Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 1)

by Lauren Rowe

  She snorts. “Always, such a charmer. Seriously, though, without even realizing what they’re doing, horny musicians always turn themselves inside out, trying to impress the really gorgeous ones, which never fails to translate into interview gold.”

  I pause for a moment. Long enough to make it seem like I’m weighing what I’m about to say. “I tell you what, CeeCee. I’m going to give you a gift, because I love you and also want to help this girl. I’m going to make a six-figure donation to one of your favorite cancer charities—the one that supports family members of those affected by cancer. They can use part of my donation to set up a grant for this Georgina of yours—the equivalent of three months’ salary, plus whatever might be needed to pay for this expensive medicine her father needs. That way, you can officially hire Georgina for the usual unpaid internship, as far as your payroll department and other employees are concerned, but she’ll actually get paid on the sly. Boom. Georgina and her father win. You win. Rock ‘n’ Roll wins. Everybody wins.”

  “Everybody wins but you. Why would you do this?”

  “Because I’m a good guy. Because I love you. But, mostly, because you said she’d be particularly good at interviewing musicians and that gives me an excellent idea.”

  “Ha! I knew there had to be a catch.”

  “What would you say if, in exchange for my generous donation to one of your favorite charities, Rock ‘n’ Roll does a special ‘River Records issue,’ featuring nothing but my artists?”

  “I’m so relieved to find out you have an ulterior motive for your generosity. For a second there, I felt extremely disoriented.”

  “My motive isn’t ulterior. It’s parallel. Yes, I want to get something out of this, but I also want to do good. For you and this ‘diamond in the rough.’ Seriously, what’s the downside of my proposal? It’s a no-brainer.”

  CeeCee is quiet. Thinking. Processing. Trying to figure out what she’s missing here. Why I’m bending over backwards.

  “I’ll roll out the red carpet for this girl,” I say. “She’ll have full access to everyone on my roster, all at once. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’d only ever do it for you.”

  “It wouldn’t just be her,” CeeCee says, and, instantly, I know I’ve got her. “I’d have to assign several people to the issue. Plus, I’m sure I’d write a few pieces, too.”

  I smile broadly. “Whatever you want, as long as the newbie works on nothing but the River Records issue during her summer internship.”

  “Why?” CeeCee asks, her tone instantly suspicious.

  “Because I’m paying her fucking salary, that’s why.”

  “Oh.”

  CeeCee is quiet for a long moment. And I don’t blame her. It’s highly unlike me to bend over backwards to help a stranger. But not outside the realm of possibility, I’d think, considering all the benefits that will flow to both CeeCee and me from this arrangement. Obviously, I’ve omitted to tell CeeCee the foremost benefit that will flow to me. My top reason for doing this. Namely, that this arrangement will undoubtedly lead to me fucking Georgina at some point during the summer—which, in this moment, is something I want for myself more than I want my next breath. Certainly, more than I want the two hundred grand I’m planning to donate to CeeCee’s cancer charity. But, so what if I haven’t told CeeCee that part? Omitting that one particular nugget of information doesn’t make what I have mentioned any less true.

  “Okay,” CeeCee says. “I’ll agree to the special issue—”

  “Wonderful.”

  “On one condition.”

  I hold my breath.

  “It absolutely must include a full-length interview of you.”

  I exhale with frustration. “CeeCee.”

  “We can’t do a River Records issue without an interview of Reed Rivers. It can be a simple two-pager, if you like, but an interview of you is non-negotiable.”

  Again, I look out the window of my limo, just in time to see the bushy trees of Central Park coming into view. “All right,” I concede. “I’ll sit down for a basic one-pager, including a five-by-seven photo of me to take up space.”

  “A two-pager, including a three-by-five photo. That’s my final offer.”

  Fuck. I say nothing for a moment, mulling my options.

  “A two-pager can’t, by its very nature, be as in-depth as the five-pager I’ve been dying to do for Dig a Little Deeper. Plus, don’t forget, this would be for Rock ‘n’ Roll, so it will be fluff. Mostly.”

  “So, it’ll be like the ‘Man with the Midas Touch’ interview?”

  I can practically hear her devious smile. “No, it’ll be meatier than that. For God’s sake, Reed, for that one, the only really personal thing you said was you’re not interested in marriage or children. I’ll need a lot more than that for a River Records special issue. But, still, yes, the piece will, by necessity, be basically on-brand for Rock ‘n’ Roll.”

  I roll my eyes at my predicament, even though CeeCee isn’t here to see it. “Okay. Fine. A two-pager. But it’s not going to ‘peel back the layers’ of my onion too far. I’ll give a little something more than last time, but my deepest layers will stay firmly unpeeled.”

  “Deal. We’ll peel back only one layer of your onion.”

  My driver honks his horn and screams at a yellow taxi that’s stopped immediately in front of us to let its passengers out.

  “Ah, New York,” CeeCee says. “I can hear it from here.”

  I chuckle. “There’s no place quite like it. So, will this Georgina of yours interview me for this onion-peeling interview?”

  “Do you want Georgina to be the one to interview you?”

  I pause long enough to make it seem like I’m genuinely considering the question. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. She might bring a fresh perspective and voice a more seasoned writer wouldn’t. Plus, you already interviewed me for that ‘Midas Touch’ piece. Might be fun to switch things up.”

  “I agree. I was actually going to suggest she do it. I’ve got a hunch she’s going to be particularly talented at peeling back your layers, my dear.”

  Another wave of paranoia washes over me. Seriously now, did CeeCee notice me losing my shit over Georgina—and she’s been fucking with me this whole conversation? “Just make sure she knows she’s only allowed to peel back one layer of the onion,” I say, hoping my voice sounds playful and calm. “No additional layers shall be peeled during the course of this interview.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her. No worries, sweetie. Hey, would you be willing to give Georgina a work station at River Records for the summer—just for ease of access?”

  Ease of access. Oh, God. I’ve got such a dirty mind. Upon hearing those words in reference to Georgina, my brain can’t help but imagine myself opening Georgina’s olive thighs and sinking myself deep inside her—getting to feel the Nirvana I’ve been waiting ten fucking years to feel, ever since I first laid eyes on Georgina’s double a decade ago and felt an urgent, animalistic desire to fuck the living hell out of her.

  “Reed?”

  “Yes. A work station for Georgina would be fine with me. Talk to Owen about it. Just as long as we’re clear that she’s your employee. Not mine. I don’t want my artists thinking this girl is a shill for our marketing department. It’s important they know she’s a bona fide reporter for Rock ‘n’ Roll, interviewing them for an important special issue. You’re her boss. Not me. I want them to take her seriously.”

  “Of course, Reed. So do I. You know I’d never allow my magazine to be used as a propaganda arm of your label. This issue is going to have journalistic integrity, even if it happens to work to your label’s and artists’ extreme advantage, as much as it works to mine.” She clucks her tongue. “Oh goodness, my mind is already racing with a thousand ideas. When will you be back from New York? Let’s have dinner.”

  “Not before you head off to Bali, unfortunately. We’ll have to do it when you get back. In the meantime, feel free to call Owen to arrang
e logistics and scheduling. Let’s get this special issue cooking with gas.”

  “Fabulous. Georgina mentioned she’s graduating on the twenty-second. So I’ll get her on-boarded the very next day, right before I head off to Bali.”

  My limo stops in front of the Ritz Carlton, right across from the Park, and a doorman in white gloves promptly opens my car door. “I’ve made it to the Goats’ hotel. I gotta hang up.”

  “Bags, sir?” the doorman says, and I motion to the trunk before striding toward the double doors of the hotel lobby.

  “Have fun in Bali,” I say. “Say bonjour to Francois for me.”

  “I will. I’ll call the cancer charity now, right after we hang up, and email you the info for the donation. Oh, and, Reed. One more thing.”

  I stop walking, just inside the doors of the hotel, my heart pounding. Is this it? Is she going to tell me she’s sniffed me out?

  “Let’s make sure all the horny musicians on your roster treat this young woman with respect and professionalism, okay?”

  I sigh with relief.

  “I know you didn’t get a good look at her as she was walking out of the lecture hall, but, trust me, she’s stunning. And as we both know, musicians aren’t always the most restrained members of the male species when it comes to beautiful women.”

  I smile to myself. The same could be said of music executives. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Owen and I will make it clear to everyone: the newbie reporter is off-limits.”

  “Thank you. Georgina has worked her way through school as a bartender, so I’m sure she’s quite adept at fending off horny heathens. But, still, it never hurts to remind everyone she’s there to do a job, and not to get hit on right and left.”

  My blood simmers at the thought of any of my guys making a move on Georgina. But a couple of them, in particular. “We’re on the same page,” I say through clenched teeth. “I promise, CeeCee, if any of my guys hit on your summer intern, they’re going to have to answer to me. And, I guarantee, it won’t be pretty.”

  Chapter 16

  Georgina

  “He was such an asshole!” I say to Alessandra. And, of course, I’m talking about Reed.

  It’s my graduation party. A few hours ago, while clad in a traditional cap and gown, I accepted my diploma, posed for a smiling photo, and became the first person in my family to graduate from college. And now, my small extended family and a few longtime family friends have gathered in my father’s two-bedroom condo in the Valley to celebrate.

  At the moment, Alessandra and I are standing in Dad’s small kitchen by ourselves, sent in here by Aunt Marjorie to slice up the cake. But since this is Ally and me we’re talking about, we’ve long since forgotten our assigned task, and we’re doing nothing but gabbing, gossiping, and laughing together. All the things we always do when we get together, whether in person or on our phones—but especially in person. And especially when it’s been months since we’ve been together in the flesh.

  Alessandra leans her slender hip against the counter, her blue eyes shining. The late-afternoon sunlight streaking through the kitchen window is bringing out the auburn highlights in her dark, curly mop and highlighting her glorious freckles. Her smile is as sincere and warm as ever. Her lavender aura every bit as peaceful and serene as usual—every bit as much as my blazing-red aura is fiery and passionate.

  “Maybe you hurt Reed’s feelings and he was just, you know, lashing out as a defense mechanism,” Alessandra says, causing me to snort-laugh. “I’m serious,” she persists. “From what you’ve described of your chemistry with him, and the crazy fireworks that went off for you when you kissed... I don’t know, honey, maybe you’re underestimating the fireworks that went off for him.”

  Again, I snort.

  But Alessandra won’t let it go. “Even if Reed’s rich and powerful and older, and used to banging supermodels—”

  “Actresses, mainly, I think. Probably models, too. But actresses and daughters of famous people seem to be in most of the photos with him.”

  “Okay, whatever. My point is Reed is still a man. And men fall for you, Georgie. That’s a fact. It’s your superpower.”

  I scoff. “Men want to have sex with me.”

  “Only because you push them away emotionally, so they’ll take whatever they can get.”

  The image of Shawn’s phone screen that fateful morning pings my brain. The memory of how I stumbled across those sickening strings of texts and photos—the exchanges between Shawn and several women that made it painfully clear he’d been running around on me for quite some time, with multiple women, when I’d been nothing but faithful and supportive. And, worst of all, he’d done it all while my life was falling apart and I needed his love and support and faithfulness the most. I feel a deep ache remembering my hot tears I shed that horrible morning... and then a glint of pride, even though I probably shouldn’t, thinking about that bad thing I did when my tears turned to fury.

  “I haven’t always pushed men away emotionally,” I say. I run my fingertip through a blob of icing on the corner of the cake and slide my finger into my mouth.

  Alessandra sighs sympathetically. “I know, honey. I’m just saying maybe it hurt Reed’s feelings, more than you realize, when he found out you had an agenda the whole time, so he acted like a dick to mask his hurt feelings.”

  I put my palm up. “Okay, you gotta stop now. You’re crediting Reed with way too much humanity. The man thinks he’s a god among men, the immortal ruler of everything he surveys, and he was simply pissed I wasn’t falling at his feet like all the other mortal girls. I didn’t hurt his feelings, if he has them. Did I bruise his ego? Probably. But that’s it. Feelings weren’t involved for either of us. He made it clear from the start he wanted to bring me to his house for nothing but sex, and I made it clear I was super down for that plan. The End.”

  Alessandra pops a bite of cake into her mouth. “Don’t sell yourself short, Georgie. You have a way of making people feel something. It’s your gift. The gift of genuine, and often instant, connection.”

  I shake my head. “Not this time. If you met Reed, you’d understand. He’s unapologetically on the prowl. He flat-out said he didn’t want to ‘date’ me, only ‘seduce’ me.” And tie me to his bed posts.

  “He actually used the word ‘seduce’?” Alessandra asks.

  “He sure did.”

  She chuckles. “Wow. Was he wearing a suit with a skinny tie and holding a gimlet when he said it?”

  We both giggle at the old-school imagery. But, if I’m being honest, my laughter is tinged with wistfulness. Regret. Yearning. Because, damn, Reed rocked that old-school, sexy word—seduce—like nobody’s business.

  “The crazy part is,” I say, “Reed didn’t sound like he was doing a Madmen parody when he said it. Somehow, it came across as nothing but hot.” I bite my lip. “Actually, after being subjected to so many drunk fuckboys and their fumbling attempts at hitting on me, it was thrilling to have such a suave older man come on to me like some kind of old-school movie star.” I sigh at the sudden flood of memories wracking my brain. The cocky look on Reed’s face when he said he didn’t plan to date me. The way he called me Cinderella. And, of course, our amazing kisses... Oh. I suddenly realize Alessandra is staring at me, her eyebrow arched. “What?”

  My stepsister flashes me a snarky look. “If you could see your face right now... Georgie, you don’t hate Reed. You still totally want to screw him!”

  “No, I hate him with the fiery passion of an erupting volcano... and I still totally want to screw him.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “But don’t mistake hate-lust for genuine feelings,” I add. “Not on my end, and certainly not on his. He flat-out said he’s ‘non-committal’ about relationships. Which, by the way, is a lovely way of saying he’s a commitment-phobe. Which is great with me, of course. I told him, ‘Hey, you’re non-committal? Cool, dude, because so am I.’”

  “That you are.” She takes another bite
of cake and snickers. “Sounds like you two are exactly each other’s types, huh? Or, at least, Reed is yours: emotionally unavailable and smoking hot.”

  Sighing, I pick up a fork and steal a bite of cake off Alessandra’s plate. Because, really, what can I say to that accusation? Reed is, indeed, precisely my type. The most perfect example of it I’ve ever encountered. A glittering paragon of suave, cocky, unattainable male perfection, with a side of assholery, like nothing I’ve encountered before. “I’m sorry, Ally. I can’t believe I screwed things up so badly for both of us. I wish I’d handled things differently that night. For both our sakes.”

  “It’s that Italian temper of yours,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Getting you into trouble, once again.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m kidding. You have nothing to apologize for, especially not to me. If Reed was rude and disrespectful to you, then I’m thrilled you told him off. Never think you have to take shit from any man, even a rich and powerful one, especially not to help me. My time to shine will come soon enough, baby girl. I know it. And when it does, I won’t take crap from anyone. And I certainly won’t prostitute out my beloved sister-from-another-mister to get ahead.”

  Oh, my heart. If I didn’t already love this beautiful girl, I would have fallen head over heels in love with her now.

  I look out the window of my father’s small kitchen at the cloudless blue sky, trying to gather my thoughts. Ever since I got home from Reed’s the other night, I’ve felt a powerful ache growing inside me. An overwhelming sense of regret gathering steam. And now, I can’t help wishing I could rewind the clock and do things differently that night. “The thing is... ” I say. “It’s not like, before Reed implied I was a whore, I’d thought he was my Prince Charming. It’s not like the horrible things he said to me outside his house shattered my illusions about him.”

  I look down at my hands, feeling my cheeks redden with shame. I’m not proud of myself for wishing I could rewind the clock and follow Reed into his house that night—where I’d then let him tie me up and fuck me like an animal for four hours straight, in exchange for him listening to Alessandra’s demo. But, if I’m being honest, that’s exactly what I’ve been wishing these past few days, now that I’ve had some time to reflect.