Grand Lies (The Promise Duet Book 1)

by JC Hawke

  “Good, you’ve got her. I’m ready when you’re finished there,” he responds, then hangs up.

  I sit back in shock.

  Is this prick for real?

  “He’s had quite the day, don’t take it personally,” Vinny tries to explain.

  I unbuckle my belt, leaning forward in my seat. I tap on the screen pulling up the recent call list and then press on Mason’s name.

  He answers on the second ring.

  “What?” he huffs.

  I shake my head, blinking in surprise. “You didn’t say please,” I say, looking at Vinny. His eyes are wide as he stares straight ahead.

  I shrink back a little.

  “Excuse me?” Mason shoots back.

  Crap. I have to follow through. I can’t back down now. “You didn’t say please when you asked Vinny to pick you up. Some manners wouldn’t hurt, you know, and if having someone drive me home is such an inconvenience to you, don’t do it.” I keep my voice steady, making sure I get my point across. At no point have I asked Mason to go out of his way for me.

  I sit back in my seat, and the car goes dead fucking silent, no one saying a word for what feels like forever.

  I’m waiting for him to flip.

  Or hang up.

  Vinny lifts his hand to end the call.

  “I will see you soon, Vinny, thank you,” he replies.

  My head flicks around to Vinny in shock, his face mirroring mine.

  “Mason?” I murmur with a slight teasing in my tone.

  “Yes, Nina,” he sighs, addressing me for the first time.

  My dimple creases my cheek. “Thank you for the lift home. I didn’t want to walk alone this late. I really do hope you have a better evening,” I say softly.

  I end the call, sitting back in the seat as I process the last few minutes in my head.

  Maybe I should have sat back and said nothing, but manners are free, and he is lacking.

  “Put your seat belt back on, Nina,” Vinny tells me, his voice quiet.

  The rest of the ride home is made in silence.

  6

  Nina

  The shrill sound of my doorbell has me freezing in the shower mid hair wash. I’m not usually a jumpy person, but it’s always in the shower that my apartment seems to come to life. I start to wash the shampoo from my hair double time, the bell ringing again, more violently than the first time. Not bothering to use any conditioner, I snatch my towel from the floor and wrap it around my body before I rush from the bathroom, my feet leaving puddles in their wake.

  I pull open the door just an inch to see who it is.

  A delivery man is standing with a long rectangular box in his hand. He thrusts it through the small gap in a rush, making the door bounce back into my forehead.

  Ouch!

  “Can you sign here?” he huffs.

  I try to hold my towel, the box and the pen, but it’s a task. I’m sure by the time I kick the door closed, he has probably seen my nipple. Not that the impatient jerk deserved the extra tip, he could see I was fresh from the shower.

  Pulling my towel tight, I scurry to the sofa and sit down with the box. It’s matte black with gold foiling decorating it in deep swirls. Sliding off the lid, I find a single white rose nestled in the silk lining. I can’t help my smile. It’s a goofy, all-teeth kind of smile that you hope no one ever sees.

  One lone rose.

  It’s beautiful in its simplicity, and I know exactly who it’s from. Slipping the note from the box, I stare at it.

  It’s from Mason, I’m sure of it. But something nags at my gut as I peel back the seal.

  Still, excitement flares through me as I slide out the card.

  You want my manners?

  I want your taste. On my tongue, my cock, everywhere.

  Please.

  Excitement turns to shock as a wave of arousal sweeps over me, catching me off guard. I sit and stare at his words, rereading them until they don’t make sense anymore.

  I was expecting something sweet to go with the beautiful gift. I was not expecting this. Grasping the pillow at my side, I begin to fan myself, thoughts of Mason and his taste—that I’ve already stolen—causing my body to heat.

  I am so flipping turned on it’s ridiculous.

  He would have known what his words would do to me, and I’m not sad about it. He’s had me eating out of the palm of his hands on every encounter so far.

  I take his note with me to my room. The rose long forgotten.

  Lying back on my bed, I let the promise in his words and the gentle touch of my fingers find the release my body desperately craves.

  Mase

  Elliot: Come here

  I frown at my phone, wondering what the hell Elliot wants. It’s Friday and his day off.

  Mase: Where?

  Elliot: My office

  What? Is he in today? I push my chair back from my desk, striding to the door. The reception area is empty, and Alice stands the second she sees me, her back ramrod straight.

  “Is Montgomery in today?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yes, he got in at around ten. Can I get you anything, Mason?”

  “Yes, you can call me Mr Lowell,” I deadpan, walking off in the direction of Elliot’s office. It’s at the opposite end of the floor, the mirror of my own. I don’t knock.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, stepping into the room. He is standing in his office bathroom, rearranging his tie. “Actually, don’t answer that.” I don’t want to know.

  I walk to his desk and start looking through his paperwork, my brows rising in surprise when I see he has been working.

  “Don’t act so surprised, asshole. I’ve been in five days this week.” He strides back into the office, looking cocky.

  “I’m more concerned than surprised.” I place my hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Fuck off, Lowell,” he snaps, batting my hand away. “My dad’s been in my ear. If I don’t start doing more, he will be coming out of fucking retirement,” he grumbles, pushing his blond mop out of his eyes.

  “Hey, I’m kidding,” I say honestly. “It’s good to have you here, mate.” I drop down onto the chair opposite his desk. “I just spoke to Charles. He is on his way over.”

  “Good, I called Sullivan up as well,” he says.

  As he says it, Alice buzzes through the intercom. “I have Charlie and Lance here for you, Elliot, Mr Lowell.”

  Elliot sits back, affronted, before he leans in and speaks to Alice through the speaker. “You don’t need to tell us that. They should be on the approved list. And it’s Mr Montgomery, thanks,” he tells her.

  And rightfully so, she needed to hear it from Elliot too. The line of professionalism around here is thinning by the day. We need a good shakeup. Elliot being in the office more is a start.

  Charlie and Lance stroll in and start chatting shit with Elliot whilst I order in our lunch. It’s been months since we have all been in the office together. Charles Aldridge—our best friend—is a lawyer and works in an office just a few minutes up the road. We have known him since college. He opened his own firm six years ago and now has four spread out over the country. Turning over five million pounds last year, it’s safe to say he is doing alright for himself.

  Lance Sullivan works downstairs, running our accounts department. He is two years younger than the three of us, but it doesn’t show. Not only does he fit with us, but he also keeps the company financially stable—A multimillion pound company. He may be a prick at times, but he is a savage, and I wouldn’t have anyone else in his place.

  “We are going out tonight, yeah?” Sullivan asks when I’m off the phone.

  I stand and walk to the sofa, leaning on the back of it. “Yeah, I’m game. Where you thinking?” I ask.

  “Somewhere that’s got plenty of pussy.” Elliot smiles, stretching back in the seat and widening his knees.

  Charlie cringes, thwacking him in the gut with a cushion and making Elliot shoot forward. />
  “I’d start looking at the quality instead of quantity if I were you, mate,” Charlie tells him.

  He shrugs. “That’s what my forties are for. I’m in my prime and ready to give a good ribbing.”

  “You’re pure filth, Montgomery.” Charlie chuckles.

  “Sue me!” Elliot replies.

  “Please, fucking sue him,” Lance pipes up. “He wouldn’t stand a chance in prison,” he laughs.

  “Fucking funny, Sullivan. Keep it up, and you can eat in your office on your own.”

  “Calm your tits, Elliot. He was only joking—”

  My eyes snap up when Vinny walks into the room. I don’t think I had any appointments today. Have I missed something? It wouldn’t surprise me if I had. My mind has been preoccupied this past week.

  “Alright, Vin?” I ask.

  “A word,” he says.

  I look to the boys. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

  His jaw locks, annoyance etching the lines of his face. “Nina Anderson. You asked me to let you know… she is currently at The Elm café with Joey Wilson.”

  Joey fucking Wilson. I should have known he wouldn’t listen; the little prick has a death wish.

  “She is having coffee, Mason,” Vinny assures me. “I don’t think It’s necessary to—”

  Charlie sits forward, cutting Vinny off as I stand. “Think before you do anything stupid, Lowell.”

  “Vinny, is Nina safe with Joey?” I ask, not looking at him, already knowing the answer.

  “Sat in a public café, yes, I would have intervened if she wasn’t.”

  “And if she leaves with him?” I shoot back.

  “She is smarter than you think Mason, give the girl some credit.” Vinny says.

  Nina is smart. That isn’t my worry. My concern lies with him and the file on my desk that tells me everything I need to know about the prick.

  “No. Let’s go.” I leave my friends in the office, not willing to risk it and not giving a shit what anybody thinks.

  Nina

  My feet drag as I make my way to The Elm, annoyed that I agreed to meet Joey in the first place. I plan to have a coffee and then get out of there. Fast. I need to set him straight and tell him I’m not interested. He can’t think he has a chance, making advances on nights out and sending me flowers.

  I call Lucy before I turn the corner to the café.

  “Hey, babe, you on lunch?” Lucy’s infectious voice chimes down the line, instantly making me smile.

  “Hey! Ugh, yes. I’m about to meet Joey at The Elm,” I groan.

  “What? Why?” She tuts into the phone. “You don’t owe him anything, Nina.”

  “I felt bad, and I haven’t ever set him straight. I need to put a stop to it for his own benefit. The poor bloke got his nose broke!”

  She huffs, relenting. “Fair enough, but men need to learn not to presume that because we are nice to them, we want to sleep with them. You haven’t led him on here. Not once.”

  “I agree.” I start to laugh as I think of Mason and how I’ve not been nice to him, yet he still pursues me.

  “What’s funny?” she asks.

  “I have so much to tell you girls! Can we go out tonight?”

  “Yes! Where?” she says excitedly. “I will ring Megs now!”

  “Hold on, that’s not why I rang!” I rush out.

  “I know, you want me to call in twenty with a broken arm or something. I got you, girl!”

  I laugh at the fool. “Only if I text you! I will call after. Love you, Luce.” I hang up.

  Joey is already seated when I enter the café, and I make my way over to him.

  He stands to kiss my cheek. “Nina! You made it.”

  “Of course, how are you?”

  “I’m okay.” His eyes drop to his watch, then flick back to my face.

  “Good, sorry. I had a class,” I explain.

  I’ve only ever seen Joey at the gym in passing once, and then in the darkness of clubs when I’ve seen him on nights out, so I quickly do a scan of him from head to toe, trying to get a feel for his mood.

  His hair is neatly cut on the sides but longer on top, the inky strands falling in front of deep green eyes until he pushes it back and off his face. I can see he still has some light, purple bruising under each eye but otherwise seems to have recovered. His body is lean, I wouldn’t say he works out, but he naturally has definition in all the right places. If he didn’t try so hard, I probably would have gone on a date with him by now.

  “Sit down,” he tells me. “I’ll get our drinks. What do you fancy?”

  I give him my order, and he goes to the counter.

  I sit and scroll through my phone, wondering whether I can text Luce now to save me. The thought gives me pause, and I look up at Joey. He hasn’t done anything wrong; he just doesn’t understand where my head is at. And maybe that’s on me.

  Once he is sitting back down, I prepare myself, searching for the right words to say to him.

  “So, I wanted to apologise for last week, and you should know I forgive you,” he says.

  What?

  He forgives me?!

  I swallow the anger bubbling up in my throat. “Sorry, you forgive me for what exactly?”

  He seems surprised, his brows dropping low. “For leaving with that dickhead who hit me.”

  I sit back in my seat, trying to mask my annoyance. “Joey, you need to understand something, and I’m sorry for putting it so bluntly, but I’m not interested in anything other than a friendship with you. And! Who I spend time with has absolutely nothing to do with you. I certainly don’t want your forgiveness.”

  “Oh, of course. I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought… you know. You didn’t know him so…”

  “As I said, it’s really not your business. I’m sorry for everything that happened in the club and the way things ended.” I pause. “You did hit him first, though, Joey. You almost hit me.”

  He runs his hand over his face. “I know. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

  My shoulders sag, feeling better now I’ve been honest with him. “It’s fine. It’s done now. Let’s just move on from it.” I give a half smile, feeling awkward and wanting to wrap things up.

  “Yeah, sure, and I’m sorry again.” He steeples his hands, resting them against his mouth, a pensive look on his face.

  My knee bounces under the table, my patience wearing thin. “What is it?”

  “I have a huge favour to ask, and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I feel like I’ve screwed things up to be honest, and I probably shouldn’t ask, but you are kind of perfect for it.” He watches me for a reaction, but I keep my face stoic. “I have a unit coming up in my course that looks at the art of dance. We are required to capture it in images. I’m hoping you will help me?”

  My brows rise involuntarily, not expecting what he has said at all. I should say no. But it’s dance, and it’s what I know. He has me intrigued, and I can’t help but want to know more.

  “What are you studying?” I ask.

  Joey’s face drops, and I bristle in my seat. Crap! I’m presuming he has told me before, and it only makes me feel worse.

  “Photography. The gallery I work at will display the prints as well, so it’s great publicity for you and the company.”

  It does sound good. My classes are mostly full, but I have room for more. And I want more. I want to grow the business more than anything else.

  I grab a pen from my bag and start to scribble my email down on the napkin. “Could you send me some more details? It sounds really—”

  “Like you’re trying to piss me off,” Mason’s voice comes out a growl at my back.

  My pen falls to the floor as I spin in my seat, my eyes going wide when I find him standing behind me.

  The man makes me feel unhinged.

  A mixture of anger and elation that he has shown up stirs in my gut, and it’s somewhat frustrating—and intriguing.

  Today’s suit
is black pinstripe, and I momentarily allow myself to imagine the pleasure it would bring me to remove every single piece of it, right down to his tie pin. My eyes move to his beautiful face. His jaw is locked tight, his lips mashed in a thin line. “Out now,” he barks, and although it’s meant for me, his eyes are fixed on Joey.

  If looks could kill, Joey would be in a box on the way to the morgue. To his credit, he doesn’t cower down to Mason. He stands tall.

  A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I try to find the right words as I sit bamboozled by Mason’s balls. I mean, they must be pretty freaking huge at this point. “Who do you thin—”

  “Don’t speak to her like that! You can’t tell her what to do!” Joey’s voice rises, shaking with anger.

  “Nina. Out. Now,” Mason snarls over my head.

  I recoil at his words once again. “No! Both of you stop. This is getting ridiculous.” They will be brawling in the damn coffee shop in a minute.

  I stand, picking up my bag. “Look, Joey, here is my email, just send me—”

  Mason snatches the napkin from my hand, balling it up before claiming my wrist in his grip. He pulls me through the coffee shop and out the door.

  “Mason!” I fume. “Let go of me!” I fight against him, but his hold is too strong.

  “You’ll damn well listen to me,” he spits.

  “No. I won’t! Mase, let go of my arm now,” I warn.

  He pulls open the door to the Audi, then looks down at where I stand beside him. His forehead creases as his eyes search my face. “Please,” he asks, closing his eyes briefly and pulling in a breath before loosening his hold on me. “Get in the car.”

  Ripping my arm away, I turn to and stand toe to toe with him. “I’m getting in the car because I deserve an explanation, not because I want to spend another second with you—and you should be thankful that I am even giving you the opportunity.”