Real Liars

by S. M. West

  “She lied.” Her shoulders sag and I’m hopeful we can move past this.

  “You’re the only woman I’ve put this ring on.” I hold the ring out to her. “And I want it back on your finger. For real.”

  “But the lies.” The tears pooling in her brown eyes are heavy on my heart. “I can’t. This doesn’t end well. What about Nan?”

  “What about her?” I crook my head to the side.

  “She must know this isn’t real. I can’t keep lying to her. I’m mortified when I think of all the lies I’ve told. I can’t do this anymore.”

  There’s a knock at the door as I’m about to tell her we haven’t been lying for some time now. She rushes past me, wiping at her tears, and heads straight for the door.

  “Wait, don’t open—”

  She swings the door wide and Nan stands in the doorway with Ms. Conetta just behind her. They are right on time and I misjudged how much time I would need to persuade her.

  Nan knew I would be here. We discussed how today would play out for many hours last night. Reagan did follow through with her threat and withdrew funding for Project Miranda, and she’s also boycotting the gala tonight. Good riddance.

  It had been dicier with some of the committee members who didn’t like how readily we let Reagan walk with all the Hussey money and support. Nan reassured them we’d find a solution and not feel the loss. We already had a plan in motion but it was too soon to inform the board.

  Nan also thinks she can talk sense into Reagan’s grandmother when she returns from England and still realize a substantial donation from the Husseys. If anyone can pull that off, it’s Nan.

  Finally, we agreed Paige didn’t need to know all the gory details. She’d feel responsible for Reagan’s actions, even more so because of our deal, and neither of us want her to feel any guilt for something that is entirely my doing.

  “Nan, come in.” Paige steps to the side to make way for the women. “Zach was just leaving.”

  Something thick clogs my throat and I have difficulty swallowing, let alone speaking. My jaw tenses and lips thin as I nod.

  “Hello, Nan.” I kiss her cheek and then turn to the younger lady with her and take her hand. “Harley, I’m delighted to see you.”

  “Zach, it’s good to see you again.” She smiles and steps farther into the condo.

  “Will I see you at the gala tonight?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Harley Conetta smiles, and I wish I could stay to see Paige’s reaction when they are introduced.

  “Goodbye, Zach,” Paige says through clenched teeth, her smile tight and fake.

  “Paige.” I step in close, causing her to tip her head back to look me in the eye. I bend my head to her neck, lightly kissing her satiny soft flesh, and she shivers. I whisper, “We are real.”

  Thirty

  Paige

  “Paige, this is Harley Conetta, lead principal of Conetta-Everett.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s great to meet you.” I shake Harley’s hand, thrilled to finally meet the woman who is going to help us get Project Miranda off the ground. That is, if there still is a project.

  “And you, too. I’ve taken a look at your proposal and I’ve got some recommendations as well as a few ideas I’d like to leave with you to consider.”

  Harley Conetta is young, maybe my age or a little older but not by much. In her sleek beige pantsuit, she walks farther into the room and removes a folder and some spiral-bound books from her oversized tote.

  I glance to Nan, unsure how to proceed. I’m prepared to walk away from the Rothwell Foundation after tonight’s gala and I’m turning down the foundation job. I don’t want to be the reason Project Miranda fails. We need the funding to proceed. The Hussey donation is substantial and if the foundation loses that, we’d have to fundraise for months and it would set back our goals and projections.

  “Hear her out and we’ll talk after,” Nan says, following Harley into the room.

  The three of us spend an hour going over the books and talking through next steps once we’ve tallied the funds raised from tonight’s gala. Harley leaves with a promise to see us both this evening.

  I no sooner shut the door and Nan says from behind me, “He asked for my ring to propose to you.”

  Frozen, I rest my head against the cool wood of the door and draw in a deep breath. She isn’t even giving me a chance to gather my thoughts. When I turn around, her petite silhouette casts a small shadow across the floor.

  “Pardon?”

  “Zachary came to me and told me he wanted to marry you and asked for my ring. He didn’t have to sell me on the idea, but he did anyway.”

  Even as my heart does a strange flutter at this news, I can’t help but think of course he went to Nan first. She holds the purse strings to his trust. He’s a strategist and it’s a well-planned move. What better way for her to believe it’s love and give him his trust fund than to ask for her permission?

  “So?” Stiffening, I try to casually walk into the living room, hoping I’m hiding my discomfort.

  “So, I thought you might like to know.” She sits on the couch and I take the seat across from her as she studies me.

  “This changes nothing. I can’t trust him. I knew nothing about his past with Reagan. He lied to me.” A sharp twinge in my chest causes me to pause. Yeah, I lied, too. Isn’t that what we do? Lie to each other?

  “Really?” Nan arches a brow, pushing to the edge of her seat. “Don’t let Reagan Hussey bother you. She’s had her eyes on the prize since she was barely a teenager. And the prize isn’t my grandson. It’s the Rothwell name.”

  While Nan’s comments about Reagan are like Zach’s, I’m not sure it changes anything. Closing my eyes, I push on, changing the subject.

  “Thank you for bringing Ms. Conetta here. She’s so smart and it was lovely of her to meet with me and share her ideas. Her vision for Project Miranda is amazing and I can see great things for the foundation, but I can’t be a part of it. We need the Hussey money and if Reagan goes through with it, we’ll be scrambling to find the millions elsewhere.”

  I don’t bother to add that I’m also done with anything to do with Zachary Rothwell.

  “Oh, and you bowing out is purely altruistic and your decision has nothing to do with Zachary?” Her tone is haughty and even slightly ticked with what I’m sure she thinks is my childish behavior. “And what about the role I offered you? Let me guess, you don’t want that, either. And what about me? You think so little of me that you want to be done with me, too?”

  “No. Never.” I sit up and swing my legs over the side. “It isn’t about Zach. It’s about what’s best for the foundation.”

  “Nonsense. You are best for the foundation. I may be a sentimental old woman, but I didn’t ask you to run the gala and offer you the leading role at the foundation because I like you. I did it because you are exactly what I’ve been looking for. Your enthusiasm is contagious, your ideas fresh and inspiring, and I want that legacy for my family name.”

  A knot gathers in my throat as she showers me with undeserved compliments. If she only knew.

  “As for Zachary. You belong together. It’s as plain as the nose on my face.” She stands with her hands on her hips. “You’re going to get ready for this evening and after the success of Nuit Étoilée, you’ll report to the foundation in your capacity as Director of Strategy and Development. I won’t take no for an answer.” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond and leaves.

  The condo is like a revolving door. After Nan, I have another visitor. Donovan. He leans against the doorjamb of the condo because I refuse to let him in and smiles at me condescendingly.

  “I figured you’d need a date for tonight.”

  Why does this man seem to forget he’s married? I’ve yet to meet his wife and his wandering eye doesn’t appear to be a secret, yet no one acts like it’s a big deal or absolutely disgusting.

  “And where did you get that idea?”

  Hi
s laugh is arrogant, and he quirks a brow. “Oh, Paige, don’t underestimate me. I heard all about yesterday’s excitement. You cost the Rothwell Foundation some serious bank.”

  How the hell does he know about Reagan and yesterday? His father, Cormac, wasn’t there and I can’t believe his father would have told him a thing anyway. Maybe Reagan, although I wasn’t aware they were close.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign indifference, regretting the choice when his eyes darken with patronizing glee.

  “Reagan pulled all of the funding and she’s backed out of tonight.”

  I fail at hiding my shock and my insides curdle like souring milk. What on earth is Nan thinking to let Reagan do that? I didn’t want them to have to choose and would have willingly walked away.

  “But never you mind, Donovan is here to save the day.” He inches closer without me realizing until it’s too late.

  He twists a finger around a stray lock that’s escaped my messy bun. Winding my hair tighter around his digit, he steps into my space and his cloying cologne causes me to gag. I really don’t like this guy.

  “Back off,” I snap, pulling my hair from his grasp.

  His chuckle is wicked, and he grins. “You don’t even want to hear my proposition? I thought you’d be more than willing since that’s your thing. Spread your legs for a rich man.”

  “Fuck you.” I slap him across the face.

  Despite being able to stop me, he watches my hand connect with his jaw, without even so much as a flinch. My stomach twists at the fiery excitement I see in his eyes.

  “Absolutely. You fuck me, I fuck you. Any time,” he drawls, and I growl, my palm throbbing at my side and I try to step away, but I’m not fast enough.

  He grabs my wrist, drawing me flush to him, and his growing arousal is hard against my stomach. Bile gathers in my mouth.

  “Get the fuck out.” I lift my knee, holding it so he gets my meaning.

  His amusement never wavers but he does put distance between us, going back to his spot at the door. “I’ll pitch in some money, not as much as what the Husseys were going to but close, and in exchange, you go with me to the gala.”

  “What?” I hate to admit it but there is a second where I actually contemplate his offer. As much as I hate him, a date to the gala seems like a small price to pay for what he’s offering. But that’s the thing, now, isn’t it?

  “I’m not interested, but tell me how you know so much? How did you know about what happened with Reagan?” I push at his chest and he stumbles until his back hits the wall.

  Curiosity is getting the better of me because I want him to leave but not until I’m able to fit all the puzzle pieces together. I don’t dare ask how he knew about my deal with Zach, but my guess is he’s getting all of his information from one source.

  He winks slyly. “Reagan and I are very much alike. We go way back. She helped me snag Cecilia many moons ago, and now it’s my turn to help her bag Zach.” He folds his arms and leans lazily against the wall.

  “Like me, Reagan isn’t marrying for love. It’s all about the power of the union. Why do you think you’ve never seen my darling wife?” For an instant something akin to pain flashes in his eyes, but just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced with malice. “Cece would rather be in hell than anywhere I am. We live separate lives but on paper we’re a formidable pair. Fuck, I thought dear old Dad would have gotten off my back after I married Cecilia Black. He should have been impressed…” He trails off, dragging his hand harshly through his hair before his tormented gaze lands back on me. “A Hussey-Rothwell union would be much the same and Reagan is nothing if not driven to be among the most powerful and richest. She was giving Zach time to cool off, build his desperation for his trust, or even her money, then she’d swoop back in and get his last name. But you fucked that up.”

  He laughs and with each rumble, my stomach flips and twists with the knowledge that these people—wealthy, insensitive people like Donovan and Reagan—treat life and people’s lives like a game. Love, happiness, and any other emotion aren’t worth anything to them. While he’s given me a lot to think about, there’s still something I just don’t quite understand.

  “So that explains Reagan’s motives, but what about yours?”

  As if I’ve poked the bear, he springs to life, pushing from the wall to bump chests with me. I press my hands flat against his chest and he willingly backs away, but not altogether. His torso leans into my palms, and I want to release my hold but fear he’ll topple onto me and that would be worse than how we are right now.

  “I’m fucking sick and tired of Zach ‘the great’ Rothwell getting everything in life. Successful in school, in business, and now in love—fuck him. When is it my turn to reap the sweetness life has to offer?” Now he advances so quickly and unexpectedly, he crushes my arms between us and wraps a strong arm around my waist. “I just want a fucking taste.” His tongue darts out as he lowers his head toward my mouth.

  I clamp my lips shut, bucking and squirming, needing more room to use any of the self-defense moves I’ve learned. With my head turned to the side, I say, “Get out.”

  He releases an eerie laugh at the same time he lets me go and it’s clear he is enjoying every minute of our exchange. I stumble back and his half-crazed smile snaps my control. Lunging at him, my hand curls into a proper fist and rotating my hips like I’ve practiced in my countless weekly drills, I throw a tightly controlled punch.

  I hit him in the eye with a pleasing smack, causing him to stagger backward, and I seize the chance to thrust him out the door, slamming it in his face. My knuckles pulse but not in a bad way and his curse-filled groans can be heard through the wood. A satisfactory smile slides across my face as I shudder, grateful to have the barrier. He’s despicable and so driven to stick it to Zach by having me on his arm.

  I might have my own problems with Zach, but I don’t want to see him hurt and even more so, I don’t want to be involved in anything that could hurt him.

  I almost don’t go to the gala. The idea of missing Nuit Étoilée is saddening and foolish. Despite all the other reasons not to go—like Zach, Reagan, losing the Hussey donation and funding—grabbing a pint of Cherry Garcia and watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before for the tenth time isn’t enough to keep me home.

  I can’t bring myself to let the stunning vintage dress Zach gave me go to waste. Lifting it from the bed, I slip the beaded gown on and the image of myself in the mirror makes me want to cry. It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.

  The fitted silhouette hugs my curves with crystal embellishments, capped sleeves, a sweetheart neckline and scooped open back. Just below my knees, a fringe of sparkling tassels falls to mid-calf. With my head held high, I leave for the moment I’ve been working toward for weeks now.

  The evening is bittersweet. It’s even more of a success than I imagined. One of the city’s most well-known and well-respected philanthropic reporters makes an appearance and asks to speak with Nan, who insists I be part of the interview.

  Throughout the night, Donovan leers at me every time our gazes clash, and I’m unperturbed, responding with the smile of a victor. The sight of his big, ugly black eye does wonders for my mood and I can’t help but snicker at his lousy job at covering up his shiner. But any joy is easily squashed by Zach’s many attempts to get me alone. I thwart every one. If I decide to stay with the foundation, which I don’t think is a good idea, I need to make it clear Zach has to keep his distance.

  I spend the entire evening, even when plastering on a smile and joining in idle chit-chat, thinking about how to save Project Miranda, and the only solution I can come up with is to reason with Reagan. I will go to her tomorrow and agree to leave so long as she agrees to reinstate their support.

  I push through the night, keeping my distance from both Zach and Nan, refusing to break down or walk out. But I can’t lie. I won’t lie to myself anymore. This world and these people aren’t mine and as much as I’d
love to marry Zachary Adam Rothwell, I won’t do it for anything but love.

  As the night winds down, we surpass our donation goal and Nan takes to the stage for her wrap-up remarks. I’m smiling and realize there were moments of joy this evening. Moments where all our hard work, ideas, and imaginings paid off to see patrons laughing, smiling, and most importantly, writing checks. Those moments are outnumbered by those where I had to dig deep and push out smiles against my sadness. But the good exists among the bad, nonetheless.

  “Good evening, everyone. I promise this is the last time you’ll hear from me tonight. Once again, I want to thank all of you for your extreme generosity this evening and your outpouring of support for Project Miranda and our commitment to helping sustain the earth’s most valuable resource—water.” Nan pauses and the crowd applauds.

  “Those of you on our email list will get more details about the project in the coming weeks with more to come on our website. But tonight, I want to thank one donor for his significant contribution to Project Miranda. Without his support we wouldn’t be close to announcing a deal and location for our plant.”

  She steps into the center of the stage, glancing to one side and then back to the crowd. “Because of his single donation, we’re fortunate to skip the initial fundraising phase, and all of this is thanks to Zachary Rothwell.”

  My jaw drops and I clutch my stomach as Zach takes to the stage, standing next to his grandmother. Smiling, he waves to the cheering crowd and with his hand shielding his eyes from the bright lights, he scans the many faces until he stops on me and winks.

  “Thank you.” He kisses his grandmother’s cheek and then finds me again. “I promise to keep this short because we’ve all had a fabulous night, but my dogs are barking. It’s been a long one.” He winks again at me and I can’t resist a smile. “And now that you’ve lightened your wallets, you’re free to go.” Laughter erupts throughout the gathering, and his smile widens and my chest aches. I will miss his smile. I will miss him.