by Lauren Rowe
Beautiful Liar Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Rowe
Books by Lauren Rowe
Music Playlist for Beautiful Liar
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Books by Lauren Rowe
Author Biography
Beautiful Liar Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Rowe
Published by SoCoRo Publishing
Layout by www.formatting4U.com
Cover design © Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review
Books by Lauren Rowe
The Reed Rivers Trilogy (to be read in order)
Bad Liar
Beautiful Liar
Beloved Liar
The Club Trilogy (to be read in order)
The Club: Obsession
The Club: Reclamation
The Club: Redemption
The Club: Culmination (A Full-Length Epilogue Book)
The Josh and Kat Trilogy (to be read in order)
Infatuation
Revelation
Consummation
The Morgan Brothers (a series of related standalones):
Hero
Captain
Ball Peen Hammer
Mister Bodyguard
ROCKSTAR
The Misadventures Series (a series of unrelated standalones):
Misadventures on the Night Shift
Misadventures of a College Girl
Misadventures on the Rebound
Standalone Psychological Thriller/Dark Comedy
Countdown to Killing Kurtis
Music Playlist for Beautiful Liar
“A-YO”—Lady Gaga
“Cringe”—Matt Maeson
“Broken”--LovelyTheBand
“Girl is on My Mind”—The Black Keys
“She’s Like Heroin to Me”—The Gun Club
“Obsession”—Animotion
“Waterfalls”—TLC
“Sweet but Psycho”—Ava Max
“My Addiction”—Adam French
Chapter 1
Georgina
The iron gate in front of Reed’s house comes into view in the car’s headlights, and I smile to myself. I can’t believe this is my life. I’m sitting next to Reed in the backseat of the black sedan that’s driving us to Reed’s house from the Red Card Riot show, and I’m losing my freaking mind. A mere nine days ago, I stood on the other side of that same iron gate, shrieking at Reed to let me out or I’d sue him for negligence and false imprisonment. And now, here I am, wanting nothing more than to get my horny ass back inside that damned gate, so Reed can take me to heaven again, the same way he did in that janitorial closet earlier tonight.
“Ah, the scene of the crime,” Reed says playfully as the car approaches his house. He squeezes my hand, releasing an unexpected ripple of butterflies into my belly. “Are you, by any chance, feeling the sudden urge to double-flip me off—or perhaps sue me for ‘negligence and false imprisonment’?”
I bat my eyelashes at him. “Now, why would I want to do that, when we buried the hatchet so deliciously earlier tonight?”
Reed leans forward and grazes his soft lips against my cheek. “And, oh, how amazing it felt to bury my hatchet inside you, Georgina Ricci. So damned good, I can’t wait to bury it again and again, all week long—and even more deliciously.”
My clit pulses at Reed’s words and then throbs with yearning when Reed skims his lips across the length of my jawline. I turn my head, intending to crush my hungry lips against his, but it’s not meant to be. The car has stopped, signaling we’ve arrived at our destination.
“Is there a code?” the driver says, referring to the gate, and Reed shoots me a heated smolder that says, Hold that thought.
“We’ll just get out here,” Reed tosses out.
After we pile out of the sedan together, Reed heads to the trunk to retrieve my suitcase—the one I packed thinking I’d be spending an exciting week on the road with rock royalty—while I head to the gate and stare slack-jawed through its metal slats at Reed’s breathtaking house. After a moment, Reed appears at my side, wheeling my suitcase behind him. He unlocks a pedestrian gate and politely gestures for me to pass through first, which I do.
“Are you cold?” Reed asks as I walk by. “You’re shaking.”
I rub my upper arms. “Just excited. Also, nervous.”
“Nervous?” He closes the gate behind us. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Georgie girl. I come in peace. For the next week, my home is yours.”
Butterflies. They’re not rippling inside me any longer. They’re flapping up a damned storm.
“Thank you.”
Inside the darkened house, Reed parks my suitcase and flips a switch, and I gasp at the magnificence illuminated before me. Reed’s massive living room is fit for a modern-day king. Its ceilings aren’t high—they’re towering. Floor-to-ceiling windows announce the owner of this manor is literally, and figuratively, on top of the world. Dark wood and ironwork declare a masculine, powerful man resides in this castle. But colorful tiling and unexpected pops of decorative color—sapphire blues, ruby reds, royal purples—make it clear the powerful owner of this manor is a cultured gentleman who isn’t afraid to take risks.
Reed motions to my bag at the front door. “Would you like me to bring your suitcase to my bedroom, or would you prefer to sleep in a guest room this week?”
Anticipation flickers across Reed’s chiseled face. A flash of vulnerability, I’d even say—like he’s momentarily possessed by the spirit of a teenager asking his crush to prom. But as fast as that vulnerability appears on Reed’s handsome face, it vanishes again, supplanted by his usual confidence.
But there’s no going back. I’ve caught a glimpse of what lies beneath Reed’s usual swagger, however fleetingly—as if I’d gazed out the window of a speeding train and caught the briefest glimpse of a sparkling, silver lake through a thick blanket of pine trees—and, just this fast, I’m instantly hooked and want to see it again.
“I think I’d prefer to sleep in a guest room this week,” I say. But I’m lying through my teeth. If I were telling the truth, I’d admit I want nothing more than to sleep next to Reed in his bed this week. But, unfortunately, my gut is telling me, rather forcefully, that carving out a safe space for me to take an occasional time out from Reed, and my thumping lust for him, will go a long way toward keeping me on-track to fulfill my higher purpose. I’m not only here to fulfill my carnal desires, after all. More importantly, I’ve got a job to do.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Reed replies smoothly. But he can’t hide the flash of disappointment that flic
kers across his face as he says it. This time, he’s not a teenager asking his crush to prom. He’s the boy who’s just gotten flatly turned down.
I brush my fingertips against Reed’s forearm. “Will you give me a tour?”
He clears his throat. “Of course.” He turns and gestures to the expansive space. “This is my living room—the place you’re going to party like a rock star this Saturday night.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“This room is the main reason I bought the house. I wanted a place where I could throw epic parties. And when I walked in here, I said to myself, Bingo.”
“Why so many parties?”
“It’s a big part of my business plan. Whenever one of my A-list artists kicks off a tour in LA, I throw their after-party here to celebrate and generate buzz for the tour. I also throw parties to celebrate award nominations and wins. Also, to celebrate whenever one of my artists’ albums goes gold or platinum or diamond—which, thankfully, happens a lot these days. Plus, on top of all that, I allow certain charities to throw their annual fundraising galas here.”
I look around the impressive space. “Do you ever throw parties here just for fun?”
“Sure. I’ve hosted bachelor parties and birthday parties. I even had a wedding here—for my best friend, Henn. You met him at the bar.”
I nod. “That was sweet of you to let him have his wedding here. You’re a good friend.”
Reed shrugs. “Henn is a brother to me, and his wife, Hannah, is the best. It was my pleasure to do it for them.”
Aw, damn. My heart just skipped a beat. “So, uh, what are some of the charities you’ve let use the place?”
Reed talks passionately for a bit about his favorite charities—one his sister is heavily involved with that helps kids with cancer, and another devoted to saving the planet. And as he speaks, I have the urge to do two things: one, jump his bones, just because he’s yummy as hell, especially when he talks about making the world a better place. And, two, I’m dying to pull out my phone and record him speaking, or at least take furious notes, so I can quote him precisely when I eventually sit down to write my article. But I refrain, figuring Reed might clam up if he sees me pulling out my phone.
“And, of course,” Reed says, “CeeCee’s favorite charities always have an open invitation to throw their fundraisers here. When it comes to the indomitable CeeCee, my answer is almost always yes.”
I shoot Reed a snarky side-eye. “Yeah, unless what CeeCee wants is an in-depth interview for Dig a Little Deeper.”
Reed chuckles. “I said my answer is almost always yes. CeeCee knows she can have anything she wants from me, except that.”
“Why is that, again?”
“Because the inner workings of my mind and life aren’t anybody’s fucking business.”
I make a face that says, Well, alrighty then. And Reed smirks in reply before returning his attention to his expansive living room.
“It might seem like this house is too big for a bachelor to live here alone,” he says. “But I’ve never once regretted buying this place.”
Excitement about Saturday night’s party ripples inside me. “I can’t wait to see your house in action. Thank you so much for throwing the party, and for letting me invite Alessandra.”
“No need to thank me. Like I said, I’m throwing the party for business reasons—because I’ve determined it will help you and the other writer assigned to the special issue bond with my musicians in a way that will elevate the end product.”
I flash Reed a snarky look. “Sure, Reed. You not wanting me to party with C-Bomb this week didn’t inspire your decision at all.”
“Not at all.” He matches my snarky expression. “Come on, Intrepid Reporter. There’s a lot more to see.” He takes two steps and tosses over his shoulder, “And, yes, you can take notes on your phone. But, please, don’t record me speaking, unless I’ve expressly consented.”
I stop walking, surprised he’s read my mind so accurately, and Reed stops walking, too.
“Georgie, you’ve got the most expressive face I’ve ever seen, and I can already read it like a book.” He crooks his finger. “Now, come, come, little kitty. I’ll show you the whole house, anything you want to see. Just as long as the last stop is my bedroom upstairs.”
Chapter 2
Georgina
Reed leads me through several rooms on the ground floor of his impressive home, while I “ooh” and “aah” and take furious notes on my phone. He shows me a game room. A wine room. A home theater. We walk down a hallway and turn a corner and, suddenly, I’m standing in the most spectacular kitchen imaginable—a beautiful, sleek space that instantly makes me wish my mother were alive to see it.
“Do you cook?” I ask, running my palm over a sleek countertop.
“I cook breakfast pretty well. But, mostly, it’s my housekeeper, Amalia, who cooks in here. Caterers, too.”
“When is Amalia at the house, typically?”
“She stays overnight Monday through Thursday every week, unless I’ve told her to take off at five during any given week. Some weeks, I want complete privacy when I get home from work.”
I open my mouth to suggest perhaps this coming week should be one of those weeks of extra privacy, but the clever man beats me to the punch.
“Yes, Georgina. Of course, I’ve already told Amalia to take off at five every day this week. I had no choice, once I found out you’re a screamer. My house is big, but it’s not big enough to contain Georgina Ricci’s screams of ecstasy.”
I swat his shoulder. “I’ve never screamed like that with anyone but you.”
“Well, that’s a given.” He gestures for me to follow him. “The quicker we get through this tour, the quicker I’ll get to hear you scream again.”
He leads me through a set of French doors and around a corner, and, suddenly, we’re standing on a serene patio, complete with water features, twinkling lights, and manicured bushes and flowers.
“Am I dead?” I ask, looking around the peaceful space. “Is this heaven?”
Reed chuckles. “That’s what Henn’s wife, Hannah, said when she first saw this patio. That’s why I offered to host their wedding here—because Hannah loved it so much.”
“I can’t believe you let them have their wedding here. That was so generous.”
Reed shrugs it off. “All I did was open my house and wallet, and Hannah and her wedding consultant did the rest.”
“Wait, you paid for the wedding? I thought you meant you let them use your house for it—which, right there, would have been an incredibly generous thing to do.”
Reed pulls a face like that’s a ridiculous notion. “What kind of person says to his best friend, ‘Sure, you can use my house to marry the love of your life,’ but then doesn’t foot the bill?”
“Um, plenty of people say that. And I’m sure it’s very much appreciated.”
Reed waves at the air. “Go big or go home, baby. It’s one of my favorite mantras.” He points to my phone playfully. “Write that down, Intrepid Reporter. ‘Reed lives by the mantra, Go big or go home.’”
I roll my eyes. “I think I can remember you’re a big fan of ‘going big’ without writing it down.” I motion to our surroundings. “All I’ll have to do is look around me this week to remember that fact.”
“Suit yourself. I wouldn’t deign to tell a professional how to do her job.” He flashes me a charming smile. “Ready to move on?”
“Lead on.”
I follow Reed down a pathway, past a basketball court, and then past a beach-volleyball court, and a moment later, we’re standing next to an elegant black-bottom swimming pool overlooking the twinkling lights of Los Angeles.
“This is spectacular,” I say. “I love swimming—being weightless. If I lived here, I’d swim laps every day of my life. Or maybe, just come out here to float.”
“Feel free to use the pool any time you like. It’s heated.”
“Thank you. I’ll definitely take you up
on that. Although, given that I didn’t pack a swimsuit, I think I’ll wait until after Amalia leaves each day. I wouldn’t want to give the poor woman an unexpected view of my ass.”
Reed arches his brow, his dirty thoughts etched all over his face. “As you wish. Full disclosure, though...” He gestures above us, to a second-story wall of windows. “That’s my bedroom right there. If I hear a splash, I’m gonna head straight to my window, hoping to see an unexpected view of your ass.”
“As you wish. As long as you join me after I’ve gotten my workout in.”
“No need to swim as your work out. I work out every morning, first thing. I was assuming my shadow would join me.”
“Oh, I love morning workouts. I taught some morning classes at the gym at UCLA.”
“You taught classes?”
I nod. “Spin and Pilates.”
He gestures to my body. “Well, that answers that question. Well, hell. If you like spin, you should try out my Peloton this week.”
“Oh! I’ve always wanted to try one.” I frown. “Except... shoot. I didn’t pack my cycling shoes, any more than a swimsuit... probably because I thought I’d be on the road this week with one of my favorite bands.”
Reed pulls out his phone, ignoring my snarky tone. “What’s your shoe size, Ricci?”
“Oh. No. I didn’t mean for you to—”
“I insist.”
“I can’t let you buy me cycling shoes, Reed.”
“Tell me your damned shoe size, or I’ll sic Amalia on you. And trust me, you don’t want a determined Amalia on your ass.”
Reluctantly, I tell Reed what he wants to know, and he places the order.
“Thank you. You’re making me feel right at home.”
“My home is yours.” He drinks me in for a long beat, brazenly undressing me with his eyes. “How about we cut this tour short, and head straight to the last stop?”
“Nope,” I say. “I want the full tour. Plus, don’t pop a stiffy yet, dude. You’re not getting into my pants again until you’ve fulfilled your end of our bargain.”
