to go home with him tonight, or any night, it won’t have anything to do with his financial generosity.

  I get to work on filling Reed’s ten-drink order, slowly, while he settles onto his bar stool and chats me up. About ten minutes in, when I slide the fifth drink of his order across the bar, Reed finally makes his move. “Hey, do you think you could get out of here a couple hours early?” he asks. “I’d really like to spend some time alone with you tonight, but I’m flying to New York first-thing tomorrow, and I’ll be gone for a week. The thought of waiting that long to get you alone is torturing me.”

  Holy shit. My mind is racing and my heart pounding. I want to say yes, despite all the “good girl” reasons I probably shouldn’t. And not simply for the chance to give him Alessandra’s music in private, but because... holy hell, I want to have sex with this sexy, arrogant man! But, unfortunately, that’s a moot point because I truly can’t leave my shift early.

  “Sorry, I can’t leave early,” I say, pouting. “I wish I could.”

  Reed’s face perks up. “Is that true—you genuinely wish you could leave early and come home with me? Or did you say that simply to be polite?”

  I bite my lip, realizing I’ve just given up the ghost. “I wasn’t being polite,” I admit. “I’d genuinely love to leave early and go to your house tonight, but I truly can’t. I guess we’ll just have to get together after you get back from New York. It’s too bad, but unavoidable. I won’t get out of here until around two thirty, and it sounds like you have to get to the airport pretty early tomorrow.”

  Reed’s jaw muscles pulse. He takes a long gulp of one of the drinks I’ve laid before him and shakes his head.

  “What time do you have to leave for the airport?” I ask hopefully, on the off-chance we could make tonight work.

  “Five, at the very latest.”

  I grimace. “Yeah, tonight definitely won’t work, then. We wouldn’t get to your place till three, and then you’d have to shove me out the door at four thirty. No, thanks. I’m up for a meaningless good time with you tonight, no strings, but, still, that’s way too big a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am for me. At least for our first time.” I slide another drink across the bar and hold my breath, hoping Reed will try to convince me I’m wrong. But, no, Reed remains unusually quiet, looking deep in thought.

  “Are you going to New York for business or pleasure?” I ask, simply to break the awkward silence.

  He takes a sip of his drink. “Both.”

  I force myself not to frown at that answer. Both. Surely, the personal “pleasure” part of Reed’s trip will involve him hooking up with a gorgeous woman. Or two or three. Probably some glamorous model or actress. Shit. It’s suddenly dawning on me: if I don’t go home with Reed tonight, due to time constraints, and he then flies off to New York to party with rock stars and fuck supermodels this entire week, he’s going to forget I ever existed. And where will that leave my lady-boner? With blue balls, that’s what.

  But, more importantly, what would that mean for Alessandra? If I miss out on sexy times with Reed, because I wasn’t willing to subject myself to a lightning-fast one-night stand, I’ll cry into my pillow at the lost opportunity for a night or two. But I’ll live, and eventually find myself another hottie to screw. A hottie as sizzling as Reed? Not bloody likely. But, still. I’ll survive. But if I miss out on the chance to quite possibly make my stepsister’s lifelong dreams come true, simply because I didn’t want to rush some no-strings sex with Reed, I’d never forgive myself.

  Out of nowhere, Reed lets out a tormented sigh. “Okay, look, Georgie. There’s no way in hell I can wait a full week to get you alone. I respect everything you’ve said about not wanting to rush things tonight. In fact, I couldn’t agree more. You’re not a woman I want to rush anything with, believe me. I want to be able to explore every nook and crevice of your body for hours and hours.”

  I blush. Whoa.

  “But I wasn’t kidding: waiting a week might physically kill me.” He looks at a clock on the wall, so I turn to look, too. It reads a few minutes until eleven. Reed says, “What if you could get off tonight in an hour—at midnight? That would give us over four hours together. Still, not enough, but certainly better than the alternative. What if I could arrange that, and promise you won’t piss anyone off by leaving early and won’t miss out on a single dollar of tips. Would you say yes to doing that tonight—to being my naughty Cinderella at the stroke of midnight?”

  He’s rendered me speechless. Confused. Frozen. Turned on.

  Smiling like a shark smelling blood, Reed leans forward. “If I could arrange all that at the stroke of midnight, my sexy Cinderella, would you say yes? Would you say yes to letting me take you to my house to do every filthy fucking thing imaginable to your gorgeous body for four non-stop hours?”

  Hell yes. That’s what I’m thinking. Hell to the freaking yes, Reed Rivers. Do all the filthy things to me. Bring it. But that’s not what I say. No, somehow, I manage to keep a straight face and reply, “No, I don’t think I’d say yes to an offer like that.” Much to my delight, Reed’s face falls. Which is when I lean forward, lick my lips, and say, “You should already know me better than that by now. If given an offer like that, then I’d follow your explicit instructions from the lecture. I’d say exactly the thing you told me to say to you, whenever opportunity came knocking. I wouldn’t say yes to you, Mr. Rivers.” I wink. “I’d say, ‘Yes... yes... yes.’”

  Chapter 10

  Reed

  As Georgina walks away to process my credit card, Josh’s unexpected voice at my shoulder jolts me. “What the hell happened to you?” he says. He elbows his way to an open spot at the bar next to me. “You were supposed to be getting us drinks, dumbass.”

  “And I did exactly that.” I motion to the astonishing array of beverages before us on the bar. “Take your pick, my friend. They’re all ours.”

  Josh laughs. “What the fuck?”

  “Take a look at the bartender and all will become clear.”

  Josh glances to where I’ve indicated and immediately rolls his eyes. “I should have known.”

  “It was the only way I could get her to stand here talking to me for more than two minutes.”

  Josh surveys the concoctions in front of us. “What’s what? It’s like a box of chocolates.”

  “Yeah, you kind of have to taste them to figure it out.”

  He picks up a martini glass. “This looks safe.”

  “Since when are you ‘safe’?”

  “Since I’ve been waiting for a drink for fifty fucking years and I’m thirsty. Is this gin or vodka?”

  “No idea.”

  He takes a sip. “Gin. And it’s good.” He takes several gulps. “You’ve seriously sat here flirting with her this whole time?”

  “No, not this whole time. Before this stool opened up, I stood here flirting with her.”

  He glances at Georgina again. “She looks exactly like T-Rod when she first started working for me. I’m assuming that’s a big part of her allure for you?”

  T-Rod. It’s a reference to Theresa Rodriguez, Josh’s longtime personal assistant who’s now a part-owner with Josh and T-Rod’s husband on a chain of bars. A woman I’ve wanted to fuck since I first saw her ten years ago, when she was a twenty-one-year-old college grad and I was a twenty-four-year-old founder of a brand-new record label. And he’s absolutely right: Georgina looks strikingly like her, although I hadn’t made the connection until Josh pointed it out.

  “She could be T-Rod’s little sister,” Josh says. “Emphasis on the word little. How old is she?”

  “
Almost twenty-two.”

  “Cradle-robber.”

  Smiling, I bring my glass to my lips. “She can vote, get a tattoo, buy cigarettes and liquor in all fifty states and weed in Washington and California. What more does a person need to be considered a full-fledged adult, other than all that?”

  “Well, for starters, she could live in something other than student housing.”

  “If she can join the military and get permanently inked without her parents’ consent, that’s good enough for me. She’s an adult.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, old man, if it helps you sleep at night.”

  “Weirdly enough, ‘sleep’ isn’t the thing that keeps popping into my head whenever I look at her.”

  Josh drains the rest of his gin martini. “Is she a spitfire, too—just like T-Rod? How close a match is this, you fucking sicko wack job?”

  “Yeah, she’s a spitfire. She’s already bitch-slapped me pretty good a few times. I deserved it, by the way.”

  “Of course, you did.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re so predictable. Whenever you hear the word no, in any context, you do whatever it takes to get to yes.” He smirks. “Even if it means finding an uncanny double for the one woman in the world you wanted desperately but couldn’t have.”

  Is he right about that? Have I been losing my mind over Georgina because she subconsciously reminds me of T-Rod—and I’ve got a score to settle? Or do I simply have a type—and Georgina is the most glorious version of it I’ve ever beheld in my entire life?

  Unfortunately, “no” was the final answer in regards to my desire to fuck T-Rod. She’s the Argentinian who got away, and always will be. Not emotionally, of course. I barely know the woman. But, God, how I’ve always wanted to experience her. And now, sadly, thanks to the rock on her finger and the babies who call her mommy, I never will.

  My fascination with Theresa—you might even call it a low-key obsession—started the minute I met her. She was the highly organized, straight-laced twenty-one-year-old sent to Josh by a temp agency. And the minute I saw her, I wanted her. In fact, when I first saw T-Rod, I distinctly remember feeling like a nuclear lust-bomb had gone off inside me. The same thing I felt when I saw Georgina today.

  Georgina.

  Oh, God.

  With T-Rod, it wasn’t meant to be. Josh proclaimed her off-limits out of the gate—and not just for me, but for himself, too, and for all his friends—and by the time I decided to disregard his stupid proclamation, T-Rod’s future husband was in the picture and my window of opportunity had decidedly slammed shut. But, this time, with sexy Georgina, she’s not Josh’s employee. Not his honorary little sister. And there’s no would-be future-husband cockblocker slamming the door in my face. No, this time, with Georgina, it’s smooth sailing for me to get to yes, yes, yes... In fact, there’s not a doubt in my mind I’ll be sinking myself inside her tonight—blissfully riding her, and myself, to four hours of heaven tonight.

  “Aren’t you about a decade too young to be having a midlife crisis?” Josh says, pulling me out of my reverie.

  “Actually, my brain keeps saying that exact same thing. But, apparently, it seems other parts of my anatomy are running the show.”

  “Just be careful. The young ones fall hard.” He snickers. “Probably because their brains aren’t fully developed yet.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Seriously, though. Tread softly, Rivers. I’m sure she’s got huge stars in her eyes when she looks at you. You’re gonna be able to manipulate her way too easily, so don’t.”

  “She doesn’t seem starry-eyed or manipulatable at all. I saw her earlier today, at that panel thing, sitting in the audience. I flirted my ass off from across the room for an hour and made it clear I wanted her to hang around afterwards and wait for me to get through my line, but she left anyway. I think that’s what I like most about her—that she’s willing to walk away. So rare these days.”

  Josh scoffs. “Sure, that’s what you like most about her, you sick fuck. Clearly.”

  He indicates with his chin, where, at this moment, Georgina is bending down to grab something off a low shelf, gifting us with an insane view of her ass.

  “Well, that and a few other things,” I concede.

  Josh laughs and sips his drink. “Is she a music student?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. She claims to be a journalism student, graduating next week. She said she went to that event today to meet CeeCee.”

  “She claims? She said?”

  “I just think there’s probably more to the story than that.”

  “Careful, Reed. Your paranoia is showing.”

  “I dunno, man. My gut keeps telling me she’s got an agenda. Maybe she’s a model on the side, and she’s got her sights set on starring in RCR’s next video. Or she’s a dancer who’d ditch her big journalistic dreams in a heartbeat to back up Aloha on her next tour. I have no idea. All I know is, when I saw her at that event today, she zeroed in on me awfully fast, and came on like gangbusters. She’s way too confident, and way too flirtatious with me, not to have an angle.”

  Josh shakes his head. “She zeroed in on you? Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around, player?”

  I shrug. “No, I’m not sure. That’s my point. I’m usually sure when I’m the hunter, versus the hunted. With this girl, I don’t know which way is up—who’s got the upper hand. Who’s got the bow and arrow. She’s giving me whiplash in the best possible way.”

  Josh rolls his eyes. “Then enjoy it. No need to analyze it.”

  I sip my drink. “Oh, I’m enjoying it. Tremendously. But, still, my gut feels like she’s got something up her sleeve.”

  Josh shrugs. “Maybe she thinks you could put in a good word for her with CeeCee.”

  I sip my drink. “Yeah, that could be it.”

  “If it’s anything at all. Maybe, just maybe, she’s a twenty-one-year-old journalism major who went to an event to meet CeeCee and unwittingly hooked a huge marlin on her line, when she hadn’t even gone there to go marlin fishing. Maybe she’s elated to catch the eye of a rich baller, who’s not half-bad looking, who can take her backstage to meet Red Card Riot or Aloha Carmichael or 2Real or 22 Goats, any time he wants. Not to mention, take her to the best parties in town. And the best restaurants. Or to Paris on a whim. You’re an exciting guy, Reed. To any woman. But especially to a kid like her.” He claps my shoulder. “Stop being so fucking cynical. Not every woman in Los Angeles is looking to exploit you for professional gain. Some of them want to exploit you for your money, hot body, access to parties and private aircraft, and backstage passes.”

  I laugh. “You’ve gone soft on me, Faraday. Before Kat, you were even more paranoid than me about women’s ulterior motives. You were a gold medal athlete in the sport of sniffing out gold diggers. We were brothers in paranoid arms, remember?”

  “Yeah, before Kat, I was a paranoid asshat who didn’t know the true meaning of happiness and wouldn’t have known unconditional love if it bit me in the ass. So don’t make my paranoia sound more glamorous than it was.”

  “Oh, for the love of fuck. Not this again. You swore at Henny’s wedding you’d never again torture me with another speech about Kat ‘saving you from—’”

  “Thanks again for the generous tip, Mr. Rivers.”

  It’s Georgina, standing before us with my credit card and receipt.

  I smile and take my card. “You earned it.” I motion to Josh. “Georgina, this is my best friend, Josh Faraday. Josh, this is Georgina Ricci. Bartendress extraordinaire. Aspiring journalist. Fellow UCLA alum, as of next week. Hustler. Chess enthusiast. Full-grown adult.”

  Josh laughs. “Hi, Georgina.”

  “Hi, Josh. Nice to meet you. And, for the record, I have no idea how to play chess.”

  Josh indicates the mess of drinks in front of us. “Looks like you know how to make drinks, though.”

  “I fake it pretty well. Reed figured out a clever way for us to hang out during a busy Thurs
day-night shift.”

  “That’s Reed for you,” Josh says. “The Man with the Plan.”

  “Oh? Wikipedia says he’s The Man with the Midas Touch. Gasp. Is Wiki wrong?”

  Josh chuckles. “No, he’s that, too.” He bats my shoulder. “Come shoot pool with us whenever you’re done chatting up the bartender, brother. Take your time.”

  I open my mouth to tell Josh I’ll follow him in two seconds, just as soon as I say a proper goodbye to the lovely bartender, when a female voice shrieking my name behind me splits my eardrums. It’s a voice I don’t recognize. Not at all. But I know, instinctually, it’s attached to someone I’m going to loathe, whoever the fuck she is.

  Chapter 11

  Reed

  The woman shrieking my name is, indeed, a stranger to me. A young, blonde, high-strung one with a flash drive in her hand. After shrieking my name, she launches into an elevator pitch about her music, saying all the same things I’ve heard a million times before. She’s a UCLA music student who saw me at today’s event, she says. And, surprise, surprise, she’s the next Adele.

  “I don’t accept unsolicited submissions,” I say, putting up my palm. “No exceptions. And just a tip, Courtney. Don’t compare yourself to Adele. Nobody is ‘the next Adele.’ You sound like a fucking amateur when you say that. Also—”

  “Excuse me,” Georgina says, and off she goes to the other end of the bar.

  Fuck.

  I’d forgotten Georgina was standing there, watching this entire exchange. Fuck! From Georgina’s tone and body language, it’s clear she thinks I’m being too harsh with this girl. But what am I supposed to do? Sit here smiling every time someone ambushes me during a relaxed night with friends? And more to the point, when I’m hitting on the hot-as-fuck bartender? If this girl hadn’t bombarded me, I would have had a tantalizing “see you later, Cinderella” moment with Georgina. I’d have walked away from her on my own terms, leaving her wanting more. As it is, though, this girl is in my personal space, elevator-pitching me, while Georgina is standing ten feet away, looking upset.