Lie, Lie Again: A Novel, page 23
She bristled but forced a smile as she spoke. “I suppose I can understand that. You seem like someone who seizes a good opportunity when he sees it. And to be honest, as much as it might not be ideal for me, I respect your savvy business skills.”
“Thank you.” She could practically see him preening. Blergh.
“I understand I may need to find a new place to live, but I don’t want to start the search prematurely. If you have a serious buyer, do you mind letting me know so I can have a heads-up?”
“I can do that. Matter of fact, my real estate agent just texted me about something he set up for Tuesday.”
“Wow. So soon?”
“The property is a hot commodity.”
She giggled flirtatiously. His ego would certainly assume she was imagining him as the hot commodity. “Obviously. Thanks for letting me know, and please do keep me updated. If I can stay abreast of things, it’ll help with the timing of when I start seriously looking for a new place.”
“I can do that. Happy to help.”
“Thanks,” she cooed before ending the call. Now Ann Travis could always be one step ahead of the game.
Riki wiped down the last table with a disinfecting wipe and moved to the sink to scrub her hands free of green paint and germs. St. Patrick’s Day was officially over for Room Fourteen. Thank God. She’d decided to pass out prizes to every child. It felt like the only fair thing to do. How could anyone compete with Darcy Trainor’s trap? Everyone knew her parents had done the entire thing. And thanks to the box of auction prizes Mrs. Fitzsimmons had left behind, she hadn’t had to spend a penny. Riki dusted her hands on her jeans before gathering her bag. With any luck, Mrs. Trainor wouldn’t find something to complain about next month. They could celebrate rain showers and flowers. And endangered animals, of course. Mrs. Trainor couldn’t complain about that. What was upsetting about a panda? As Riki walked to her car, her phone rang. She looked at the name on the screen and increased her pace.
“Hey, Brandon!”
“You’ll never guess what happened!”
“What? Tell me!” she said as she fumbled to move the phone to her shoulder so she could unlock the door.
He cleared his throat. It made a rumbling noise that Riki found irresistible. She pressed the phone closer to her ear. “I got a second producer callback! They just told my agent. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
She could feel his excitement flowing through the phone line as she sank into the driver’s seat. It was almost like he was next to her. If he were, he’d grab her into a delicious hug. “Oh, Brandon, that’s awesome! I’m so happy for you.” Her heart pounded as she said his name.
“Thanks. Can you imagine if I get this? God, I need this. I need it for Em,” he said, lowering his voice. It made him sound wistful, like he was picturing her face as he spoke. “She’s stuck by me through this crazy ride, and I want to be able to tell her I finally did it, you know?”
“Yeah.” She licked her lips, trying to battle the sudden dryness that overtook her mouth. “She would be so happy.”
“I know. Well, I had to tell you. You’ve been my one-woman support team through all this. If I get this part, I’ll have you to thank for it.”
“Hey, I just gave you a contact. You’ve done this all on your own. Be proud of that.”
“Thanks, Riki.” His voice softened. “Thanks.”
She knew he was grateful to her. It’s the kind of guy he was—the kind of man she wanted for herself. “You’re welcome. And good luck with the next callback. When is it?”
“Monday. I’ll definitely keep you posted.”
“Thanks. Have a great weekend. Bye.”
She ended the call and started her car. The way he loved Embry was nothing short of magical. Maybe that was part of his appeal. He was such an amazing husband. And seeing him interact with Kylie and Carson always made her heart flutter. She bit her lip as a sudden sadness swept through her. If they were forced to move, what were the chances they’d still be neighbors? It wasn’t like their priority would be finding a place with an opening next door for Riki. Besides, Embry wanted a house. There was no way Riki could afford rent on a single-family home. Even if she could, living in a house with empty bedrooms would make her miss her family more. Doors would gape open from the hollow spaces, questioning why no one was there. How awful. The thing she loved about the apartments at Mockingbird Lane was all the people. As she drove home, her mind shifted to her upcoming trip with Chris. Maybe this weekend together would be the thing that pushed their relationship forward. She wanted him to be the perfect guy for her. He really was a wonderful person. Most of the time.
Ugh. She was going to drive herself crazy with the push and pull of her feelings. It was like the needy and vulnerable part of her heart wanted to chase after Chris, but her brain kept pulling back the reins. And she could never let anyone know where her mind had been with Brandon. That was something she had to keep locked inside. Forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sylvia removed her wrist brace and tossed it onto her bed. She’d worn it long enough, and besides, her wrist felt close to fine now. “Naughty Girl” by Beyoncé blared in the background as Sylvia spritzed a fine mist of Black Orchid into the air. She stepped through it, rolling her shoulders to the sultry music. The perfume was bold, so just a hint was enough. The key was to intrigue, not dominate. She’d chosen a wine-hued DVF wrap dress for her date. The beauty of the wrap dress was that it had a sophisticated appearance but could be downright sex in silk if she moved the right way. By leaning forward ever so slightly over her glass of wine, she could present him with a peek of her lacy bra and full breasts. She would maintain a neutral expression, as though she had no idea it was happening, and thus, it would give him the thrill of seeing something he shouldn’t have. Men were so easy in the beginning. It was keeping them on a line that became more challenging.
She ran a finger down her neck and let it trail between her breasts. Her thumb touched her nipple, causing it to peak. She would repeat the move later tonight when she excused herself to use the restroom. Sal wouldn’t be disappointed. Men were such visual creatures. Yes, Sal was a lucky man. If he only knew she’d saved him from Dowdy Sarah. What would that one wear on a first date? Cotton underpants and a sturdy bra? Sylvia laughed. And a wool dress, no doubt. She probably didn’t own silk. Or know who Beyoncé was. The best she could probably do was missionary-style sex with her eyes squeezed shut.
The restaurant Sal chose was on a quaint street full of shops and restaurants. Sylvia had insisted on meeting him there. If he had picked her up, he would already be making plans for how to get her to invite him in when he dropped her off. Or at least, the idea that it was a possibility, however remote, would be in the back of his mind. It was just how males thought. But if she drove, he’d have to work harder. She’d upped the stakes for him without saying a word.
Now they were seated across from one another. She hadn’t been sure what to expect—she’d only seen him in his work duds. Tonight, though, he was wearing a lovely black crewneck sweater over a plain white T-shirt and jeans.
He snapped his menu shut and sighed. “I checked twice—no blueberry muffins here. But,” he said with a smile, “word on the street is they make some killer cocktails if you’re inclined to order one.”
“Ooh . . . I do enjoy a good cocktail.” She shifted her menu and picked up a narrow card beneath it, skimming a finger down the list with a sexy swipe.
“Do you see something you like?” he asked.
She could’ve taken the bait and said something flirtatious, but she’d learned years ago that overt flirting was an amateur move. Make the guy work for it, want it, need it with every fiber of his being.
“Yes. Three down,” she said, pointing. “The Paloma. It’s made with tequila, lime, simple syrup, and mezcal. If there’s a cocktail made with mezcal, that’s the one I always order.”
He nodded as he flipped the menu to face him. “You like smoky; I like spicy. I’ll get the jalapeño margarita.” He slid the menus to the edge of the table. “What else should I know about you? How do you spend your free time?”
She twisted her lips, feigning deep thought. Then she slowly licked her bottom lip, giving it just a hint of a bite. “I’ve just taken up golf. I’m terrible, mind you, but I like the mental aspect of the game.” It was a lie, of course, but he had been at a golf course in his Facebook photo, so she figured he must enjoy it.
“Really?”
“Yes. Have you ever played?”
“As a matter of fact, I love the game. I’ve been playing since I was a kid.”
“So you must be pretty good.”
He smiled easily. “I’m not bad.”
“Handicap?” she asked.
“Ah, you know the right questions. It’s an eight.”
She laughed. “Not bad? I’d say you’re great.”
“We should go hit balls sometime. I’ll give you some pointers.”
“I’d like that. So tell me about you, now that you know all about me.”
“I know one thing. Well, two. Make that three.”
“Three?”
“You like mezcal, you’re learning golf, and you’re beautiful.”
She leaned forward just a bit. He deserved a little peek after those kind words. “Well, thank you.”
The server arrived at the table and took their drink orders. He was young and handsome. Probably an actor, Sylvia thought. She wondered why Embry hadn’t told Brandon the baby news yet. It was strange that she was so obviously nervous to tell him. The man was madly in love with her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. It was something she noticed every time she saw the two of them together. It was fascinating, like watching a hummingbird fly backward.
She studied the server’s face as he recited the specials. The delivery earned him a three, maybe a three point five. Shouldn’t he be selling the special, making it sound like the most delicious thing on the menu? Instead, he sounded like a second grader reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. “Do you need a few minutes to decide?” he asked robotically.
“Yes, thank you,” Sal said with authority.
Once he left, Sal leaned close and whispered, “It’s hard to make a peppered rib eye steak with roasted potatoes sound bad, but he did. How about we share some of the small plates? You mentioned you like doing that.”
“I do. That way I can try a little bit of everything. It’s so hard to make up my mind when it all sounds good. Pick whatever you want.” She smiled. “Minus the boring special.”
“Fair enough. And I’m saying no to the tin tin noodle dish. Poached egg and pork is a tough sell for me.”
She laughed. “Agreed. I overlooked that one.” Leaning forward, she said, “Tell me about your daughter. She’s seven?”
“Yes. Seven going on twenty-five.” His sincere brown eyes were warm, like hot cocoa by a roaring fire. “Her name’s Ruby. Can I show you a picture?”
“I’d love to see one.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. Thankfully, he hadn’t set it on the table when they’d arrived, eyeing it like a ticking time bomb. With a few flicks, he found what he was looking for. He smiled as he handed her the phone. “This was at her dance recital back in January. She’s started hip-hop, hence the alternative outfit.”
“She’s rocking that outfit. I love it. Do you have more?”
“Scroll through. There’s a ton.”
Scroll through a man’s phone on the first date? This was more exciting than molten chocolate cake with fresh cream. With a light touch, she swiped to the next photo and turned it to him. “More dance recital?”
“Yep. There’s probably a bunch of those.”
Sylvia looked closely at the picture. The girl—Ruby—had her hands on her hips and was mugging for the camera. She had her dad’s brown eyes, but her hair was golden blonde. And she was tiny! Was this the size of all seven-year-olds? It would be rude to ask. She wondered if his ex-wife was a petite little thing. Was she a hip-hop dancer too?
“She’s adorable.” She glanced up at him.
“Thanks. She’s a great kid.” He reached for the phone, and Sylvia passed it back. “If I get started, I’ll talk about her all night and bore you to tears.”
Bore her to tears? Hmm. Had he dated other women who were intolerant of the fact that he was a father? She was intrigued by his feelings for his little girl. She wanted to know more. Did she have a favorite stuffed toy that she took with her on the trek from Dad’s house to Mom’s? Did she lie in her bed at night, hugging the animal tightly to her chest as she whispered her wishes and fears to it? Though maybe this tiny little girl—Ruby, whose name made her think of sparkling red slippers—was fearless. Maybe her parents didn’t scream curses at each other, making her wish she could disappear. She couldn’t imagine Sal throwing a bottle of Jack at the wall as he yelled, You fucking bitch. I wish I’d never married you!
The server delivered their drinks and took their order. He seemed disappointed they didn’t order the special.
“Hey, we need to toast.”
She smiled, blinking. “Whoa. This is strong. But yes, a toast.” She lifted her glass.
“To our first date.”
“Cheers to that.” They clinked glasses. “So,” she said coyly, placing her glass on the table, “have you dated a lot since your divorce? How does that work?”
He chuckled to himself. “How does it work? I have no idea. I thought I’d be married for life. That’s the idea, right?”
“You should know you’re asking a potential nonbeliever that question.”
“You don’t want to get married one day?”
“I don’t know.” She was treading on shaky ground here, that much she knew. It was always such a delicate topic. After what had happened with Hugh, she wasn’t certain that marriage wouldn’t end in murder if her spouse cheated on her. But could she go through with an actual murder? The thought of living within concrete walls and metal bars made her shiver. She’d seen those screaming inmates on TV, and if they didn’t kill her with their criminal hands while she slept, their wailing would cause all the blood vessels in her brain to burst, resulting in her bloody jailhouse death. Although hypothetically speaking, if she were to murder someone, she’d be smart about it. No one would ever know it was her. “I suppose it would take the right person.”
“Not a cheating bastard.”
Well, that summed it up, didn’t it? Sal was an astute man in addition to having nice arms. “Not a cheating bastard.” She smiled easily. “So why did you and your ex-wife divorce? Or is that too personal a question?”
He spun his cocktail glass in a full circle, like he was opening a combination lock. His jaw was tense, but a half smile appeared. “Have I told you I like how direct you are?”
“Yes.” And I just did it again. Did you notice, Sal?
“Good. Uh, so the divorce.” He picked up his glass and set it back down again. “Short version is she wanted me to be someone else—more successful, richer, you name it. No matter how much more I did, she continued to put me down. I felt like I’d never live up to her expectations. So,” he said, his lips tight, “I told her I couldn’t do it anymore. Go find someone who makes you happy, because I sure as hell don’t is what I said.”
“Oof. I’m sure that went over well.”
“We ran out of tissues, and she resorted to using a dish towel. She didn’t want a divorce. Or at least, if we were going to divorce, she wanted to be the one to initialize it. Control issues or whatever.” He took a hefty swig of his jalapeño margarita.
“People suck.”
He sat back and laughed—a wholehearted burst. There was something empowering in knowing she had caused it.
“People do suck. Except us.” He looked her in the eye.
“Damn right.” She lifted her glass to his and offered a smile. What would his ex-wife say about him? That he was a worthless sloth with no upward mobility? Hmm . . . But he’s an accounting exec at Stone-May, she mused. Well, maybe he found his way after breaking free from the one who was unknowingly holding him back.
Then again, he could be a sloth. It didn’t matter. He was only a means to an end.
Shifting in his seat, he went for a casual tone. “Speaking of people who suck, how’s the ex? Is he still pestering you?”
“I don’t think so.” She frowned but said nothing more.
“What do you mean by that?”
She took a slow, intentional sip of her drink. It was important to appear unsettled by the question. Setting her glass back on the table, she attempted a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a strange coincidence, but I’ve had the feeling that someone is following me.” Laughing, she said, “I’m sure it’s just my imagination.”
He sucked in a breath, causing his shoulders to rise up to his ears. It made him look very masculine, like a linebacker. Would he like that comparison? Probably so. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Peering at him from beneath her lashes, she said, “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”
“I promise.”
“Yesterday after work, I had to run some errands at the Coffee Cart shopping center.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding.
“When I was in the market, I kept seeing a guy who was dressed in black jeans and a hoodie. He literally appeared in every aisle I was in. It didn’t bother me. Sometimes that happens, right? Like you’re on the same path. But when I was in the parking lot, a car started to back up. I thought the driver saw me because I was a big target with my cart, but he obviously didn’t, because he bumped into me.”
“What? Oh my God!”
“It’s fine. He wasn’t going fast. It really was just a bump. But then the guy in the hoodie was right there. He grabbed my arm,” she said, gripping her upper arm with her good hand. “He acted like he was trying to help me, but it felt like he was trying to knock me over. And then the driver got out of the car.”
Sal’s eyes were dark with worry, and he inched forward in his chair. “I don’t like the sound of this at all.”
