Broken Lies: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 1 Page 3

  My hands grow clammy, my mind foggy.

  His face, those eyes, the way his presence eats up all the air slams into me with the force of a linebacker.

  He stares back, unbridled curiosity coloring his eyes as he opens his mouth and words pour out.

  I blink, straining to catch his words.

  Deafening silence clogs my ears, and then the noise and chatter of the pub explodes in my head. I return to the moment as if I’ve come up from underwater for oxygen.

  Pulling air into my lungs, I stare into his hypnotizing face and lose the ability to speak.

  “Didn’t take you for a fan.” A wry smile twists his mouth, his lips almost too full to be masculine. His eyes drink me in before his expression falls and he wraps a hand around my wrist. “Hey, you okay?”

  It’s at that moment, when my thoughts are a muddled mess of excitement and hope and fear, the moment where he freely gives me empathy, that I regain my composure.

  Kind of.

  “Your assistant just offered me a job.”

  His grin widens, his hand tugging me closer until my ribs collide with the edge of the bar.

  I hope none of my customers need anything right now, because I’m completely useless. The only person I can focus on is Eli Holt.

  Hollywood.

  And the incredible shade of his eyes.

  The hard line of his jaw.

  The shadow of stubble grazing the planes of his face.

  Jeez Louise.

  “You ready for this, Zoe?” He breathes it out, the sound of my name on his lips doing things, delicious things, to my insides.

  And in this moment, I know, just know everything is about to change.

  I’m going to take this job offer.

  I’m going to fly to wherever Hollywood is filming.

  And I’m going to lose a piece of myself to Eli Holt.

  4

  Eli

  “You ready for this, Zoe?” I ask, my thumb swiping across the soft skin on the underside of her wrist. She shivers at my touch and I move my thumb again, fascinated by her body’s response to me.

  How is this girl, the sexy bartender mixing drinks, the chick who laughs at fake insults and flirts with abandon, also the badass trainer Harlow advocated for and Connor stamped with his approval?

  She stares down at where I’m touching her but I don’t drop my hold. Instead, I press my thumb until it causes an indent in her skin and she glances back up.

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Not sure about what?”

  “If I’ll take the job,” she lies, her eyes flickering with mischief.

  Laughter clogs my throat, filling the space between us. “Why wouldn’t you take the job?”

  “Isn’t it bad business to accept an offer without reading it first?”

  I nod in agreement. “Fair enough.”

  “Plus, the fine print.” She bites her bottom lip.

  My eyes zero in on the movement and I narrow my gaze. Is she toying with me? Playing some kind of game?

  “Is there any fine print I should know about, Hollywood?” she presses.

  I shake my head, dropping her wrist. “No. It’s a purely professional relationship.” I hate that I’m cock-blocking myself, but it’s the right thing to do. Messing around with employees complicates everything, the film included. I won’t do anything to jeopardize my performance as Dr. Henry Shorn.

  At my words, something I can’t place flashes in Zoe’s eyes but then she blinks and relief floods her gaze. “Good.” She smiles, a dimple popping in her left cheek. It’s so her, I realize, to have some of that bubble-gum innocence contrasting with her purple streaks and quick mouth. She’s a goddamn enigma. Too friendly to be flirting, too dismissive to be looking for a hook-up. She’s too damn confusing to figure out one way or the other. And that’s what piques my interest, has me studying her like an equation that’s going to end climate change. “Because if I take the job, I’m doing it for real.”

  “I’d hope so.”

  “That means you show up, every day, every session, ready to work.”

  “I will.”

  “You can ask around about me. The guys I train, they’re on time, they work hard, and they check whatever is going on in their personal lives at the door.”

  While a part of me is impressed by her professionalism, the unwarranted accusation in her tone pisses me off. I step back for a moment, cracking my neck. Violet looks at me, her eyebrow quirking in challenge.

  Screw this.

  Leaning back over the bar, I crowd her until I can grasp her wrist again. Placing her hand against my abdomen, I cover it with mine. “I’m all muscle, babe. Worked real fucking hard for this body. And my career. You think I just got it based off my good looks and winning personality?”

  “Winning personality is a stretch.” She chuckles, and the sound turns me on as much as it pisses me off. Add that to my commitment to keep things professional, and I suddenly feel off kilter. Violet is somehow in the driver’s seat, taking control, while I flub around unsure of what to do or say next.

  Dropping her hand, I step back. “I do the work, Violet. And I expect the same from my team.”

  She regards me curiously, some of the laughter fading from her expression. “My program, my routine, you’re really in?” she questions quietly, ignoring my nickname for her.

  I nod once, a curt snap of my neck. “I just need to maintain my current build. Can’t bulk up or lean out for the character I’m playing. It’s all in the contract. You need to accept all the terms outlined and be okay with them for us to work together.”

  She pauses for a moment before acceptance slips into the melted butter of her eyes, and she nods. “Okay. I’ll take a look at everything. If it’s all as Harlow explained, I’ll see you on location, Hollywood.” She starts to turn away.

  “Wait a minute.” I reach out again.

  Jesus, this is becoming a habit.

  And not one I particularly like.

  I feel like I’m chasing this woman with absolutely no end goal in mind.

  She’s about to become one of my employees. A member of my team.

  With the exception of Harlow, who’s stuck with me from the start, and my publicist Helen, who demands I interact with her, I don’t really give a shit about most of the people I’m forced to associate with in my professional space. The expectation is that everyone shows up to work. Beyond that, I don’t care what people do or don’t do.

  Zoe pauses, gazing at me over her shoulder.

  The space between us crackles to life, alive with an energy that wraps around me, drawing me closer to Zoe. She’s dangerous, with her heartfelt eyes and perfect curves, accentuated by her obvious training. The tilt of her jaw confident, the flicker in her eyes all unwanted vulnerability.

  But damn if she doesn’t fill the inside of my mouth with curiosity. Doesn’t intrude on my thoughts with layers of questions.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I close my eyes.

  So much for no drama.

  Shit’s about to go off the rails.

  I can feel it in the invisible thread urging me closer to Zoe, sense it in the way I give the slightest shit that I can’t put my finger on what makes her tick.

  This girl’s going to make me yearn for the heartbreak of Natalie Beck.

  Force me to recall the series of shallow hook-ups since Natalie with a fondness.

  I can already tell Zoe’s got a backbone of steel, a heart of gold, and a body like a goddamn temple.

  For the first time since Natalie blew up my world four-and-a-half years ago, I feel my body stir to life. My dick starts to harden for something more than just a willing body and a firm set of tits. Sure, Zoe’s slamming, all lean muscle and delicious curves I’d like to sink my teeth into, but it’s not that. Girls have gotten me off on less.

  It’s the brazen way she meets my gaze, the confidence that oozes from her pores in place of perfume, the ridiculous and unexpected things that drop from her mouth
like breadcrumbs, leading me closer to her.

  “How badly do you need the money?”

  “Excuse me?” she falters, tugging on her wrist. Her eyes widen, a blaze of panic ringing her irises.

  I tighten my hold. “I’m not asking to be a dick. I’m asking because the job isn’t easy. It’s long hours, a lot of bullshit, cattiness. And I’ve been told working with me isn’t exactly a picnic.”

  “Nothing worth achieving is ever as simple as a picnic.” Her tone is subdued, in contrast to the bubbly chuckle from earlier. It’s threaded with a crestfallen wisdom someone her age shouldn’t possess. It pisses me off that she has it.

  “Is the money worth your sanity?” I smirk, wanting to push her to the edge. Of what? I don’t know but I want her to snap. It will make it easier between us if I know how to get to her. If I understand at least something about her.

  She looks up at me and squares her shoulders. Yep, hot girl’s tough as nails. She’ll make for a good trainer. And a fucking headache all rolled into one.

  “Right now, it’s worth everything,” she shoots back as I squeeze her delicate wrist.

  Her words are a disappointment. I don’t know why, as they’re the words I wanted her to say.

  “Then say yes.” I hold her gaze. “Take the job.”

  “I am.” A blush works up the column of her neck, spreading into her cheeks. “Your name holds too much weight to turn down. And the salary is too good to pass up.”

  “Pack your bags, babe. I’ll see you in the Seychelles soon.”

  Her eyes widen, a shimmer of excitement breaking through the confusion swirling in their honey depths.

  That’s right, baby. I can give you the fucking world.

  The five-star hotels.

  The private jets.

  The all-access pass to every designer, stylist, and restaurant you desire.

  And fill you up with so much emptiness, you’ll ache to feel whole.

  “You better show up to do the work, Hollywood,” she taunts, but her teasing tone doesn’t match the ferocity in her eyes.

  “I’m gonna give you everything, babe. Every. Damn. Thing.”

  * * *

  She signed the contract.

  Not that I thought she wouldn’t, but part of me hoped she’d be smarter.

  Or that she would do me a solid and make things easier for me. Working with her is going to test my commitment to not screw a woman on my team.

  “Your boarding pass is already in the wallet on your phone. I’ve forwarded your hotel confirmation and the numbers of anyone who may assist you with any issues. You’re in the hotel’s penthouse, full ocean view. You have one day to get over the jet lag and then you’re jumping into production. Hair and makeup will be on set. I’m still arranging for your trailer or private space. But don’t worry, I’ll have it all sorted by Wednesday.” Harlow grins, passing me a thin envelope, no doubt stuffed with two neatly typed pages of everything I could possibly need for any wish or whim that may arise.

  Chances are, I won’t even open it.

  “Got it.” I pick up my coffee mug and take a large gulp. Sleeping on Evan’s futon is no joke, but it allows me extra time with Ollie so, I endure. “Want caffeine?”

  “Nope. I’ve already guzzled three iced coffees and feel kind of wired. Like I can’t stop smiling.”

  “Your face looks like it’s about to crack.”

  “Any other questions?”

  “You’re flying down with the new girl?”

  “Zoe? Yes.”

  “You think she’ll get along with everyone okay?”

  Harlow gives me a look. “Um, have you met her? I feel like she’s the only person on your team who can get along with everyone.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, leaning my hip against the kitchen island.

  “She doesn’t have an ego and I think she cares more about the work than the celebrity sightings. With her work ethic, she’ll probably even impress Preston.”

  I falter at the mention of his name. “Why would she even meet him?” I try to sound casual but my tone is too alarmed to pull it off. Gray Preston is one hell of a director. I admire his work a lot more than I’d like to admit, and I hate that I’m in an inferior position by accepting this role to work under him.

  Before he was Natalie’s ex, he was her husband. Her successful, good-looking, well-connected husband. That pisses me off at the cellular level because his presence in Natalie’s life was as welcome as a cheetah to a kid’s fourth birthday party.

  But then he up and left her, and I realized that when you care for someone the way I once cared for Natalie, even her failed relationship didn’t bring the satisfaction I was searching for.

  Still, he won’t get his hands on Violet.

  Why would he, though? Their roles won’t ever overlap.

  “I meant it as an example.” Harlow rolls her eyes, missing the fact that her off-the-cuff remark sent my mind into overdrive. “Gray’s known for running a tight ship. Someone with Zoe’s commitment and dedication to her role would probably impress even him.”

  “Yeah. True.” I swallow down the bolt of anger that rose to the surface at the thought of Gray and Violet.

  Jesus, I’ve got to get over my infatuation with this girl. We’re going to be working together, and I need to dedicate everything I am to this film.

  “You all good?” Harlow asks, her eyes darting to the door.

  I wave a hand, indicating that she’s free to leave. “Yeah. I’ll see you in the Seychelles.”

  “Don’t forget your sunscreen,” she says cheerily, practically bouncing out the front door.

  “Maybe skip your next iced latte,” I call after her.

  “No kidding,” she sings back, the door closing behind her.

  Moments later, the greatest, most important person in my life comes zooming around the corner and jumps on me. Catching Ollie easily, I grin at the little shit. “What’s up, little man?”

  “You’re really here!” He hugs me tighter, his small face burrowing into my shoulder.

  I used to hate kids. Not saying it to be a dick, just honest. It’s not because of anything they ever did, I just didn’t give a shit about other people’s snot-nosed little monsters.

  When Evan called me that Sophie gave birth, however, I walked off set and went straight to the airport. Hearing the overwhelming happiness in my brother’s voice was enough to make me want to see what the big deal was.

  And Ollie, he is a big fucking deal.

  The first time I held his wrinkly, splotchy little body and breathed in his bald head, a protectiveness I never thought possible hijacked my emotions. I love him fiercely.

  Even more so after his crappy excuse for a mother hightailed it out of town in search of her next fix a year ago.

  My protective streak toward Ollie increased again when several of the starved supermodels I dated tried to fabricate pregnancy scares, wanting me to believe that I could have my own perfect little boy.

  If only they knew it’s my greatest wish, just with a woman worthy of being my baby’s mother.

  But this smelly, silly, perfectly smiley six-year-old somehow makes all the bullshit, all the deceitful lies and elaborate fabrications of the women I keep tangling with, bearable.

  “I promised you, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but you also promised me a helicopter ride for my birthday.”

  Snorting, I nod. “Truth, little man. Take that one up with your dad.”

  “Hey, don’t go taking sides. We need a united front.” Evan scolds me as he enters the kitchen, buttoning up the rest of his shirt.

  I turn my attention back to Ollie. “Ice cream after soccer?”

  “Even if we lose?”

  “You’re not going to lose. You’re going to —”

  “Have a great time with your friends,” Evan cuts me off, shooting me a look.

  “Don’t even tell me they get participation trophies,” I mutter. That’s why kids today are so unlikable. T
hey’re whiny, used to always getting their way. When Evan and I were kids, you either won or you lost. There was no such thing as “participating.”

  Ollie smiles, hooking his legs around my waist. “Nah, just ribbons.”

  “That’s even worse,” I groan. “You let him play in these bogus —”

  “All the leagues are like that today,” Evan interrupts me.

  “Not the ones at the top,” I shoot back.

  “So, ice cream?” Ollie refocuses me on the priority at hand.

  “Ice cream, no matter what,” I agree before tossing him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Now surrender to your master!” I run through the living room, dropping Ollie onto his bed. “The tickle master.” I go in, tickling the hell out of my favorite, and only, nephew.

  He laughs and squirms, nearly kicking me in the face. Dodging his swinging arms and frantic legs, I pull him into a tight hug as our laughter settles down. “Gonna miss you, kid.”

  “Me too, Uncle Eli. Don’t forget to bring me back a sea turtle.”

  5

  Zoe

  “Hey Jetsetter. Can you believe you’re going to fly business class? Living the life of the rich and famous!” Charlie kisses my cheek before pushing past me into my studio. “Please tell me you packed that fantastically slutty lingerie I made you buy last Valentine’s Day.”

  I blush at her words and Charlie cheers. “Thank God, soul sister. It’s about to be off-trend, so please try to wear it at least once.”

  “Okay,” I hold up a hand. “First off, I did wear it.”

  “With who?”

  “That guy from Colombia who was visiting his sister over the summer.”

  “Nice.” Charlie grins, clearly impressed.

  “Secondly, stop talking about sex, even indirectly. My dad’s going to be here any minute.”

  “Helping friends get laid is the whole point of friendship,” Charlie adds under her breath, taking a look around my apartment. “I can’t believe I’m not going to be here for four whole months, but I’m glad you were able to sublet.” A ribbon of sorrow rounds out her words and I wince.