Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 1)

by Lauren Rowe

  She puts her hands on her hips. “God, you’re so full of shit. There’s no ‘sound’ business reason for you to put the kibosh on the C-Bomb interview. You’re feeling jealous and territorial. Plain and simple. You might as well have pissed on my leg when you walked in here and found me with him, you looked so freaking jealous.”

  She’s absolutely right. But there’s no way in hell I’d ever admit that. “Find something else to write about this week,” I say. “I’m done talking about this.”

  Georgina lets out an exasperated sigh and sits back down on the couch. “Reed, listen to me. I need this tour. CeeCee said she’ll consider everything I write this summer as an audition for me to write for Dig a Little Deeper.” Emotion threatens at the mere thought of it, but she swallows it. “I know I could get an incredible interview of Caleb, if only I had the chance to hang out with him for a full week.”

  “I have faith you’ll find some other amazing person or topic to write about, if you put your mind to it.”

  She takes several deep, calming breaths. And then drags her palm down her face. “I didn’t want to have to play the sympathy card here, but you leave me no choice. I was really counting on those free hotel rooms this week. Please don’t mess that up for me because of petty jealousy. Please.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She tilts her head back and sinks into the sofa, her body melting in adorable surrender. “I had to vacate student housing on graduation day. My student loans are all used up, and I’m told I won’t get my first paycheck for this job for about three weeks... ” She sighs. “I’ve got, like, seven dollars to my name right now, so I was counting on a week with no expenses to get back on my feet. Before I got this job, I was going to move back home with my dad in the Valley, so I could help him with his expenses. But now that I’m going to be spending so much time in Hollywood, commuting like that won’t work. I was hoping to take this week, with no expenses, to figure out a cheap living situation for the summer. Maybe a friend’s couch. A room to rent.”

  My heart twists. It’s so rare for Georgina to drop her tough-girl routine. But whenever she does, I find her all the more alluring. “I’ll book you a hotel room for the summer—on me,” I say simply. “Something within walking distance of my office.”

  She sits up. “Seriously?”

  “Sure. I wish all life’s problems were this easy to solve.”

  She’s absolutely elated. She hops up like she wants to hug me, but abruptly sits back down, her cheeks flushing. “Thank you so much, Reed.” She fans her blushing face. “Thank you.”

  My heart skips a beat at the look of pure joy on her face. “You’re very welcome, Georgina.”

  In a heartbeat, the expression of joy on her face is replaced by one of skepticism. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why, exactly, are you doing this?”

  “Because it makes sound business sense,” I say, lying through my teeth. “You’ll be able to maximize your time this way. Plus, you’ll be relaxed and close by. All good things for the special issue, in the end.”

  Her skeptical smile turns absolutely breathtaking. “Liar,” she says softly. But she’s said the word playfully. Affectionately, even. And it sends a flock of butterflies whooshing into my stomach—which is a shock to me. I haven’t felt the cliché of “butterflies” too many times in my life. And when I do, they usually feel foreign and strange to me. But, holy fuck, this time, I’m feeling them and thoroughly enjoying them.

  “You ready to stop screaming at me and watch the rest of the concert with me?” I say. “We can watch from the wings.” I rise, assuming her answer is yes, yes, yes... but quickly realize I’ve miscalculated. Georgina’s not standing with me. Indeed, she’s staying put and shaking her head.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, sitting back down. “Now what?”

  Everybody’s got a price.

  I say it all the time and know it to be true. But something tells me Georgina Ricci’s price ain’t a free hotel room a few blocks away from River Records.

  Chapter 23

  Reed

  “Seeing as how you won’t let me go on tour or interview C-Bomb,” Georgina says, her eyebrow arched, “you owe me something as good or better.”

  “I’ll let you interview RCR and also Dean, individually.”

  “Not good enough. Dean’s been interviewed a trillion times. He’s so good at being interviewed by now, I’m sure I’ll be able to chat with him for twenty minutes at the party tonight and walk away with an entire interview all sewn up.”

  I can’t believe my ears. “You still think you’re going to that party tonight? Georgina, obviously, that’s off, too. Same as everything else.”

  She throws up her arms. “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “But Caleb invited me!”

  “And I’m uninviting you. I thought you understood the party being cancelled was part and parcel of everything else I’ve cancelled.”

  “Okay, that’s it. The last straw. I quit.” But she doesn’t move. She just sits there, stewing. Thinking. Strategizing. Finally, she visibly lights up with an idea. “What if I took off my press pass and went to that party tonight as a civilian? Not as a reporter. Just as Caleb’s personal guest. I could do that, and you couldn’t say boo about it.”

  My heart rate spikes. Fuck. The clever girl’s found herself a loophole. Fuck me.

  Georgina smiles wickedly, and I know I’ve done a shitty job of maintaining a poker face. Indeed, whatever she just saw flicker across my face, it’s egging her on.

  “You know what?” she says, sitting up. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Throw away my press pass and go to the party tonight as a civilian. And not only that, I’m going to throw away my press pass for the entire week, and start my job a week later than originally planned, and go on the tour, too. Why should I be an official reporter on the tour”—she levels me with her blazing eyes—“when I can be Caleb’s... groupie?”

  Oh, for the love of fuck. She’s evil. A shark smelling blood. A demon.

  Georgina licks her lips. “Band members are allowed to bring guests on their tours, right? I bet that’s even stated in their contracts. So, fine, I’ll just be Caleb’s personal guest for the entire week and all my problems will be magically solved.” She snaps her fingers. “Don’t forget, C-Bomb offered to get me a hotel room at the Ritz tonight, on his dime, just to make things easier on me after the party. Wasn’t that sweet of him? So, I’m thinking, maybe, if I ask him really sweetly to get me rooms in every city along the tour, he’ll do it for me. Do you think he would? I bet he would.” She drapes her arm across the back of the couch. “And if not, then, gosh, maybe he’ll be willing to let me crash in his bed... every... single... night.”

  Oh, my fucking God, she’s diabolical. Pure, unadulterated evil. A force of nature. A human asteroid hurtling toward my planet. How did I not see this coming? I’m normally brilliant at predicting my opponent’s tactical maneuvers. But this time, I must admit, Georgina Ricci has outplayed me. I clench my jaw, forcing myself to keep a poker face. But, damn, this diabolical woman just laid down a royal flush to my two pairs and I’m losing my fucking mind.

  “What was that groupie’s name in Almost Famous?” she asks breezily.

  I force myself to sound nonchalant. “Penny Lane.”

  “That’s right. I bet I’d get a ton of great content for Dig a Little Deeper, if I pulled a Penny Lane this whole week with Caleb.” She swipes her palm through the air in front of me, like she’s imagining her name in lights. “‘My Tantalizing Week as a Badass Drummer’s Penny Lane.’ By Georgina Ricci.” She smiles wickedly at me and lowers her hand. “Gosh, with a scintillating title like that, I bet the article would fly off shelves. It’d probably be the best-selling issue of Dig a Little Deeper yet, doncha think?”

  Oh, she’s good. But, still, as I sit here staring at her, I’m starting to smell her panic. To make out the chinks in her armor that betray the panic bubbling frantically undernea
th all that gorgeous bravado. Her shallow breath. Flaring nostrils. The crimson in her cheeks. Ah, yes. Despite this little show she’s putting on for me, gorgeous Georgina is actually terrified I won’t call her bluff, but will, in fact, let her walk out that door to become C-Bomb’s groupie this week. Now that I’m smelling her delicious fear, I’m positive she doesn’t want to do it. Doesn’t want to be his, whether she had his poster on her wall as a teen or not. If she did, at all. God only knows what this demon would be willing to say to fuck with me. But, no, either way, this girl is dying to be mine and nobody else’s. I’m sure of that now, thanks to the way her heart is visibly crashing behind her incredible tits.

  Should I let her twist in the wind a little bit longer? Let her panic boil over? Yes, I should. Unfortunately, though, I’m too worried I’m wrong about her not wanting to fuck Caleb to risk it. Taking a long, deep breath, I drape my elbow over the back of the armchair, matching her posture. “I’d strongly urge you against pursuing a ‘Penny Lane’ strategy with C-Bomb. You might get one scintillating article out of it, but you’d likely torpedo your career. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, baby.”

  “Would an article like that torpedo C-Bomb’s career?”

  “Of course not. An article like that would add to his mythos as a sex god.”

  “That’s sexist.”

  “Maybe so, but that’s life. He’s the drummer in a rock band, and you’re a brand-new baby journalist who needs to be taken seriously.”

  She presses her lips together, conceding I’ve just scored a point in our game of table tennis. A point she’s awfully glad I’ve scored, if I had to guess.

  “Plus,” I say, “is doing an end-run around me, the CEO of River Records, really in your best interests, long-term? Even if the other night had never happened between us, even if I had no designs on you for myself—which, to be clear, I do—do you honestly think it would be wise for a summer intern at Rock ‘n’ Roll to defy a direct order from the founder and CEO of the very label she’s been assigned to write about? Tread carefully, Miss Ricci. Think about the full consequences of your actions. No more flying off the handle.”

  Her chest heaves. And her nostrils flare. And I know she’s pretty much crapping her pants at her predicament—and the corner she’s painted herself into. “All right,” she says. “I’ll put my Penny Lane piece on the back burner... for now. But only if you offer me something that’s as good or better. Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to call my boss, who isn’t you, by the way, and say the assignment she gave me is off because, oh, gosh, the CEO of the label I’m assigned to write about wants to fuck me, and therefore doesn’t want me to be alone with Caleb Baumgarten.’”

  And... she’s back. Guns blazing. Damn. I must admit, I’m proud of her for pulling that rabbit out of her hat at the eleventh hour. Deeply impressed, as a matter of fact. “That one-on-one interview of Dean?” I say. “It’ll be a full-day thing at his compound in Malibu. In fact, if I ask him to, I’m sure he’ll give you a tour of the place. Maybe even cook for you. Stir-fry, probably. That’s his specialty. Plus, Dean loves to surf, so we could do a photo shoot of him on the beach with his board, and he could talk about how much inspiration he derives from the ocean. Surely, a clever girl like you could parlay all that into something deep and meaningful that CeeCee would run in Dig a Little Deeper.”

  Georgina sniffs like my offer is shit. But it’s got to be tempting to her. Dean is a global rock star. A revered musician, songwriter, and heartthrob. And yet, he’s not a famewhore, which means he doesn’t do a whole lot of in-depth interviews—preferring, instead, to do a thousand and one superficial ones—only whatever publicity is minimally necessary to sell the band’s latest release.

  “You’re not concerned I’m going to have sex with Dean if I spend the day with him at his compound in Malibu and eat his stir-fry and watch him surf?” she asks, her brow arched wickedly. “He’s not too shabby to look at, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  It’s the truth. Dean’s not a threat to me. For one thing, he’s a good guy. Not an asshole, like Caleb. And if there’s one thing I know about my Georgie girl, she likes herself a good asshole. Also, Dean’s not on the prowl. He’s been in love with the same girl his entire life—the girl he wrote his band’s debut single about years ago—Shaynee—and she’s recently re-entered his life. And, finally, even if Dean’s heart weren’t otherwise engaged, he’s the kind of guy who’d respect an off-limits designation by the head of his fucking label, unlike Caleb. In short, the guy’s not a threat to me, any way you slice it.

  Georgie doesn’t flinch. “Well, that’s a lovely offer, Mr. Rivers. Thank you. I’ll take you up on all that. But it’s still not enough to keep me from calling CeeCee and ratting you out. If you want me to call my boss and tell her I’m not going to fulfill the assignment she gave me, because Reed Rivers wants to fuck me so badly, then you’re going to have to give me more.” She gazes at her manicured fingernails, as if she’s suddenly bored as hell. “Frankly, Reed, if Dean is all you’ve got to ‘bribe’ me with, I’d just as soon throw my press pass into the trash and become C-Bomb’s personal Penny Lane. I’m sure CeeCee wouldn’t mind me starting my job one week later than originally discussed, to get a meaty article like that.”

  Exasperated, I lean back into my armchair. “All right, Meryl Streep. Cut the crap and just tell me your price. You’ve obviously got one in mind. Put your cards on the table and tell me what it is.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  I lean forward sharply. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Ooooh. As in, ‘Everybody’s got a price’?”

  “What’s yours?”

  A smug smile spreads across her gorgeous face. She leans forward, giving me a lovely view of her tits in her low-cut blouse. “My price? Well, Mr. Rivers, it’s you, of course.”

  “Well, damn. That’s an easy one, baby. Lock the door and bend over the back of that couch, and I’ll give you every fucking inch of me.”

  Again, she doesn’t flinch. “No, I want to write about you, Mr. Rivers. I want you to give me an in-depth interview, suitable for Dig a Little Deeper.”

  I burst out laughing. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t CeeCee tell you? She’s already asked me to do that a hundred times, and... ” I trail off.

  CeeCee.

  Of course.

  Why didn’t I figure this out sooner?

  Georgina is CeeCee’s unwitting pawn. CeeCee sent Georgina to Caleb, as her top priority, because she knew it would turn out exactly this way. CeeCee knew I’d get jealous and possessive and nix the idea... and that Georgina, clever girl that she is, would be smart enough to exploit my reaction and use it as leverage. Fucking CeeCee. I have to admit, the woman is brilliant, even though I’m pissed at her right now.

  “An interview with me is already part of the deal for the special issue.”

  “Yes, I know, but I want you to give me something more in-depth—a wide-ranging interview that breaks new ground with you. Something covering both business and personal topics. Something on-brand for Dig a Little Deeper.”

  I scoff. “No.”

  Georgina rises and strides toward the door. “All right, then. Goodbye. I’m going on tour with Caleb, as his Penny Lane.”

  She’s bluffing and I know it. There’s no way in hell she could have felt what I did when we kissed and still want to fuck Caleb, or anyone else who isn’t me, any more than I want to fuck anyone who isn’t Georgina.

  When I say nothing behind her, Georgina calls out over her shoulder, still striding toward the door, “I’ll see you in a week, Mr. Rivers—that is, if Caleb hasn’t fucked me to death by then.”

  Oh, Jesus Christ. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s bluffing, but on the off-chance she’s not... “Georgina!” I shout, much more loudly than I mean to say it. “Stop.”

  She freezes at the door, her back to me.

  I’m
quaking. Flooded with adrenaline. Arousal. Jealousy. “I’ll negotiate with you about the scope of my interview,” I choke out. “But only if you don’t walk through that door right now. If you walk out of here, you’ll get absolutely nothing from me but a fluffy, bullshit interview that’s barely suitable for Rock ‘n’ Roll.”

  She turns around slowly, and the minute I see her face, I know every cell in her body is sighing with relief. Obviously, she had no desire to walk out that door. Indeed, she was counting on me stopping her, exactly the way I did.

  I’m expecting her to head back to the couch, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a slow step toward the armchair—toward me—her hazel eyes on fire. “Here’s an idea, Reed: How about you let me shadow you this whole week to see what your life is really like? If I can’t tour with RCR, then I’ll ‘tour’ your life. I’ll observe you and interview you along the way, about whatever topics you’re comfortable talking about.” She’s closing in on me, making my dick come alive with each step.

  Without consciously telling my body to do it, I rise from my chair, my body drawn to Georgina’s like steel to a magnet.

  “You won’t have to answer any question you don’t want to,” she purrs. “So, really, what’s the risk to you in saying yes to this idea? I’ll shadow you for a week, and then I’ll write my piece, whatever it turns out to be, and take my chances as to whether CeeCee decides to publish it in Rock ‘n’ Roll or the other magazine. Either way, you’re required to do an interview. Let’s spend a week together and see what comes of it.”