First to Lie: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Unraveled Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  First to Lie

  Unraveled Book 1

  Marie Johnston

  LE Publishing

  Unmistaken Identity

  Copyright 2017 as Unmistaken Identity by Marie Johnston

  Developmental Editing by The Killion Group

  Copy Editing by Razor Sharp Editing

  Cover Art by Secret Identity Graphics

  Second edition proofing by My Brother’s Editor and Double Author Services

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  Chapter 1

  Mara

  I strode into the swanky club and stalled. Loud music pulsed through my body and flashing lights bounced off mirrored columns. Beautiful people sipped cocktails and flirted with the equally stunning people next to them.

  I so didn’t belong there.

  Sam, why’d you have to go and die on me? Guilt immediately poured in. It wasn’t like the man I leased my storefront from, my dear friend, had planned on passing away.

  To fortify my nerves, I reminded myself why I was here instead of at home in my Avengers pajamas, slaying some dragon ass on Xbox. Per the notice, I only had forty-five days to close down my comic book shop and vacate the building. The entire strip mall was scheduled for demolition.

  Sam Robson’s son must’ve moved on his plans to tear down my livelihood before dirt had even covered the coffin.

  I smoothed my hands down my skirt and wished for my favorite Wonder Woman leggings and plaid flannel. My feet screamed in these heels, but at least I shouldn’t get kicked out for being an ugly duckling in a sea of sleek, designer label-wearing swans.

  Why couldn’t Sam’s son have met with me like a responsible business owner? Why couldn’t Sam have finished the paperwork that would’ve taken care of everything and given me the building?

  I’m sorry, Mr. Robson isn’t in the office today.

  Wesley Robson’s bitchy receptionist had said that line for the last five days. First, the coward had served me papers on Friday afternoon, then he’d been “gone” all week. If he thought to avoid me, he was an idiot. I’d meet his unprofessionalism with my tenacity. To start with, I’d remembered Sam telling me his son owned a nightclub.

  And here I was. At Canon. Of all the definitions of canon, which one had he named his club after? I doubted he used religious connotations in the name of a nightclub. In my world, canon discussions varied depending on the universe being discussed. Comic books? Superhero movies? Video games? Yeah, those worlds totally went with this swanky place…

  I glanced around at the design and decor of the club. Upscale. Like the high-end retail shopping and luxury condos planned for where my store sat. What was this look called? Industrial contemporary. Another term I’d heard Sam throw around. I’d learned so much from that man.

  Six months of mourning his death gave way to a spike in anger. He’d told me he’d take care of it, that my business would never be threatened. The papers that gave me the Heart of Downtown strip mall had been drawn up and…that was as far as it had gotten. He had loved my comic book shop, Arcadia, almost as much as I did.

  Squaring my shoulders, I forced one foot in front of the other. As I passed the bouncer, he slid his gaze down my bare legs, up to my plunging neckline, then behind me to the next scantily clad woman. He had plenty to choose from, and, as always, I was forgettable.

  I sighed. No wonder the fanboy world was where I stayed. Most days, comic book worlds were preferable to mine, and my customers brightened each hour I worked. Hell, they were my only friends.

  I scanned the club as I wound my way around mirrored columns to the bar. Throngs of young professionals left their business jackets behind and bounced in beat to the music, their ties loose and neck collars unbuttoned. Dark booths lining the walls—I was almost afraid to look—were filled with laughing men and women, elegant drinks in their hands. As the night progressed, I was sure the activities in those booths would get more salacious.

  The bar anchored the middle of the club and I chose a seat on the same side as the door. A prime view of every corner.

  The bartender gave me a once-over. “What can I get you?”

  “I’d like to talk to Wes if he’s around.” Maybe acting like I knew him would help. But what if he went by Wesley?

  The guy cocked an eyebrow. “He’s not here.”

  A ready-made answer. A lot of women must make the same request. Perfect. The guy was a player. At least that might mean he harvested his bedroom fun from the dance floor and would make an appearance.

  Ugh. I hated lingering at bars.

  What the hell did people drink when they went to places like this? Mixed drinks? I didn’t know any. Beer? I liked it with pizza. “I’ll have a glass of white wine.”

  There. That sounded classy.

  He rattled off a list of brands, his tone bored.

  I gave him a succinct smile. “Surprise me.”

  He poured my wine as he made a phone call. My lips flattened when I noticed he’d chosen bottom shelf. Was I that obvious? I wasn’t penniless, but I did pinch the copper out of them.

  He slid the glass in front of me and moved down the line, taking orders.

  Sipping my drink and watching the crowd, I waffled between ordering a second glass and going home. Could I tolerate sitting at the bar, wasting time, while my mind vacillated between finding another location for my store and giving it up to work for someone else?

  I shuddered. Giving someone power and influence over me?

  Not again.

  I had to hunt Wesley Robson down tonight, didn’t want to waste more time on my search. As it was, the night would be too short for a decent sleep. Saturday was game day at my comic book shop. Participants showed early and played intensely for hours. Board games, card games, electronic games. I would jump in and play them all, or run around the store helping customers.

  It was my favorite day of the week, but still a long one.

  What did Wesley look like, anyway? I would’ve seen him if I’d been able to go to the funeral. By the time I’d found out about Sam’s sudden death, though, he’d been gone and buried. There had to be a picture of his boy online. Just as I pulled out my phone to do a search, someone settled onto the barstool next to me.

  “Macallan 18.”

  The deep voice resonated through my bones. I almost groaned. He had the rumble of a rugged man, a primal mating call in my opinion. Admittedly, my last few dates had put the “boys” in fanboys, not men who knew their way around a woman.

  I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.

  Holy hotness, Batman! He reminded me of one of my favorite superheroes. Jet-black hair, sky-blue eyes nearly glowing under the club lights, wide shoulders. If he wore a cape a
nd had a large S on his shirt, I’d sit on his face. I’d still consider it, given his charcoal slacks and white-striped shirt, which likely had been cinched by a tie all day. The first two buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. What was that style called? Industrial hot-as-hell businessman.

  “What’s your poison?”

  I shot him a surprised glance. He gestured to my already half-empty glass.

  What had the bartender said it was? “I think it’s named after some pop star.”

  He chuckled with genuine humor. “Are you here with the bachelorette party?”

  When hell froze over. “No.”

  The bartender leaned over the counter to hand him his drink. “The lady said she was looking for the owner.”

  Stay out of it, dude. Wait, he knew the total package next to me? Maybe the new arrival also knew the owner. “Do you know Mr. Robson?”

  His eyes crinkled with his smile. Even the man’s teeth were perfect. “Why would you want to find him? I’ve heard he’s an ass.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  Hotness savored a long sip of his…whatever a Macallan was. “You’ve gotta tell me what he did to you.”

  The pink bangs that framed my face dropped into my eyes. I feathered them away. His gaze traced from my hand to my dual ponytails, the plain brown hair streaked with pink. Instead of blond highlights, or lowlights, or whatever stylish women did, I’d chosen pink—because it was fun and girly. One of the few splurges I allowed myself.

  My hair often drew attention, not always the flattering kind. But I enjoyed his. “He’s shutting down my store. Tearing down the whole damn building. ‘Upgrading.’” I gave the last word air quotes.

  His right eye twitched and he stared at me for a heartbeat. Humor drained from his expression and his gaze narrowed slightly.

  My heart rate increased at being the object of such scrutiny. I wanted more, but I also felt like I’d done something wrong.

  Finally, a grin curled his full lips. “That bastard.” He flagged the bartender. “The lady would like another glass.”

  If he was going to sit next to me, then yes, I would like another glass. Unless he wanted to do more than sit. Because getting it on with a sexy stranger would take the sting out of having to purchase this outfit just to get close to Wesley-fucking-Robson.

  But first, the standard wedding ring check. Not always a reliable sign, but the tan line of a missing ring cut things off immediately.

  His left hand was wrapped around the wide glass of his whiskey. No white line.

  Good start.

  He turned to me. “The name’s Sam.”

  “Mara. I lost a good friend named Sam.” Way to go. A hot guy starts talking to you and you bring up your dead friend.

  An unreadable expression flickered over his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused and his expression lightened. “Closing your store, huh?”

  I swiveled in my seat. The position landed my crossed legs between his manspread. An intimate position, and not one I wanted to leave. “Yeah, my store. I was good friends with this amazing man who supported my business and gave me sound investment advice. He’s who I leased the building from.” I blinked back the sting of tears. “But his son is tearing it all down and throwing up some…” I couldn’t come up with any words that weren’t foul, so I went with it. “Fancy shit.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, and holy X-wing, had his eyes just sparkled? “Is that the technical term?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask.” I waved my hand at the crowd on the dance floor. “You’d have to ask one of them.”

  His expression danced with amusement. “Not your crowd, I take it.”

  “God, no.” I shook my head, my ponytails swinging. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be insulting. I had to grow up fast and it didn’t leave me time for any of this.”

  The scorching heat in his gaze as it wandered down my body and back up robbed me of breath. His attention didn’t switch to another woman, like the bouncer’s had. Blatant interest was written all over his face. I took a gulp of my fresh glass of wine.

  His hand brushed my leg. “If it’s not your crowd, why don’t we go someplace else?” His gaze held mine as he took another sip.

  Yes, please! My shoulders hunched. “Sorry, I’m on asshole patrol.”

  Sam almost spit his drink back out. He swallowed hard and chuckled. “Well then. Let’s hit the dance floor and watch for assholes.”

  Before I lost my nerve, I drained the rest of my wine and hopped up. The world spun off-kilter. A strong hand steadied me at my waist.

  I held my hand to my forehead. “I think I might have to take you up on that offer and use it to go grab a bite.”

  He frowned, his eyes glimmering. “You were drinking on an empty stomach?”

  I smiled ruefully and leaned into the hand at my hip. “Not every decision I make is excellent.” Though usually it had to be, and it was exhausting. Tonight, I wanted him to be my one rash decision. If I had to waste time and money at this damn club, I wanted compensation.

  He dropped his head to speak into my ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down my spine. “Staying to dance with me is a good one. I promise I’ll feed you soon.”

  My breath caught. We were both on the same page: take advantage of our mutual attraction and act on it without any inhibitions. Years of responsibility melted away. It wasn’t like I was looking for a relationship. As long as he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend waiting on him somewhere, I could handle it. Death by guilt wasn’t for me.

  Why shouldn’t I relish the attention of a hot guy? Letting myself go for one night wouldn’t hurt.

  Wes

  My erection ground into Mara’s back as she swayed against me. Her claims of being an awkward dancer were only slightly true, but that might be the effect of the wine.

  Mara Jade Baranski.

  I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. Maybe even that would be too far. She was a foot shorter than me and weighed maybe 120 pounds; I could toss her a ways. I couldn’t come up with another euphemism because her scent was too distracting. Her hair smelled like it looked—strawberries.

  Asshole patrol. Everything she said had been accurate. One day, I would tell her it was deliberate and why, how she couldn’t use her looks to cruise through life on the backs of hardworking men. She could take her little shop and move it to a shittier part of Minneapolis, where no horny old man would help her.

  Like every other time I thought of my dad, my heart wrenched and I brushed it off.

  When my bartender had rung me in the office to say a woman was asking about me, I’d pulled up the security footage on my computer. She was smokin’—and unfamiliar, but that was unsurprising. She was just another woman with ulterior motives for a man with money. Shocker. But her appearance had been worth a look-see. Then to discover it was her; she’d upped her ante from stopping by my office. From the way her body felt against mine, it’d be worth indulging a little while I fooled her with my dad’s name.

  The corner of my mouth tilted. The irony. She’d tried to scam my dad, so “Sam” would scam her. My dad and I had issues, and some days, I would love to know where they stemmed from, but I wouldn’t allow Mara to stomp on his memory.

  I flared my hands at her hips and pulled her closer to nibble along her neck. She arched into me. Women weren’t welcome at my home or any of my offices—I didn’t trust a girl not to be after my money, and none of those locales would do because Mara would find out who I really was before I could uncover why she’d targeted my dad. What did Mara have that Sam’s other women hadn’t? As far as I knew, Sam had never entertained the thought of even remarrying, much less signing over property for as little as a dollar.

  Mara wasn’t like any of the flings my dad had brought around. She looked barely out of college, but she was just a few years younger than my twenty-eight.

  Not surprising why good ol’ Sam had never told me about her. Sam had
kept the hot girl to himself, perhaps fearing that given his age, she would have set her sights on me instead.

  What had my dad been thinking, drooling after a younger woman?

  I dragged my tongue up to her earlobe and reveled in her shiver. “Gimme your keys and tell me where to go.”

  Her dreamy gaze locked on me. She licked her lips, catching my attention. I couldn’t help the rock of my hips to ease the throbbing in my balls.

  “I came here to—” She moaned when I nibbled a path down to the juncture of her neck and collarbone. Warm and salty, hinting at the sweetness I hoped to discover between her thighs.

  “If he was going to show, he’d be here by now. Besides,” I nipped her soft skin, “there’s always another night.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. No big surprise she was going to acquiesce. Mara had proven with my dad how quickly she could sink her unadorned nails into a man. Only I wasn’t going to sign over part of my empire to her just because she had an epic ass.

  “Come on.” She grasped my hand and we wove through the crowd until we exited into the crisp night air.

  We reached her car and she stumbled in her heels. I caught her and pulled her in close. No wonder my impulsive dad had been smitten. Mara rated even higher than any of the women I had dated. Well, “dated” was a strong word.

  I dropped my head and captured her mouth. Plump and soft, I had to taste. Sweeping my tongue inside, I thumbed a nipple through her shirt.

  She groaned a sigh, such a feminine sound, and I wanted her to make it repeatedly.

  Lost in pleasure, I let my tongue dance with hers before I realized we were rubbing against each other. If I had to wait until we got to her place, I was going to lose my mind to my blue balls.