Broken Lies: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 1

by Azzi , Gina

  “I can’t believe I’m not going to see you for four months.”

  “We’ll FaceTime every day,” my bestie assures me.

  I swallow, my throat dry, my anxiety over what I’m about to do heightening the closer the clock ticks to my departure time. “What the hell am I thinking, Charlie? Who agrees to a job where you have to move in one week and have no idea what to expect?”

  “I would. In a heartbeat. Especially if the man offering the job was Eli freaking Holt!” She yells the last part, whooping loudly and pumping her fist like a bad character from Jersey Shore.

  I wrinkle my nose at my best friend, my rock, the one person to keep me grounded when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control. “I’m going to the Seychelles. For four months. Alone.”

  “I have no idea why you’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.” Charlie clucks her tongue. “I’d donate a kidney to go anywhere for four months.”

  “But my dad and the bar —”

  “Everything will be fine without you. No offense. I know you’re integral to Papa Clark’s life, and you think no one else can deal with Sunday Night Football at Shooters like you, but babe, everyone and everything are going to be fine.”

  I scowl. “He has a bunch of appointments coming up —”

  “Send me the dates and I’ll remind him. I’ll even drive him, swear it, if no one else is available.”

  “I know. It’s just, his vision is getting worse. What if —” I bite my lip, not able to keep the quiver out of my voice.

  “He won’t.” Charlie wraps me in a hug, squeezing tightly.

  “How do you know? In four months, he could be completely blind.”

  “He’ll always see you, Zoe. You’re his North Star. You need this, babe. It’s a good opportunity for you, professionally and personally. All you’ve done since your grandma passed —”

  I step out of her embrace and shake my head, cutting her off as my eyes burn with unshed tears.

  “You can’t stop living your life, Zoe. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Your business is taking off. Imagine what working with a client like Holt will do for your brand? You can grow That Fit Bitch Life by filming workouts and video clips on the beach in the Seychelles. Don’t you think your viewers would prefer that backdrop more than your bedroom or a dingy gym in Chicago?”

  I snort, nodding at her point.

  “Besides, the money’s fucking awesome. It will take care of some of the financial stress you have about Shooters. You deserve this time to get away, have fun, be a normal twenty-four-year-old obsessed with being tan and having a great holiday romance story. And if that romance just happens to be Eli Holt, you’ll make me the proudest friend ever. If not, I’ll still tolerate you.”

  I laugh, emotion crawling up my throat at her words, at the meaning behind them. Charlie’s been by my side since the beginning. Since before my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and stolen from our lives when I was thirteen. From before grandma passed two years ago from ovarian cancer. She was there when I got a mozzarella stick stuck in my braces and nearly choked to death after our basketball team won playoffs in middle school. She stood beside my mailbox the afternoon I received my acceptance letter to college. And she showed up at my door with a box of doughnuts from Doughnut Vault the day after I lost my virginity to my first real boyfriend at nineteen.

  It’s hard to imagine navigating this next chapter, one that fills me with excitement and nerves and a new set of challenges, without her. I swipe the backs of my knuckles over my eyes, hoping to knock some wayward tears away.

  “Aw, Zoe.” She pulls me into another hug and I cling to her.

  I should tell her about my BRCA results before I leave.

  Hell, I should tell Dad.

  “You’re going to be fine, Zo. I’m going to miss you like crazy, but you deserve this wild adventure. Let yourself embrace it.”

  Her words are a salve to my scattered nerves. I bite my tongue before my alarming results slip through my lips and ruin the moment.

  Instead, I mentally run through my list of motivators for taking this job: financial flexibility, support for Dad’s future, catapulting my business to the next level, having some much-needed fun after years of grief and fear.

  Charlie’s right; I need to go.

  “Have you heard from him at all?” She steps back, placing her hands on my shoulders.

  “Eli? No, just his assistant, Harlow. And his agent. Both are friendly and professional. They walked me through my job responsibilities and sent over a bunch of paperwork. Helped me get my visa in order and explained accommodations to me.”

  “So basically, you’re all set.”

  “Basically.”

  “But no word from Eli. Strange.” Charlie shakes her head. “I could have sworn he was into you and that’s why he offered you the job.”

  “Charlie!” I step out of her reach and stick out my tongue. “I am a respectable trainer. Fine, I’m small time and local, but I have great references and am building a solid network. I work with a bunch of well-known guys in the MMA circuit. Rodriguez is about ready to level up. Did you ever consider that Holt offered me this job because he knows I can do it and not just because he thinks I’m a piece of ass?”

  “Honestly? No.”

  Vibrating with a wave of frustration, it crests and breaks with one look at Charlie’s unfazed expression. Dissolving into laughter, I lean over, gripping my stomach, tears pricking the backs of my eyelids.

  Jeez Louise, I’m a mess.

  “Gonna miss that sound.” Dad announces his arrival, pushing into my studio apartment with the key he’s had since the day I moved out of his home and into my own. He leans his white cane against the molding of my front door and holds out his arms.

  “Hi Dad.” I walk into his embrace, still giggling/hiccoughing/oh my god, are those more tears? — and wrap my arms around his growing midsection. He grins down at me, his blue eyes pale and cloudy, lines of exhaustion clinging to his features. My dad has worked sixteen- to eighteen-hour days his entire life; he doesn’t know the meaning of vacation or the definition of a mental health day.

  He’s given me everything I ever needed.

  Even during his transition into life with physical limitations.

  Even as his blindness worsened.

  Even when I was lost in the grief of Mom’s and then Grandma’s deaths.

  And now, especially now, it’s time I return the favor. Grinning up at him, I squeeze him closer, my resolve for my new job strengthening.

  “Hey Papa Clark. Get ready for the best Zoe replacement you could hope for.” Charlie embraces my dad on the other side, earning an affectionate eye roll from him.

  “Charlie, promise me you’ll come hang at Shooters on Sunday, even if this one is too busy working on her tan.” Dad grips Charlie’s shoulder.

  “I’ll do you one even better. I’m picking up Zoe’s Sunday shift. I’ll be there with my random football jersey on.” Charlie grins, her lack of interest in football one of dad’s greatest heartbreaks, second only to my preference for basketball.

  “Don’t doubt that,” Dad says, glancing around my apartment. “All set, Zo?”

  “All set.” I spin to take in my tiny apartment one last time. I don’t know why, but the moment seems important.

  Deep down, it’s as if I know I’m on the precipice of something, and when I return in four short months, everything will be different.

  Or at least seem different.

  Maybe it will just be me.

  “Let’s get you to a hot and fabulous island while we all freeze our asses off here,” Charlie snickers, gripping the handle of my suitcase and pulling car keys from her pocket.

  “Thanks again for driving us.” Dad grips his white cane.

  “Duh, as if I wouldn’t be part of Zoe’s send-off committee.” Charlie pulls open the door.

  “I’m ready.” I tug on a hoodie, leaving my winter coat on the coat rack. I definitely won’t need
it where I’m going. Closing the door behind me, I lock up, and toss Charlie my keys. The guy subletting my place is going to pick them up from Shooters.

  Following my dad and Charlie out of the place I’ve called home for the past four years, I square my shoulders and look to my future.

  * * *

  “Oh my God. I feel like I’m in Lost.” I marvel as the plane begins to descend over Mahe, Seychelles.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Harlow leans into me as she cranes her neck to peer out the window. “That’s Morne Seychellois, the highest point on Mahe. There are about 115 islands in total but we’ll mostly be here, with a few excursions.”

  “This is incredible.” I murmur, my eyes trained to the tall mountain, the wispy clouds wrapping around its peak like a hug, the vibrant blue sky and rolling waves below. “I wish I could parachute into it.”

  “I’m not sure that’s an option, but we can look into skydiving,” Harlow says, her voice neutral.

  “You must get asked to look into a ton of outrageous things in your line of work.”

  She cuts me a look, a smirk playing over her mouth. “Zoe, you have no idea.”

  During our long flight, we had ample time to chat and get to know one another. The more we talked, the more my anxiety faded. Well, I’m sure the champagne helped too, but I like Harlow. I like her unwavering honesty, her direct way of communicating, and her incredible multitasking skills. She’s sincere and authentic, and strong women are my spirit sisters.

  “Tell me more about what I can expect on a daily basis.” I lean back in my seat, gripping the stem of my champagne glass. Just a basic business class bitch here.

  “Eli will receive his call sheet the night before. From there, we’ll know what time he needs to be in hair and makeup, what scenes he’s shooting, etcetera. So your workout times, while he will want to keep them consistent as much as possible, may vary from day to day.”

  “That’s no problem.”

  “Good. He needs to maintain his current build and potentially add more muscle, but nothing too crazy as it should all look consistent throughout filming.”

  “Got it. I have a series of circuit trainings I’m going to run him through. In the beginning, it will mostly be to assess his fitness level and flag areas to improve. I understand he wants to perform some of his own stunts?”

  Harlow nods.

  “Right. So we want to make sure he’s ready for them, whatever the nature of the stunt is.”

  “Yeah. His character is in a plane crash so I imagine it could get pretty wild.”

  I glance out the window again. What would it be like to be an actor? To routinely slip into someone else’s skin and get to be them for a little while? Does it become easier? Are there some skins, some lives, actors ever wish were real?

  “Connor backed you really hard,” Harlow says unexpectedly. Her tone is too breezy and I hear the unasked question lingering in her voice.

  I shoot her a grin. “That was really solid of him. I train three guys at his gym. One of them, Rodriguez, is ready to level up. In a way, my leaving is perfect timing. Rodriguez is thrilled that Connor is going to step in and start training him.”

  Harlow’s face remains blank, her expression carefully neutral.

  I shake my almost empty champagne flute at her. “Look, I know I don’t really know you, but we just spent something like twenty-two hours sitting next to each other. Plus, champagne. I get the feeling something’s up between you and Connor.”

  Harlow’s lips thin as her eyes flash with hurt, which I hate because it indicates that Connor may have been the one to hurt her.

  Sighing, I reach out and pat her hand. “Nothing ever happened between Connor and me. Ever. We have a good professional relationship. I consider him an acquaintance. At most, a friend. I’ve never seen him bring girls around the gym or talk up the fan girls. He’s committed to his work, one hundred percent dedicated, and he’s an animal in the ring. Outside of the gym, when our paths have crossed, he’s always seemed quiet, a bit introverted, but fair. Kind. That’s all I got for you.”

  Harlow’s breathing shallows as she absorbs my words.

  “You okay?” I ask, suddenly worried something awful happened between them.

  Thankfully, Harlow nods and offers me a soft smile. It’s real and sincere and takes some of the toughness out of her features, replacing it with a sweetness I’ve yet to see her show. “Thank you, Zoe. Really. Things between Connor and me are crazy complicated. I don’t even see him that often; just when Eli travels to Chicago and brings me along or when Connor comes out to L.A. Over the past year, that’s been even less frequent. But, there’s something about him…” She trails off, her eyes taking on a faraway shimmer.

  I blow out a breath and commiserate with her. “It’s the fighting. And the broodiness.” I’ve seen it happen to more women than I can count, especially training up-and-coming MMA fighters working toward a title shot.

  Harlow giggles, the sound unexpected coming from her. I realize that although we sort of clicked from the start, I really don’t know her at all, but as our flight begins its descent, I’m glad our paths have crossed.

  “I’m really happy you’re here, Zoe,” Harlow admits, as if reading my mind. “I don’t have a lot of girlfriends. To be honest, you’re like the first girl on Eli’s team, besides me, that seems to dislike drama.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “No tolerance for that noise.”

  “Cheers to that.” Harlow taps her champagne flute against mine and takes a sip.

  Then we look at each other and laugh, our acquaintance blossoming into friendship by the time the plane’s wheels touch down.

  6

  Eli

  “Action!”

  Immediately, I turn off any lingering thoughts as Eli Holt and embrace Dr. Henry Shorn, my character who becomes stranded on a remote island after living through a plane crash. He’s the only survivor, heartbroken over the death of his fiancée and drowning in guilt over not being able to save her.

  After rescuing one of the sons of an indigenous group from an explosion of the plane’s wreckage, he becomes partially blind. As a result of his heroism, he’s welcomed into the tribe’s fold and ends up practicing medicine on a series of adventurous escapades with the natives until he falls in love with a woman from a rival group. In a few short months, Dr. Henry finds himself in a completely different reality from his swanky practice and quiet home life in Northern California.

  “Are you okay?” I bend down, gently touching the ankle of a child. His character is the son of a local tribal leader.

  He gestures with his hands, his eyes wide. Fearful.

  “You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” I gentle my tone, concern flooding my facial expression. “That’s a nasty sprain.” I attempt to doctor his ankle with what I have on hand – strips of my torn shirt and a handful of twigs.

  “Ow!” he wails, his face contorting in pain. The strands of colorful beads around his neck shake as he hides his face behind his hands.

  I scoop him up and hold him against my chest. “We’ve got to clean out those cuts.”

  “Wait!” he cries, lodging a hand against my chest.

  “You speak English?”

  He nods, lifting his hand and spreading his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Little bit. Who are you? Why you come here?”

  “My name is Henry. I came here by accident. From the plane crash.”

  “We shouldn’t be in the jungle.”

  I nod.

  “We didn’t find survivors.”

  Pain blazes across my face, my eyes filling with moisture. “I think I’m the only one.”

  “My name Siale. You take me home.” He points in the direction of his home, but all I see is thick, green vegetation followed by white sand, and endless, endless sea.

  “Tell me where to go.”

  “That way.” He points again, and I start off toward the beach.

  “Cut!” Preston�
�s voice rings out.

  Placing Josh onto his feet, he grins up at me.

  I tousle his hair. “Nice job, buddy.”

  He grips my forearm with both of his, the beads adorning his wrists clacking against each other. “Thanks, Holt.”

  “Hungry?”

  He nods. “I’m going to get a bagel.”

  “Me too.” I follow him off set to the table prepared with an elaborate spread.

  “Here.” Harlow thrusts a hot cup of coffee in my hand, her eyes trained on Preston and his art director, Brian, as they re-watch some footage and discuss in hushed tones. “How far behind are you guys?”

  “Few days.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.” I sip the coffee slowly, knowing Harlow has no concept of temperature since she drinks everything iced. Even wine. “How was your flight?”

  “Fine.”

  My nostrils flare despite my best efforts to keep my mounting frustration at bay. Where the fuck is she? I want to ask, but I don’t. I shouldn’t care where Zoe is. She’s just an employee, a member of my team.

  But hell if I can’t stop thinking about her. For the past four years, the one-night stands and casual hook-ups have worked really well for me. In fact, they’re exactly what I wanted. Now, after just one night of exchanging barbs and jokes with a bartender from my hometown, I feel off-balance, yearning to know more about Zoe while fighting my ridiculous attraction to her.

  Harlow chews the corner of her mouth, patiently waiting. She’s going to make me say it.

  Jesus. I have the best inner circle: tight, loyal, and honest. But damn if they don’t test my patience.

  “Zoe?” I clear my throat.

  “Settled into room 322. Garden view. Exploring the hotel, particularly the gym, and the equipment, before meeting me for dinner.” Harlow keeps her eyes trained on Preston. To give her a sliver of credit, she doesn’t shoot me a smartass smirk or gloat while answering.

  I glare at her, unsure if I feel relieved that she’s already befriended Zoe or annoyed that she has more access to my new trainer than I do.