Lie to You Page 11

  As soon as the sun came up this morning, he rolled out of bed and made us a hearty breakfast of blueberry pancakes and fresh squeezed orange juice. Now, we’re in the back of a limo driving to God knows where. All he’ll tell me is that I’ll find out when we get there and to sit back and relax.

  That’s impossible to do. I’m a person who thrives on having control, which I never have with Rebel. He knows this, which is probably why he’s so amused now.

  Glancing away from the window, I catch him watching me from across the seat with that damning half-smile again, and I narrow my eyes. “You’re a little too happy about this. I demand to know where we’re going.”

  His left eyebrow arches up. “You demand to know?”

  I tip my head. “Yes, demand.”

  Stretching out his long legs, he smirks. “Be patient, pussycat. We’re almost there.”

  “You’re abducting me, Rebel. I have no qualms about rolling down this window and screaming for help,” I warn him with a playful lilt as my finger twitches over the automatic window button.

  “Gerardo,” Rebel barks, directing his attention to the driver behind me.

  “Sir.”

  “Would you please place the child lock on the windows?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gaping, I flick the button, testing it. The window doesn’t budge. “Was that necessary?”

  “You threatened, I answered.” He shrugs casually. “Now sit back and behave.”

  “Treating me like a child now. Check,” I mutter to myself, just loud enough for him to hear me.

  “Check?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you?” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m keeping a list of grievances. It’s getting quite long.”

  “Is it now?” Leaning forward in his seat, Rebel’s large hands cover my bare knees. His eyes dance with humor as he stares into mine. “I’ll have to ante up soon, then. Can’t have my best girl working herself into a tizzy.”

  I know he’s being playful, but his choice of words is poor. “Best girl” reminds me that I may not be his only one. Just the thought of Florence ruins my good mood. Casting my gaze out at the passing city streets, I bite down on my tongue until I taste metal.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Rebel asks, his voice holding a note of concern.

  Shaking my head, I tell him, “No. Just wondering where you’re taking me.”

  Rebel doesn’t say anything right away, piquing my curiosity. Turning my head, I glance up at him to find him already looking at me. I smile shyly and my eyes dart away again.

  “Forgive me, but I was under the impression we’d agreed to trust one another. Was I wrong?”

  Once again, I’ve managed to upset him, but damn it, he’s upset me, too. I refuse to feel guilty about that. “Not where I’m concerned, no,” I hedge. My blood pressure is starting to rise and no matter how hard I try to bite my tongue, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep it up.

  “What are you getting at, Josephine? And don’t say nothing, because I can tell you’re hiding something.”

  I feel his onyx eyes boring into the side of my head. Coupled with the hard edge in his voice, I know I’m treading on dangerous waters. I don’t mean for it to happen, but the words I’ve been avoiding spill out of their own accord.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Florence is your boss? Or that she has a key to your apartment? You speak about how we’re supposed to trust each other, but you flat out lied to my face when you said I’m the only woman in your life.”

  Shit. If possible, his eyes grow darker than I’ve ever seen them before. They’re not just black, they’re an abyss, a black hole that threatens to suck everything around it into its vortex and destroy it.

  “Florence doesn’t have anything to do with you and me. She’s not a factor here.”

  I hear Ransom’s voice in my ear saying different, and my blood boils. “The hell she isn’t. She’s smack dab in the middle of us.” With her still in the picture, I’m certain I can’t be. It will hurt like a sonofabitch, but I will walk away.

  Heaving a tired sigh, Rebel reaches across the seat and hits a button on the door panel. A tinted window slides into place behind me, dividing us from the driver and creating a private enclosure for us to argue freely.

  Still watching out the window, he says, “Like I said, we’ve been done for months. As soon as I came to my senses and realized what a mistake it was to be involved with a coworker, much less my boss, I ended it. The only reason I didn’t say anything was because of this. You would have thrown a fit just like you are now, and what would it have accomplished?”

  I gape at him. “Trust, maybe? If you’d been forthcoming from the start, I might not feel like I can’t trust you now.”

  “Come on, Josephine,” he says, casting me a doubtful look. “You decided not to trust me long before you knew she was my boss. Telling you would have just added fuel to the fire.”

  “What fire, Rebel? I’ve been nothing but patient and understanding from the get-go. I wouldn’t be sitting here if that wasn’t true. If anyone has trust issues here, it’s you,” I accuse. “You’ve been withholding from me from the beginning, so don’t blame what’s happening now on me.”

  “Then who should I blame it on? My brother? Because he’s definitely got something to do with it. Trust me on that.”

  “If you’re referring to him ratting you out, then yeah, he has a lot to do with it. At least he has the balls to tell it to me straight.”

  Rebel glares back at me. I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching as he considers me.

  “Are you going to tell me what Florence—your boss—is doing with a key to your apartment?” I question. “Or is that asking too much?”

  With great reluctance, he bites out, “She has a key because she owns the building.”

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. “She’s your landlord? Jesus, talk about shitting where you eat.” And I’m sure he’s feasted at her table more than once. My stomach drops at the sickening thought.

  “If you’re determined to fight with me tonight, then maybe I should turn the car around and take you home.”

  I laugh, because I’m too pissed off for words. Crossing my arms over my breasts, I stare blankly out the window. “That’s great. You do that.”

  I wait for him to give the instructions to the driver, but Rebel falls silent as death. Time seems to pass at a sluggish pace, and the tension in the air surrounding us only grows thicker with each passing second.

  I want out of this car. The curiosity and excitement responsible for getting me in it with him in the first place has been replaced with animosity and a serious need to be alone. Rebel is not my favorite person right now. Far from it, actually.

  “Do you know the difference between you and me?” Rebel asks, his voice a low, thick rumble.

  I don’t bother answering him because I know he’ll tell me anyway.

  “I don’t give up that easily.”

  Rolling my eyes, I reply in a defeated tone, “Just take me home, Rebel. I’m not in the mood to play your games.”

  “I agree. I’m not in the mood to play games either. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Inching closer, Rebel seats himself directly across from me. From my peripherals, I can see him watching me. “I’m going to take you to this exclusive shop I know and I’m going to buy you a dress. You’re going to wear it to accompany me to dinner, where you’ll put on an award winning smile while I introduce you to some colleagues. Then, I’m going to take you home and fuck you blind and we’re going to forget this tiff ever happened.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, Rebel,” I say through a huff of laughter. “I can’t believe you think I would do anything you want right now.”

  “I believe it because I know you.”

  My head whipping around, I level him with an icy glare. “Listen close, Rebel. I’ve said this once and this is the last time I’ll say it. You don’t know shit about me. I’m not your
little pet, I’m not a toy, and I will bite the hand that feeds me, especially when it belongs to an overconfident pig like you.”

  The bastard has the nerve to smile as I say this. My hand twitches in my lap, itching to reach out and smack him.

  “There’s my saucy little vixen,” Rebel purrs, and the look he gives me is so dark and sexy, my stomach flips. His hand delves between his thighs and begins stroking his hard length through his trousers. “Why don’t you come over here and let me help relieve you of some of that aggression?”

  “Ah! You’re so infuriating!” Shifting in my seat, I bang on the partition. Moments pass without answer, and I pound my fist on it again.

  “You’re wasting your energy. Gerardo answers only to me.”

  “So I’m your prisoner now? What do you think you’re going to do, Rebel? Drive around the city until Stockholm’s sets in?”

  “If that’s what it takes,” he says casually, completely unaffected.

  Outraged, I open my mouth and release a bloodcurdling scream that leaves my ears ringing. Yet, still, Rebel rests easy, staring at me through that eternally cool façade. “Fuck you, Rebel,” I snarl. “Just fuck you. Take me home, right fucking now, or I swear I’ll throw myself out of this car.”

  Rebel is across the seat and has me in his arms before I can blink. He takes me by the shoulders and turns me to face him. “You listen to me, Josephine,” he growls. “As much as I enjoy it when you’re feisty, I’m finished with this stubborn, dramatic bullshit. So shut your mouth and listen up.

  “I went to a lot of trouble setting this evening up, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be ruined by baseless conjecture. I’m calling the shots tonight. You’ll do what I say and follow my lead. Whatever you want to fight about, save it for later. Are we clear?”

  Admittedly, Rebel is a little scary when he gets like this. The unrelenting look in his eyes leaves no room for argument. He’s determined to get his way and he’s willing to hold me hostage to do it.

  Knowing the only danger he poses is to my sanity, I decide it’s probably best to play along. Rebel wants me on his arm. He wants to show me off to a roomful of coworkers. Fine by me because, it occurs to me that in this instance, being complacent is working in my favor. I have a good feeling that a certain redhead will be in attendance and I intend to use this opportunity to my advantage.

  Rebel’s taking me into the heart of the lion’s den, only I intend to be the lioness…and I’m out for blood.

  Smoothing my features out, I meet his waiting gaze and tell him, “Crystal.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Thank you for the dress,” I mutter, reluctant to give him even that much.

  The exclusive shop Rebel took me to wasn’t fancy in the way that I had expected for a man who hinted at being well-off. It was more of a well-kept secret that amounted to a hole in the wall and makes me wonder how he knew about it and how many women he brought here before me. Inside there was exposed brick and racks upon racks of high-end designer clothing that cost way too much.

  Giving me free reign was his first mistake. Feeling vindictive, I told the sales lady I was looking for the most expensive piece she had that would fit my frame. That’s how I ended up wearing this overpriced, fire engine red pure silk gown with a bodice embellished with hundreds of tiny, glittering crystals.

  Not only does it make me feel like a princess, I also feel like the sexiest bitch to walk into this stuffy, over decorated, pretentious party.

  Yes, I am in a downright sassy, hellacious mood. Do I care? Hell no. Rebel dragged me here against my will and I plan on making this night very memorable for him.

  We enter the ballroom through an ornately carved gilded set of doors bookended by two lean and good looking men dressed in their finest suits. Rebel gives them his name and one of them checks his list, then we set off into the main hall.

  The place is gorgeous, of course—money buys nice things. Divided into three sections—a dining area, dance floor, and stage—the room is enormous. The tables are rounded, large enough to seat twelve, draped in rich gold fabric and topped with stunning bouquets of red roses. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, candles flicker from wall-mounted sconces, and a string band plays an endless symphony of music that is touchingly beautiful.

  It reminds me of masquerade balls and lavish weddings. I love it. Every inch of the space is a feast for the senses. But I’ll never let Rebel know that.

  Rebel’s jaw is set as he casts his gaze around the room. To me he says privately, “I saw that look in your eyes when we got out of the car. You’re on notice. Behave tonight, Josephine. Don’t make me regret this.”

  I paste on a pretty smile that feels too tight and tuck my hand into the crook of his proffered arm. “I’m hurt,” I say with a pout. “Where’s the trust?”

  His chest rises and falls heavily. Wordlessly pinning my arm to his side, Rebel guides us onto the floor, expertly weaving through the milling bodies.

  Our first stop brings us to an older couple I peg to be in their early fifties. The man is portly with a double chin and ruddy cheeks. His balding head glistens in the low light, and a fine sheen of sweat dampens his brow. The woman at his side, however, is stately and beautiful. Her makeup is expertly done, her graying hair twisted up off her neck in a classic style, and her body is toned and slim beneath her knee-length Jackie Kennedy inspired sleeveless cream dress.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly. How are you this evening?” Rebel’s charm is cranked up to high, his smile stretching across his handsome face as he extends his hand to shake with Mr. Donnelly.

  “Mr. Scott,” Mr. Donnelly greets with a winning smile. “Good to see a familiar face. And this must be the lovely lady you’ve told me so much about,” he says, turning a set of amazing sky blue eyes on me.

  Trying to mask the shock that Rebel has been talking about me, I smile dutifully, shaking hands with the man. It’s surprisingly firm, if not a touch sweaty.

  “This is her,” Rebel says proudly. “Jack Donnelly, meet Miss Josephine Hart.”

  “Josephine,” Mr. Donnelly says, trying my name on for size. He scans my body appreciatively, though not lasciviously as I’ve come to expect from the opposite sex. “It suits.” Releasing my hand, he places it on the small of his wife’s back, his smile expanding as he draws her forward. “Josephine, I’d like you to meet my lovely wife, Holly.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me and drawing closer to Rebel as my shyness kicks in. Without the familiarity of the stage behind me, I feel exposed. Nice as these people seem to be, I’m out of my element in a crowd. Hell, one-on-one is a serious stretch for me. Normally, I’d lean on my sarcasm to get me through the rough patches, but it doesn’t fit the occasion. I may want to embarrass the hell out of Rebel, to punish him for being such an ass, but my desire not to embarrass myself wins out.

  What I wouldn’t give to have my phone right now so I could distract myself with mindless texts, or a game of Angry Birds, but Rebel relieved me of it before I set a foot out of the car.

  “I believe we’ve been seated at the same table,” Mr. Donnelly informs Rebel. “And I’m certain I saw a platter of crab cakes headed that direction a moment ago. Care to join us? I have some things I’d like to run by you if you have a minute.”

  “I’m sure I can spare one or two.” Rebel’s hand burns hot against my exposed back as we follow the older couple to one of the many tables set up just beyond the stage. I try to shake him off with a subtle jerk of my shoulder, but his touch only grows firmer.

  His low chuckle of amusement should tick me off, but I find myself struggling not to smile instead. Pulling out a chair for me, Rebel tucks me gently beneath the table. His fingers trail across my naked shoulders as he maneuvers around to take the chair beside mine, sending a tiny shiver down my spine.

  Mr. Donnelly was right. Plates have been set out, each containing a fat, perfectly round cake that is undoubtedly made with real crab. As the table be
gins to fill up with guests, a waiter comes around to fill our fluted glasses with bubbly champagne.

  Rebel is already deep in talks with Mr. Donnelly and, although I’m right beside him, I feel strangely alone. I’ve never been to an event like this and I don’t know anyone else here. Unsure of what to do with myself, I eye the place settings. I seem to have too many utensils. After a moment, my Pretty Woman training kicks in and I try desperately to remember which fork is meant for what, but all that comes to mind is the scene where Julia Roberts sends a snail airborne.

  To make the moment even more laughable, the woman beside me lays her wrinkled hand over mine and leans in to say, “I don’t know about you, but I never could figure out which fork goes with what.” Then she picks up the crab cake with her fingers like it’s a burger and bites down.

  I can’t contain myself. The moment strikes me as comedic and laughter bubbles up from my chest and bursts free. Here I am, a stripper dating a wealthy man who just happens to find herself walking among society’s elite. It’s a total movie moment and I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  I’m still laughing when I catch Rebel’s eye. The smile he’s wearing is full of something I’m not ready to deal with. It causes my stomach to flip wildly and my heartbeat to stutter. Covering my mouth with my hand, I clear my throat, wipe the smile off my face, and pick up a fork.

  The crab cake is delicious.

  ***

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “Nope,” is my curt reply.

  We’re dancing to a version of “My Heart Will Go On” played entirely by violins. Back when Titanic was all the rage and Leonardo DiCaprio starred in every one of my elicit fantasies, I loved this song. Now it just seems like a joke. Who the hell plays something like this at a conference? It doesn’t fit.

  Not only am I feeling critical of the song choices, but I’m trying desperately to hold onto my anger and resentment toward Rebel. He’s making it exceedingly difficult.