Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 2)

by Lauren Rowe

  Oh, God. She’s so fucking adorable. “No worries about that. Your invitation to stay here for the whole summer is irrevocable.”

  She lifts her cheek from my shoulder and beams a radiant smile at me.

  “Come on baby,” I coo. “A little psycho won’t scare me off. To be honest, I get turned on by a little bit of crazy. It keeps things from getting boring for me.”

  “Yeah, well, this wasn’t a little bit of crazy, sweetie. It was a shit-ton of batshit psycho.”

  I wince. “Okay, I admit you’re starting to scare me a tiny bit.”

  She giggles uproariously. “One more glass of champagne and then I’ll tell you everything,” she says with gusto, clearly savoring the fact that I’m on the edge of my proverbial seat, waiting to hear this story from her.

  But, of course, since her wish is my command, I carry her to the ledge, where I fill our empty flutes from a bottle of Cristal we brought down to the pool with us.

  “Aah, that’s good,” she says after taking a long sip. “Best champagne I’ve ever had.”

  “I should hope so. This stuff ain’t cheap. It’s liquid gold. Now, come on. Tell me what you did to the guy. No more stalling. I know you’re enjoying torturing me. But enough is enough.”

  She looks at me flirtatiously. “Okay, but in my defense, keep in mind that my dad was in treatment at this point. So I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown, as it was. And, like I said, I was more enraged at the betrayal of my trust, in my time of need, than about the cheating itself.”

  “Just tell me the story already. I’ll consider all mitigating factors once I know the extent of your batshit psychosis.”

  She returns her empty flute to the ledge and leans her shoulder against the side of the pool. We’re both standing now. Facing each other. Her hair is wet and slicked back. Her breasts just above the water line. And I can honestly say whatever’s about to come out of her mouth won’t scare me off in the slightest.

  “Okay, so, I saw all those texts on Shawn’s phone while he was taking a shower, and I—”

  “Hold up. Sorry. How, exactly, did you see those texts and photos? Wasn’t Shawn’s phone passcode protected? If not, he’s the world’s stupidest serial cheater.”

  Georgina snickers. “Yeah, he had it passcode protected. And, trust me, he never punched in the code at an angle where I could peek over his shoulder. But where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Oh, shit. His passcode was all zeroes, wasn’t it? Or something like 1-2-3-4?”

  She giggles. “Nope. It wasn’t an obvious code. I’m just a brilliant, devious hacker.”

  I pause to let her elaborate, and when she doesn’t I say, “Come on. Give it up. What’d you do?”

  She giggles happily, sounding very much like a woman with an abundance of beer, tequila, and champagne in her bloodstream. “If I tell you, then I won’t be able to hack into your phone, when you start acting weird and suspicious on me.”

  Oh, Georgie. I put my palms on her cheeks and her lips part in surprise.

  “Sweetheart, I’m a lot of things, some of them not so admirable, but a cheater isn’t one of them. I promise.”

  She swoons in my palms, so I lean down and kiss her bee-stung lips. And, for a moment, fireworks are going off so violently and deliciously inside me, I feel physically dizzy. When our lips break apart, I nuzzle her nose and whisper, “Also, I use facial recognition.”

  She bursts out laughing, and throws her arms around my neck again. And, just like that, she’s clinging to me again... which I don’t need to be told means she wants me to walk laps around the shallow end again.

  “Okay, so here’s how I hacked Shawn’s phone,” she says. “The night before, when he fell asleep, I cleaned his phone screen immaculately, until there wasn’t a single smudge on it. And then, after he’d logged in several times the next morning, I peeked at the new smudges when he was in the shower.” She shrugs. “Once I had the pool of numbers to work with, I was able to figure out his code on the third try.”

  “You’re a genius.”

  She runs her fingers through my wet hair. “Are you scared of me now?”

  “Not at all. Just impressed.”

  “So, anyway, I saw those texts and photos, and lost my shit. I went straight to his closet and grabbed all of his jerseys. Shawn played basketball for UCLA, so he had—”

  “Hold the fuck up. ‘Shawn’ is Shawn Gordon? This whole time we’ve been talking about motherfucking Shawn Gordon?”

  “Oh, God. Not you, too.”

  “Georgie, he’s been UCLA’s top scorer the past two years. He’s a freak. A beast.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s also a dickheaded cheater. If you’re so in love with him, then you date him and see what kind of boyfriend he is to you.”

  I chuckle heartily. “Sorry. Josh, Henn, and I still follow UCLA sports religiously. Shawn Gordon is one of our favorites.”

  She glares at me.

  “But not anymore. Now, I hate him.”

  She laughs.

  “Continue. Please. You took all of his jerseys out of his closet, and...”

  “I went outside to the barbeque set up at the back of Shawn’s apartment complex... and I burned them all!”

  “Oooh. What a psycho,” I say sarcastically.

  “Reed. I burned all his jerseys.”

  “Yes. I heard you the first time. But I hate to tell you, that’s not batshit psycho. That’s just run-of-the-mill anger.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t told you the rest. Wait until you hear what else I did.”

  “Can’t wait to find out.”

  She bites her lower lip, relishing whatever she’s about to say. “There was a screwdriver sitting next to the barbeque, for some reason. And I picked it up, and marched straight to the parking structure, where Shawn’s beloved Jeep was parked. He was so proud of that thing. It was his version of a Bugatti.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “And I took that screwdriver and I punctured all four tires on his car! One puncture for each side chick!” She opens her mouth wide. As wide as it will go. As if to say, Can you believe it?

  But I’m not the least bit impressed, and I’m sure my face shows it. “That’s it?” I say.

  “What do you mean, ‘That’s it’? Reed, I gave his beloved car four flat tires! Do you know how expensive tires are? And I made it so he’d have to replace the entire set, all at once!”

  I can’t help laughing uproariously at her beautiful innocence in this moment. Her stunning beauty. I kiss her cheek, still laughing. “Oh my God, Georgie girl. I thought you were going to say you keyed the fucker’s car. Maybe scratched ‘liar’ onto his car doors.”

  She looks utterly shocked at the suggestion. “Well, first of all, his Jeep didn’t really have doors. But, second of all, why would I do that? I could have gone to jail for a very long time if I did something as serious as that. I think that would be a felony!”

  I laugh again. “And here I thought you were such a badass.”

  “I am.” She pouts. “I gave him four flat tires and burned three jerseys. I was proud of myself for that.”

  I laugh. “Well, yeah. I’m glad you did something to the guy. He cheated on you with four women. I’m just saying that was your chance to go full-on ‘Left Eye’ Lopes on the guy, and be perfectly justified. I’m just saying you didn’t really seize the opportunity as fully as you could have. That’s all.”

  She looks up from her pouting. “Full-on ‘Left Eye’ Lopes? I’m sure it won’t shock you to learn I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I throw my head back. “No!”

  She giggles. “Sorry.”

  I return to her. “Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes. She was in TLC—the female R&B trio from the ‘90s.”

  She grimaces. “Nope. Sorry.”

  I drag my palm over my face. “Please, at least tell me you’ve heard of TLC?”

  She shakes her head, so I sing the chorus of “Scrubs.” And when that elicits nothing, I switch to
the chorus of “Waterfalls,” which, thankfully, she instantly recognizes.

  “I love that song,” she declares.

  “Okay, well, the rap in the middle of that one was performed by Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes.”

  “Ooooh. Quick question. What’s the point of that song? When they say you shouldn’t chase waterfalls, are they saying you shouldn’t follow your dreams?”

  “No, they’re saying you shouldn’t engage in self-destructive behaviors.”

  “Aaaaah. Okay.”

  “So, Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes. You need to learn this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes had a boyfriend named Andre Rison. He was a pro football player. And one night, after they’d had a huge fight, Left Eye burned Andre’s very large house in Atlanta completely to the ground.”

  Georgina gasps.

  “She claimed she’d only intended to burn a pair of sneakers in a bathtub, but that the fire had spread and burned out of control.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “Guess how long she went to prison for felony arson?” I raise my eyebrow. “Not a single day.”

  “What?”

  “Andre knew he deserved it, apparently. He supported her in court.”

  “What the hell did Andre do to her?”

  “She said he’d beaten her. He denied it.”

  Georgina’s jaw sets. “Well, if he did, he got off easy, if you ask me.”

  In a flash, I’m thinking about that fucker Mr. Gates again. “I couldn’t agree more,” I say, my jaw tightening. I set Georgina down onto her feet, and put my fingertip underneath her chin. “Listen to me, Georgie girl. Listen close. Nobody is allowed to hurt you, ever again. You got that? If any man ever dares lay so much as a pinky on you, that you don’t want on you, or if someone you trusted hurts you in any way, then I want you to go full-on ‘Left Eye’ Lopes on his fucking ass. Or, if you’re too scared to do that. If you just want to get away, then you do that. But then, I want you to promise me, no matter how far in the future this scenario might come to pass, you’ll come to me. Straight to me. No matter where I am in the world. And you’ll tell me what happened, so I can go full-on Reed Rivers on the motherfucker’s ass.”

  She’s shaking against my fingertip. She nods, her hazel eyes flashing.

  “Nobody—nobody—is allowed to hurt you, Georgina Ricci. Never, ever again. Do you understand me? Never.”

  She nods again, just before lunging at me and crushing her gorgeous lips to mine.

  Chapter 20

  Georgina

  My head is swimming. And not just from all the booze I’ve had tonight. The conversations I’ve had with Reed... our incredible make-out session in the pool, after I told him about Shawn... All of it has been electrifying. Intimate. Like a fairytale. And the night isn’t even over yet.

  We’re out of the swimming pool now, sitting in the hot tub, gazing at the sparkling view of Los Angeles. And I swear I don’t remember the last time I felt this alive—this safe and protected and adored—in my entire life.

  I take a long swig from the bottle of Cristal and hand it to Reed.

  “Tell me about Isabel.”

  “I already did. Tell her she’s a trailblazer. She’ll eat that shit up.”

  “No, no. I mean, tell me what happened between the two of you. Tell me about your relationship. Why did you break up?”

  Reed takes a long sip from the champagne bottle. “Because our relationship ran its course, as these things always do. We realized we’d be better as friends. So, we called it quits. The End.”

  “‘We’ called it quits? Or you called it quits?”

  “If you put Isabel into the article about me, I’m taking her out.”

  “I’m not asking you about her for the article. If I’m going to meet her and try to convince her to let me interview her in-depth, I should know about potential landmines. I should know what happened between the two of you.”

  “Bullshit. You want to know because you’re jealous.”

  I bat his shoulder. “That’s so absolutely... not... false!”

  Reed laughs uproariously, and so do I.

  But when his laughter dissipates, and it’s clear he has no intention of answering my question, I slide into his lap and flash him my most charming, drunken smile.

  “Aw, come on, Mr. Rivers. I told you about my ex, Shawn Gordon. Tell me about your ex, Isabel Randolph.”

  He shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. We had fun for a while, but it eventually ran its course, so I ended it. And we’ve remained friends ever since.” He takes another swig from the champagne bottle and hands it to me. “And, obviously, that turned out to be for the best, for both of us, seeing as how she’s now marrying the man of her dreams, and I’m here with you.”

  My heart stops. Holy crap. “Where did you and Isabel first meet?”

  “At that black-tie birthday party for CeeCee. The one I told you about already. The one I crashed, so I could meet CeeCee and convince her to write about RCR.”

  I giggle. “Just think. Ten years later, I crashed a music school event to meet CeeCee and convince her to read my writing samples. We’re equally diabolical.”

  “Yes, we are.” He kisses me. “Okay, it’s my turn to ask a question. And I want your brutally honest answer this time, okay?”

  My stomach clenches in anticipation. “Okay.”

  “This is important, Georgina. No fibbing.” He puts his fingertip underneath my chin and looks at me sternly. “Georgina Ricci, did you truly have a poster of C-Bomb on your teenage wall—or did you tell me that to fuck with me?”

  I burst out laughing, both in amusement and relief, and shake my head. “I was totally fucking with you.”

  “I knew it!” Reed says, joining me in laughter. “You’re evil!”

  “I really did love RCR as a teenager, though. That part wasn’t a lie.”

  “You’ll say or do anything to get what you want, won’t you? You’re shameless. Shameless and evil.”

  “You can’t blame me for lying about that. I had to make sure you wouldn’t let me walk out that door and go to C-Bomb. I didn’t want to be Caleb Baumgarten’s Penny Lane for a week.” I nuzzle my nose against Reed’s. “I wanted to be yours.”

  Reed runs his palm down my arm, before it disappears into the warm water of the hot tub and rests on my tailbone. “I was never going to let you go to Caleb, baby. Over my dead body.” He kisses me passionately, sending my spirit swirling through the night sky. “What the hell are you doing to me, Georgina?” he mutters.

  I’m drunk. On all the alcohol I’ve ingested tonight, and on Reed himself. “I don’t know,” I whisper back, my smile hurting my cheeks. “All I can hope and pray is it’s half of what you’re doing to me.”

  Chapter 21

  Reed

  I lay Georgina’s sleeping, drunken frame onto the bed in her guestroom. Oh, how I wish I were laying her naked body down onto the four-poster in my room. But, of course, that’s not an option. When she was perfectly sober last night, she asked for a room of her own, much to my extreme disappointment. And she didn’t retract that request before passing out in my arms in a lounger by the pool.

  I get her situated comfortably in bed underneath a sheet, and then move to the foot of the bed to grab a folded blanket... when my foot bumps into something hard on the floor by the bed. The room is too dark for me to make out what I’ve bumped into, but it’s definitely not Georgina’s suitcase, the outline of which I can see across the room by the door.

  Curious, I head to the nightstand and flip on a small lamp. Momentarily, when the lamp illuminates, I worry the light will awaken Georgina. But a quick glance at Drunken Sleeping Beauty tells me, no, this girl is out for the night.

  I return to the mysterious obstacle at the foot of Georgina’s bed and discover it’s a cardboard box emblazoned with Courthouse Copy Service on its side. The exact same kind of box Leonard always has in his office. And, instantly, even before I’ve peeke
d inside the box, I know what I’m going to find inside. Stephanie Moreland’s lawsuit. But, still, just for kicks, I look anyway. And, yep. No surprise. There it is. Stephanie’s complaint, sitting right on top a stack of documents.

  A puff of air escapes from my nose. I should have known Georgina had it. There’s no way Georgina would have seen reference on that printout to a settled sexual harassment lawsuit and not beelined to the clerk’s office to get a copy of it. But why didn’t she tell me she’d read it, when she asked me about the case? Because she thought, if I didn’t know she’d already read it, then I might lie to her about Stephanie. And she wanted to catch me in a lie.

  For a moment, I feel betrayed. Hurt. Angry. I feel the old familiar urges bubbling up. The ones I feel whenever a woman gets too close. When I feel my walls being threatened. The urge to run away, push away, shut down. That’s what I’m feeling. As usual.

  But then, I take in Georgina’s beautiful, sleeping face... and I remember the secret she shared with me tonight. The way she laid herself bare to me. And the panic inside me vanishes. The urge to run away, push her away, shut down subsides.

  Okay, so she got the printout of lawsuits and noticed I’d settled a sexual harassment case. Considering what that asshole Mr. Gates did to her, it’s no wonder she was especially determined to find out everything she could about Stephanie’s claims. At least, to Georgie’s credit, she came straight to me and asked me for my side of the story, rather than jumping to conclusions and instantly believing Stephanie’s lies like they were gospel.

  My heart rate is slowing again.

  This is not a problem.

  Georgina is simply doing her job.

  And doing it well.

  After what she’s been through, I can’t blame her for wanting to know what kind of man she’s been sleeping with. Good for her for following the breadcrumbs. She might be young. And she might be smoking hot. But Georgina Ricci is nobody’s fool.

  I grab the blanket from the foot of the bed and gently cover her with it. I bend down and kiss her cheek gently, and turn off the light. Goodnight, Intrepid Reporter.