Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 1)

by Lauren Rowe

  “What are you saying?” Alessandra asks, her eyebrow arched.

  “I’m saying... Reed already had a horrible opinion of me that I wasn’t going to shake, no matter what I said or did. So, in that case, why did I even bother trying to convince him my intentions were pure? I should have kept my eye on the prize and done exactly what he expected of me—fucked him as payment for him listening to the demo. At least, that way, we both would have gotten what we wanted out of him.”

  Alessandra smiles. “Actually, Georgie, it sounds to me like you did the one thing you could have done to change Reed’s mind about you. Plus, bonus points, you did it in style—with your two middle fingers raised to the sky. So classic.”

  I giggle. “You should have seen the look on Reed’s face as I was driving away. He was so fucking pissed at me.”

  “Hey, ladies.” It’s my father, coming into the kitchen. And his voice makes us girls both straighten up. Dad strides across the small kitchen and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Aunt Marjorie sent me in here to ask about the cake. She suspects you two girls have gotten to chatting and completely forgotten why you came in here.”

  Alessandra and I giggle and nod.

  “Guilty as charged,” Alessandra says.

  Rolling his eyes, Dad picks up a knife and begins cutting the cake for us. “Ally, would you mind distributing slices to everyone? There’s something I want to talk to Georgie about.”

  “You betcha, Pops,” Alessandra says.

  The three of us load cake slices onto a tray for Alessandra, who then breezes into the living room to expertly deliver them like the part-time waitress she is.

  When Alessandra is gone, Dad turns to me and smiles proudly, his eyes instantly moistening. He places his hands on my shoulders, a sure sign an emotional speech is coming. It’s not a rare occurrence with my father—watching him become overcome with emotion. He’s always worn his tender heart on his sleeve, my Dad. It’s the thing I love most about him.

  “You’re my pride and joy, Georgie,” he says, tears threatening. “You know that, right?”

  “I do, Daddy. Thank you for always telling me that. And for doing without so much, for so long, so I could get a college education.”

  “It’s what Mommy and I both wanted for you. We wanted you to be able to make a living doing something you feel passionately about.”

  My eyes are glistening now, along with Dad’s. God, I wish my mother were here to witness this proud and happy day.

  Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. And, instantly, I know what’s inside. My mother’s wedding ring. Instantly, I hurl myself into my father’s arms and burst into tears. And so, of course, my emotional, tenderhearted father cries along with me.

  “You always said you’d give it to me on my wedding day,” I mumble into Dad’s shoulder.

  “I realized your mother would want you to have it today,” he whispers into my hair. “She came to me in a dream last night and told me to give it to you. She said, ‘Georgie doesn’t need a man to make us proud. She’s already the woman we’ve raised her to be.’”

  I sniffle. “That sounds just like Mommy.”

  Dad pulls back from our hug and wipes his eyes. “You know I’m hoping you’ll have a family of your own one day, but only because I want you to experience the kind of love story I had with your mother. I want you to experience the kind of unconditional love I feel for you, Georgie.”

  “I know, Daddy. I love you, too.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you need to get married or have babies to make me and your mother proud, or to be the woman we dreamed you’d grow up to be. Without going to college myself, I didn’t fully understand how proud I’d feel today. How amazing it would feel to watch you—” He presses his lips together, too choked up to continue. Which makes me choke up, as well. And for a moment, we’re both silently swallowing air and wiping our eyes.

  Finally, Dad gathers himself enough to open the box, and I gasp at the sight of the diamond-encrusted ring inside, the one I remember my mother always wearing with such pride on her lovely hand. Beaming with his love for me, my father says, “Amorina, today, you’re exactly the woman your mother and I always dreamed you’d be. Wear this ring, and let it always remind you of that.”

  I slide the ring onto the ring finger of my right hand, but it’s too big. I try my middle finger next, and smile when it’s a perfect fit. “Isn’t it pretty?” I say, holding up my newly decorated hand. “Now, I’ll look like a queen whenever I flip someone off.”

  “Georgie.”

  I giggle. “Aw, come on, Dad. You know it’s perfect Mommy’s ring fits my middle finger, instead of my ring finger. We both know I’ll get far more use out of it this way.”

  Dad sighs. “You’re still sure you ‘never’ want to get married?”

  I purse my lips, considering. “No, I think I’m over that. I only felt that way right after your divorce from Paula. But only because you and Paula made marriage look like an exceedingly stupid thing for anyone to do.”

  Dad rolls his eyes. “That’s an understatement.”

  “I think nowadays I’m open to maybe getting married one day. Just not until I’ve gotten my career going. And certainly not before age thirty. I only want one kid, though, so I don’t need to be in any rush.”

  Dad looks satisfied. Maybe even relieved. And I totally get it. It’s not that my father believes marriage and babies is the only endgame for a woman. Not at all. He’s a traditional guy in some ways, but not about that. No, I think in addition to him wanting me to experience a love like he had with my mother, and the love he has for me, he simply wants to feel confident I’ll be safe and protected, and loved unconditionally, my whole life, even after he’s gone, whether his departure from this earthly life comes way sooner than either of us would want, or, God willing, decades from now.

  Dad takes my hand and gazes at it, perhaps thinking about the happy day, so many years ago, he married a nineteen-year-old spitfire who, tragically, wound up leaving this earth far too soon. He says, “She’s smiling down on you right now, you know.”

  “I know,” I say. “I can feel her. She’s smiling down on you, too, Daddy. Always.”

  I put my palm on my father’s face, letting my mother’s ring brush his stubbled cheek, and then kiss his other cheek tenderly.

  I’m not lying about my mother always smiling down on him, by the way. Even when Dad stupidly married Paula, in the midst of his grief, I know my kind-hearted mother was in heaven, cheering him on. Wanting him to find love again. Wanting him to feel joy after so much sorrow. True, it wasn’t true love for Dad and Paula, to put it mildly, but I’m positive my mother didn’t hold it against my brokenhearted father for blindly stumbling through his pain in that way.

  “Don’t worry about me, Daddy,” I whisper. “I’ll always be okay. I’m a fighter. A hustler.”

  He chuckles. “A hustler?”

  I wink. “All good things come to those who hustle.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, check the screen, and whoop. “This is the call I’ve been waiting for, Daddy! Oh my God!”

  “I’ll give you some privacy,” Dad says excitedly. He beelines for the door of the kitchen. “Good luck!”

  When he’s gone, I hastily answer the call, my hands shaking and my heart thrumming in my chest. “Hello, this is Georgina.”

  “Hi, Georgina,” a woman says. “This is Margot, CeeCee Rafael’s personal assistant.”

  Oh my God! This is it. The call I’ve been waiting for since I walked out of that coffee date with CeeCee. I collapse into a kitchen chair, praying this woman is calling with happy news.

  “Hello, Margot. How are you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. CeeCee was wondering if you might be able to come to the office tomorrow morning at ten? Sorry for the late notice, but she’s traveling internationally the following day, and she wants to personally give you some great news. It’s about a job opportunity she has for you. I think you’ll be plea
sed.”

  I squeal, making Margot chuckle. But before Margot responds to my exuberance, a male voice in the background on her end says something to her. “I’m sorry, Georgina, can you hold for a minute? So sorry.”

  “Sure.”

  And she’s gone, leaving me on hold listening to Katy Perry tell me I’m a firework.

  Okay, Georgie, I say to myself. Don’t get too excited. You might have to turn down whatever CeeCee offers you.

  Sadly, it’s the truth. I’ve done my research, and therefore know Rock ‘n’ Roll never hires recent college grads for paid positions. Indeed, there’s a mandatory unpaid three-month internship for college grads, which the company uses as a proving ground. If it weren’t for Dad’s medical expenses, I’d take anything offered to me, whether paid or not. Anything to get my foot in the door. Hell, I’d be this assistant’s unpaid assistant, if that’s what was offered to me. But the reality remains, I can’t afford to take an unpaid job, for more than a few weeks, given Dad’s situation.

  Of course, Dad always says it’s not my job to take care of him financially. “I’ll be able to pick up carpentry work again any day now,” he always says. But that seems like a gigantic stretch to me, given the lasting side effects Dad has been experiencing from his treatments.

  Dad also likes to say he could sell the condo, if worse came to worst. But on that score, Dad’s equally full of shit. I’ve seen Dad’s bank statements. I know he’s upside down on this place—meaning any profit he might make from selling it would go straight to the bank.

  “I’m back,” CeeCee’s assistant says. “Sorry about that. So, does ten o’clock tomorrow work for you?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Please, don’t be late,” the woman says. “CeeCee’s schedule is jam-packed tomorrow, since she’s headed to Bali the following day. She’s moving things around to squeeze you in, simply because she’s so excited to talk to you in person about the job offer.”

  My heart leaps, even though my brain knows it probably shouldn’t. “I’ll make sure to get there fifteen minutes early.”

  The woman gives me the address for tomorrow’s meeting, plus some parking instructions, and then signs off by saying, “Don’t be nervous, okay? I think you’re going to be extremely happy with what CeeCee offers you.”

  Chapter 17

  Georgina

  Oh. My. Freaking. God.

  I can’t believe my ears.

  I’m sitting across from CeeCee in her luxurious office. CeeCee is seated in a white leather chair at an expansive glass desk, looking like a baller in a black pant suit and badass earrings, while I’m sitting across from her in my only pencil skirt, trying not to shriek uncontrollably at what she just said. Holy fucking crap, CeeCee Rafael wants to hire me for a paid internship at Rock ‘n’ Roll!

  “I know you had your heart set on Dig a Little Deeper,” CeeCee says, leaning back into her beautiful throne. “But if this internship goes well during the summer, who knows where it could lead.”

  I babble stupidly for much too long about my euphoria and gratitude. About dreams coming true. I ask if there’s someone at the cancer charity I can thank for the grant CeeCee has unexpectedly arranged for me, and, holy fuck, for my father’s medication, too, and she tells me, nope, she’ll forward my effusive thanks to the powers that be.

  Handing me a tissue for my tears, CeeCee says, “I hope you’re not upset at Gilda—Professor Schiff—for mentioning your father’s illness to me. She only told me so that I could think outside the box in terms of arranging payment for you.”

  Again, I babble into my tissue, using far too many words to say, in essence, I’m so, so grateful, to CeeCee and Professor Schiff and the amazing cancer charity.

  CeeCee clasps her manicured hands and places them on her glass desk. “So, do you want to hear about your assignment for the next three months, my dear?”

  I wipe my eyes one last time and put the tissue into my lap. “Oh my gosh. Yes.”

  CeeCee flashes me an excited smile. “For the next three months, Georgina, you’re going to be working exclusively on a singular, exciting project.” She pauses for effect. “A special issue of Rock ‘n’ Roll devoted solely to the artists and inner workings of one record label... River Records!”

  My jaw drops along with my stomach. No. This can’t be happening. The best news of my life has just turned into the worst. CeeCee is hiring me to work exclusively on an issue devoted to Reed River’s label... for the next three months? It’s a catastrophe!

  “Don’t worry, you won’t be the only one writing for this issue,” CeeCee says, apparently misreading the look of panic on my face. “I’m also assigning a couple of seasoned writers, too, who’ll contribute content and also mentor you. Plus, I’ll write a few pieces for the issue, too. But, make no mistake about it, Georgie, your job is to interview the shit out of as many River Records artists as you can personally manage throughout the summer and turn those interviews into fresh, fun, original content. I want you to think outside the box and really run with it.”

  Holy fucking hell. My mind is racing with thoughts, all of them centering on Reed fucking Rivers. Does he know CeeCee has assigned me, the woman who double-flipped him off the last time he saw her, to this special issue? If he doesn’t already know, will he get me kicked off the project the minute he finds out?

  For several minutes, CeeCee details her vision for the issue. And, slowly, despite my panic about Reed, I begin to feel swept away by the excitement of it all. We brainstorm ideas for a bit, our mutual enthusiasm mounting. And, finally, CeeCee says, “And, of course, what would a special issue about River Records be without an in-depth, featured interview of the man at the helm of it all, Reed Rivers?”

  And there it is. The two little words I’ve been dreading since CeeCee first told me about this assignment: Reed Rivers. If Reed doesn’t know about me being assigned to the project, he’s going to find out soon enough. And when he does, will he pick up the phone and tell CeeCee to send someone else—someone who didn’t tell him to fuck off and die, and then peel out in an Uber while he stood in front of his house with a raging boner poking the front of his pants?

  “Is something wrong, Georgina?” CeeCee asks.

  I shake my head. “No. I’m just feeling a little woozy due to excitement. This is a doozy of an opportunity, CeeCee. A doozy with a capital ‘oozy.’”

  CeeCee giggles. “Yes, it is.”

  “Um. Out of curiosity,” I say, “how much of this idea has been cleared with Mr. Rivers?”

  “All of it. Nothing happens at River Records without Reed clearing it. You’ll find that out soon enough. He’s extremely hands-on.”

  Hands-on. In a flash, my body remembers what it felt like to have Reed’s greedy hands on me as he kissed me. I’m suddenly remembering the scent of his cologne. The delicious roughness of his stubble. The death grip of his palms on my ass that made me delirious with arousal... He wanted to tie me to his bed posts. My cheeks hot, I clear my throat. “So, he’s already agreed to do the interview... with me?”

  “He has.”

  “But I mean... with me, specifically?”

  CeeCee tilts her head like Scooby Doo sniffing out a snack.

  “I mean, does he know I’m a newbie?” I add quickly. “Does he know I’m straight out of journalism school, with no experience?”

  CeeCee nods. “Yes, Reed and I talked about that very thing, and he smartly recognized, as do I, that you’ll bring a fresh, exciting energy and voice to the project.” She smiles kindly. “Don’t be nervous, Georgina. I’m sure, after seeing Reed on that panel, you’re a bit intimidated. And I don’t blame you. He’s incredibly successful and confident. And his communication style is blunt and unapologetic, to say the least. But he’s a very good friend of mine, and I can honestly say he’s a sweetheart underneath all that swagger. Plus, he trusts my judgment. And I’ve told him I’ve got a lot of faith in you.”

  A shudder of nerves sweeps through m
e. “I hope I’m able to prove you right.”

  “You will. It was when you talked about bartending during our coffee date that I knew you’d be a fantastic interviewer. Like I told you then, bartending is just another form of what a journalist does. As a bartender, you’ve honed the art of talking to people. Listening to them. Making connections in a short amount of time and getting them to open up. Now, you’ll be taking those skills and simply putting the experience down on paper—which your writing samples, and Gilda’s high praise of you, lead me to believe you’ll be able to do with ease.”

  “Thank you so much. I didn’t really think of bartending being related to journalism in that way. But I think you’re right.”

  “Of course, I am.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’m most excited to see how you’re going to handle Reed’s interview. I have a strong feeling he’ll be uncharacteristically chatty with you.”

  I press my lips together, suddenly feeling sick. Shit. Is this my cue to come clean? To confess to CeeCee that Reed likely won’t be uncharacteristically chatty with me, because, surprise, the last time I saw the man, I kissed the hell out of him, rubbed my aching clit against his huge dick like a cat in heat... and then left him standing at his front gate with not only blue balls, but, almost certainly, a firm desire to never lay eyes on me again?

  “I feel like I should tell you something,” CeeCee says, taking the words right out of my mouth. She leans back into her chair again. “For the past two years, ever since I first conceived of launching Dig a Little Deeper, I’ve been begging Reed to give me a full-length, in-depth interview for that magazine. But he’s always said no.” She steeples her manicured fingers. “You might not know this, but Reed’s father was a notorious white collar criminal who killed himself in prison when Reed was nineteen or twenty. His father’s case was extremely high profile. All over the news. And yet, Reed never, ever talks about it. Certainly not publicly, anyway. And not with me, despite the fact that I’ve known him ten years. And yet, I think that’s the one thing the world would be most fascinated to hear him talk about.”