Black Lies (18 page)

In a few hours, I’d be home. Would swing by the printers, pick up the papers and make sure they were perfect. Then hit the sack and catch up on sleep. Tomorrow would be a big day. A relationship-ending one.

I was a person of plans. Always had been. I liked order. Refinement. Intellectual thought that put objects into motion. Controlled their outcome.

Molly had been my problem.

This paper, this setup: my solution.

Carefully crafted steps to ensure a positive outcome.

Lose Molly. Gain Lee. Carry on.

Winning would give me a sense of accomplishment. A righting of one wrong. But still, a bigger problem loomed. Once I had both of them, then what?

How would this story end?

The best-laid plans still deserved a purpose. I needed to find mine.

For now, this one seemed foolproof. I swiped a hand over the newspaper. Our false cover wrapped around thirty-two pages of legitimacy. I couldn’t tell the difference. They floated seamlessly. Our articles matched the inside pages, the paper weight, color, and consistency the same, the phone numbers and emails listed all sending Molly directly to Don. It was a work of art. I flipped through, flipped back. Ran my hands over the glaring photos that screamed sex. They made an impression all right. I took out a red Sharpie. Wrote WHORE in big red angry letters across the front. Set it down and looked at it from the angle Lee would. Perfect. He wouldn’t miss it. Then I grabbed my cell, snapping a picture of the writing and texting it to Don with instructions. Then I called him.

“It’s perfect. I just sent you a text with a touch to add.”

Don wasn’t confused. Knew what I was referring to. “Okay. You approve the copy?”

“It looks great. You got a guy to sit at her place?”

“Yep. And I’m on your boy. As soon as he heads her way I’ll have him put a paper in place.”

“I don’t know when he’ll go there. It might take a few days. Or even weeks. Just print a fresh paper each day with the correct date.”

“I know, you told me. We’ll stay on top of it.” His voice was calm, competent.

I released a bit of anxiety. “And call me when your investigators see him head that way. I want to be there.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Thanks.” I slid the paper into a paper bag, carefully closed it. Ended the call and walked to the pantry. Put the evidence of our deceit into the trash compactor, then headed to the shower.

A week later, I watched Molly’s apartment, a Mediterranean-style orange townhome with window boxes full of hot pink hibiscus. His jeep sat there, a mud-spattered box of American masculinity in a sea of foreign cars. It’d been twenty-two minutes since he walked in, his hands dipped into jean pockets, his head down, steps walking without thought, as if he had walked the path a hundred times.

I tapped my nude nails against the gearshift. Closed my eyes briefly and let the air conditioner breeze wash over me. I had a massage scheduled in an hour, so this situation needed to resolve itself soon or I’d be late for my date with Roberta’s hands.

Movement, upper right apartment. Hers. A door flew open, Lee’s head moving quickly down the open hall, a blonde head close behind, tugging on his shirt, arms gesturing wildly. I could imagine the words flying out of her mouth
. Lee, don’t go. Lee, it isn’t what you think!
I wondered if the word ‘love’ left her mouth, if their relationship had progressed to that point.

He disappeared into the stairwell. I leaned forward, wished I had a drink, something to crack open and enjoy while my hard work came to fruition. This had to work; this had to happen. She couldn’t have him; he was mine.

His head bobbed between the cars, his face coming into view as he walked up to his jeep. Face set, features hard, a look I hadn’t seen on his face before but knew well. Resolute. Decisive. I clenched my hands in excitement, watching as her face came into view, blotchy and wide-eyed, her mouth moving rapidly, giant breasts heaving as she yelled something and grabbed at his shoulders. I wanted to roll my window down, just a peek, enough to hear this exchange, enough to savor this moment just a little bit longer.

That’s right. Turn and walk your pretty self away from this man. He will no longer touch your face. He will no longer make love to your body. He is mine. I will take your place.

I watched him get in, the door slamming hard enough to make her jump. And then, with the screech of tires—the best sound in the world, better than my fantasies—a sound of finality that left her standing in the empty parking spot, black mascara tears staining her cheeks, her scream loud enough to pass through my tinted windows.

Victory is mine
. I grinned, giving myself a virtual high five, and put my Mercedes into drive. Pulling into the street, I headed south. Maybe after my massage I’d swing by Brant’s office. Drop off a sandwich for him. Plan a dinner to celebrate my victory with the other man in my life.

By the time I got to the office, Brant wasn’t there, a fact that didn’t really surprise me. I stuck his sandwich into the office fridge and scribbled a note for him. Then I headed back, away from Palo Alto, up the winding highway that took me home. I ran errands along the way, taking my time, taking a drive through Lee’s part of the world, in a slim hope that fate might put us together.
Nothing
. I got back on the interstate and drove into the setting sun.

I pulled into my driveway, my mouth curving into a grin at the sight of Lee’s truck, parked on the right side of the drive, his tall build leaning against the door, his head coming up, legs stepping away from the truck as I came to a stop.
That didn’t take long
. I got out. Rested my hand on the top of the car and met his look, his hands tucked into his front pockets, his shoulders hunched but his eyes steady, playful, the cool air whipping through us both.

“You lost?” I called out.

“Figured I had to leave the slums every once in a while.” He waved a piece of paper, one I had scribbled down my address on a good two months ago. He glanced toward the house.

“You look dirty.” I raised my eyebrows. He did. Bits of sand in his hair, like he’d driven the jeep, top down, through the desert. “Sure you aren’t just using me for a hot shower?”

He stepped closer, his hands leaving his pockets, resting lightly on my roof. “Sounds like an attempt to get me naked.”

I met his cocky smile. “I don’t need hot water for that.” I shut the car door, walked around, his steps following me up the steps. “Where’s the girlfriend?” The words came out right. Casual. Innocent.

“She’s gone.” He shrugged, but my sideways glance saw the hurt. The way his eyes lowered, the scratch in his throat, the attempt to hide the catch with a short cough.

I unlocked the door. Swung it open and waited for him to pass by. Took my time shutting the door behind me, knowing that—as soon as it shut—the dynamic in this situation would change.

Click
. I turned, Lee standing close. So close that when he took a step forward it put me flat against the door, my keys dropping to the floor, my breath catching somewhere in the space between us. He moved forward, the warmth of his body fully against me, one leg sliding in between mine, the hard press of him pleasing, in small part, the ache in my core. He let out a shuddering breath against my neck, his hands dragging down the side of my body and cupping the curve of my ass. Pulling me even tighter to his as he ground even tighter against me.

“I don’t want to be your rebound,” I whispered.

“I don’t want to be your side piece.” He bit the words against my neck. “But tonight, I need a fucking rebound. I need to bury myself inside of you and feel whole. And tonight, I am your side piece. So both of us can fuck like adults and both of us can get our brains fucked out and feel like shit about it.” He squeezed my ass so hard it hurt, the hitch in my breath bringing his head up, until his mouth was even with mine, the hard breath of him hot in the brief moment before he pressed his lips against mine. Took a deep taste as he ground against my thigh. “You feel that, Lucky?” He grabbed my hand. Put it on his zipper. Held it there until my fingers moved. Outlined him. “That’s the level of my need right now. Now, be a good slut.”

I fumbled with the button. Got it free and then yanked at his zipper. Pulled it down and dove in. Let out a shudder when my fingers wrapped and pulled free his cock. So hard in my hand. So ready. I wrapped my hand around it. Fucked its length as he ravaged my mouth, the hiss against my lips telling me the tempo he liked. He thrust his hips, the hard beat against my aching cunt not nearly enough. Not compared with the organ in my hand. The one that was pulsing beneath my hand. The one whose tip was wet with arousal, heated with need. I dropped his cock, put both hands on his chest and pushed, his mouth fighting it, one of his hands catching my wrist and putting my hand back on his cock, my name a beg on his lips.

God, I lusted for this man. I needed him. I needed him to be completely mine. I didn’t want second best. I didn’t want rebound sex. The look in his eyes, domination and lust – I had become addicted to that look. My need for him trumped anything with Brant. I couldn’t help that. I couldn’t help the different things I wanted from each man. I only knew that right now, I needed more than my hand on his cock. I needed to feel, for at least a short period of time, a full connection with him.

“The bedroom,” I gasped. Moved my hand, tried to leave his grip, to move toward the stairs that would take us to my bed.

“No.” the resolution in his voice stopped me in my tracks. I looked over. Saw him standing, legs spread, jeans low on bare hips, his cock heavy in his fist. “I need you right now. Lay down.”

“Here?” I looked at the floor, at the Persian rug that had set me back a good six figures.

“Christ, Layana. Now. Strip.”

I yanked at my clothes, my eyes on his hands. One pressing at the base of his cock, the other moving in slow strokes, the pinch of his face, his eyes closing for a moment before they blazed to life and stared at me, my body almost naked, my hands fumbling with the strap of my bra. He dropped to his knees, pulling me down before him, on my back, the rough kiss of the carpet my welcome party. He spread my legs, held onto my waist and pulled me forward and onto his waiting cock.

God. I knew. So many things wrong with this picture. But God, it felt so good. I stared into his eyes, listened to him whisper my name, and enjoyed every second of the ride. For those minutes, I forgot about Brant, about Tennis Barbie, about anything but him and me and that moment of time.

I was his rebound.

He was my sidepiece.

And both of us wanted more.

At least I did. Maybe anything else was a lie I was telling myself.

Jillian

It’s safe to say I never liked Layana. There is something about a woman, when you look into her eyes and see calculation that I don’t like. I prefer the open books, the countless women who pass through this office full of smiles and sunshine and optimism. I don’t look in their eyes and wonder what they are thinking. I don’t listen to them speak and search for hidden meanings. I don’t wonder, when they leave, where they are going. But that, from day one, is how it has been with Layana. I had hoped she would pass on. Hoped that another woman would catch Brant’s fancy, that he wouldn’t go for her long legs and mess of curls. But, alas, he did. She stayed. And now, here we are. Two women battling over this man. I only want to protect him. She loves him. We have differing views on what loving him entails. I don’t want to think about what she does to keep him. Whatever it is, it’s working. The man won’t take his eyes off her.

I’m sure there are things I could do. To poison their relationship. Expose her lies, put a quiver of death into the perfect existence that he thinks they live. The problem is that she knows the secret. The one that I hug, with the tight grip of a mother bear, to my chest. The one that I have spent years protecting, blood, sweat and tears seeping through the iron bars I have built to keep it in. Destroying their relationship? His trust in her? The secret would burn to the ground along with their love. Be exposed in the open air for whoever wanted to grab its papery truth and run wild. In that secret lies nothing but destruction. And so I sit here. Continue paying the men who keep tabs on Brant at all times. Smile when she enters. Help to hide her lies. Pretend to love her with the same vigor that I love him. And hope that one day she fades out of his life.

I can take care of him. She can only—will only—break him in two.

Excerpt, The Journal of Jillian Sharp.

“Stay.” I watched his hands slow, the rub of the towel through his hair coming to a stop. He lowered his hands, wiping his face before dropping the towel on the floor and stepping over it, a second towel wrapped around his lower half as he strolled over to his jeans.

“I can’t. Stay too long in this place, I’ll start thinking I belong here.”

“It’s one night.” One night I desperately needed. How different would a night with Lee be? Would he stay the whole night or leave me in the dead of night as Brant so often did? Would he wrap me in his arms or would he sprawl out on the other side of the bed?