Broken Lies: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 1 Read online

  “What time?” I ask, irritated at the uptick of Harlow’s lips. She’s enjoying this. Watching me suffer. Watching me care about some random girl’s plans.

  “8PM.”

  “Where?”

  “The Thai restaurant at the hotel.”

  “Add another one to the reservation.” I gulp back more coffee, nodding as Preston turns, looking around for me.

  “Eli.”

  “What? She’s a new member to my team. Shouldn’t I at least welcome her?” I raise my eyebrows at Harlow.

  “You didn’t take me to dinner when I joined your team,” she shoots back, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

  “I barely had two pennies to rub together back then; I was the team. And if memory serves, I got you Taco Bell, so stop bitching.”

  Harlow snorts, her demeanor calmer than it usually is during the first few days of filming. “I’ll add you to the reservation.”

  Pressing my coffee cup into her hands, I stride back to set, forcing the thoughts about Zoe’s perfect ass and raven hair to fade from my mind.

  I don’t have time for distractions.

  And she’s proving to be the biggest one of all.

  * * *

  Harlow: Hey, sorry. I can’t make dinner. Something came up. Be nice to Zoe.

  Shit. I wince as I re-read the message. I’d bet my life that Harlow’s cancellation has something to do with bullshit her mom’s flinging at her. It’s hard to believe someone as good as Low could be ripped from a womb so fucking rotten.

  Pocketing my cell phone, I press the button for the elevator. As soon as I enter the restaurant, I spot Zoe. She’s already seated at the table, her hair twisted up in a bun, wispy tendrils escaping. Her shoulders are bare, the slope of her neck graceful. Funky earrings hang from her earlobes, grazing her collarbone.

  She’s mesmerizing.

  “I hear the mahi poke bowl is the thing to order here.” I slide into one of the chairs at the four-person table in the center of Achara. Tapping a forefinger on the table, I roll a glance over Zoe’s surprised face. “Harlow didn’t tell you I was crashing?”

  Zoe recovers. “She mentioned it, but I didn’t think she was serious.”

  “She was. She also had to cancel.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s something family-related.” I pick up my linen napkin and drape it across my lap.

  “Oh. Well, thank you.” Zoe gestures toward the empty table. “But if you have other commitments, don’t feel obligated to dine with me.”

  “I don’t.” I flag down a server. “Wine?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “Red or white?”

  “Red.”

  I rattle off the name of a bottle I like as Zoe looks on, bewildered.

  She picks at the tablecloth nervously, her eyes darting around to the nearby tables, avoiding my gaze.

  “No need to be nervous. Consider this a working dinner. A chance to welcome you to my team.”

  “Thanks.” She picks up her water glass. “That’s nice of you.”

  I reach out, placing a hand over hers until she looks up, her gaze finally meeting mine. “You want the truth? I was jealous that you and Harlow planned girl time without me. I’m really here for the apple martinis and advice on cuticle care. But then Harlow bailed so…”

  “So you want me to fill you in on this season’s hottest shade of blue?” She fills in the blank, her eyes shining.

  “Exactly.” I ease back in my chair, pulling my hand away from hers. “You settle in okay?”

  “Yeah. Everything is really amazing. I’ve never been to a place like this.”

  “I know what you mean. I remember my first time on location. I had no idea what to expect and everything seemed so over-the-top, I was overwhelmed. It will take a few days to adjust to your new norm.”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe we’re here for four months.”

  “It goes by fast.” I hold Zoe’s wine glass out for the server to pour a taste test into. “What do you think?” I pass her the glass.

  “Oh.” She stiffens, surprise rippling over her face. She takes a small sip and literally groans as the wine hits her tongue, embarrassment flooding her features in the next moment. “It’s really good.”

  “Glad you like it.” I say as the server fills our glasses. “To your new adventure.” I raise my glass in her direction.

  “To your new film.” She replies, clinking her glass against mine.

  I take a long drink, while Zoe daintily takes a sip, her eyes closing in pleasure, her skin flushed. I feel my dick twitch and my throat dry.

  If I’m expected to sit across from her and stare at her soft skin and big eyes and be on my best behavior, I’ll be drinking more than just wine. When it’s time to order, I ask for the poke bowl while she opts for the pad woon sen.

  Once the server disappears, Zoe’s presence seems to expand, drawing all my attention to her. The back of my neck tingles and I crack it, not used to feeling this off-center in the presence of a woman. Any woman.

  “Tell me about That Fit Bitch Life. How’d you get started?” I swirl my wine and lean back in my chair.

  “It was a labor of love. For real.” She admits, her face brightening. “I’ve always been into health and fitness. Well, since I was about eleven or twelve. My mom became very conscious of preparing healthy meals and I used to help her cook. We would explore different recipes, try new things to make the plate pop with color, or see how various spices blended together. Jumping into the fitness aspect was a natural progression. But my love for boxing and MMA came when I was about fifteen. My dad took me to one of the MMA gyms in Chicago and I just became enamored with the sport. The discipline, the dedication, the attention to every single detail in a bout. I jumped right in.”

  “Seriously? You used to do MMA?”

  “Yeah.” She smiles. “Boxing too.”

  “Tough girl.”

  Zoe flexes playfully. “Come on Holt, I’m super badass.”

  “Maybe until you preceded it with the word super.”

  She laughs, the sound musical and carefree. A woman at the table next to us glances over but Zoe doesn’t even notice. I’m drawn to her and how uninhibited and natural she is. It’s a refreshing change from the L.A. scene where women are constantly aware of everyone around them and how they fit into some social media moment.

  “What about you?” She reaches into the breadbasket and swipes a roll. “Did you always want to be an actor?”

  “Hell no.” I take a drink of my wine. “I just wanted to get the hell out of my neighborhood.”

  Zoe flinches and for a moment I feel bad, remembering it’s the same neighborhood she grew up in. “I hear that.” She says softly, her expression turning thoughtful. “How’d you settle on L.A? Why not New York?”

  “I wanted sunshine after a Chicago winter.”

  “Oh, that I definitely believe.” She sips her wine, her shoulders relaxing. “Then what?”

  “You know my story is public right? There’s no secret about how I got my start.”

  Zoe wrinkles her nose. “I don’t really read those magazines.”

  “No?”

  “Nope.” She pops the letter p. “I’m more of a Steinbeck girl.”

  Tossing my head back, I laugh. I mean, I really laugh and immediately she joins in. I like that about her, how easily she laughs, how naturally she blends in with whatever social setting surrounds her. Most girls would feel out of place trading their bartending shifts at a neighborhood pub with dining at a five-star restaurant overnight. But not Zoe. She could dazzle a gardener just as easily as an heiress. Something about her, her essence, is too bright to overlook.

  In fact, as I listen to her share a funny anecdote about her boxing days, her face bright, her hands animated, I hate how unsure of myself I feel.

  I hate how captivated I am by her, unable to look away.

  On any other girl, her purple-infused hair would irk me as
a sign of rebellion or a cry for attention. On her, though, it intrigues me. Why does it have to look so natural? Like an extension of her personality? I can imagine that hair, silky and dark, spread across my pillow. Or better yet, fisted in my hand as those pouty lips take me down her throat.

  Jesus Christ.

  I shift in my chair to distract myself from my wayward, inappropriate, and completely honest thoughts. Zoe’s gaze sharpens on mine, that ribbon of disguised interest I’m coming to count on in my interactions with her present in the butterscotch of her eyes.

  In my next blink, the air between us shifts. The space intensifies, simultaneously constricting and expanding. My throat dries and my hands curl into fists.

  Zoe’s eyes darken and her tongue darts out to wet the center of her bottom lip.

  I nearly groan, unable to tear my eyes away.

  Her breathing ticks up the slightest bit, her perky tits straining against her white halter top. I can make out the faintest outline of her nipples and my dick twitches again.

  “Zoe.” I reach over the table, knowing it’s the last thing I should do. The second my fingers touch the softness of her skin, I want more. My body craves hers, my fingers tingle to explore every inch of her curves. “I —”

  “Your entrées.” The server announces, breaking the spell between us.

  I snap my hand back as he presents us with our meals.

  Once he leaves, we’re quiet, the sound of our breaths filling my ears. My eardrums ring with my pulse as I try and get a grip on the situation. In order to keep my relationship with Zoe somewhat professional, I’m going to have to keep her at arm’s length. The best way to do that is to control the conversation. “Carb loading?” I clear my throat, teasing her as I nod toward her plate of noodles. But my tone lands like a jab instead of a joke, my body still reeling from several moments earlier when I was tempted, so goddamn tempted, to cross every single line in our professional relationship.

  She flashes a smile, the corners of her mouth pinched. “Don’t worry about me, Holt. I’ve got a rigorous training set up for you starting tomorrow.” She says the words friendly enough, but the way she drops my last name, the same way everyone does, with a mixture of casual and condescending, ticks me off. I don’t like it from her lips. Not when she could call me Eli.

  Hell, even Hollywood.

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit, babe. It’s early in the game.” I slip back into default mode, arrogant jokester, saying anything to keep her where I want her, where I can get a read on her. I rub a hand over my chest, the material of my T-shirt rippling.

  Her breath hitches in her throat as she follows my movement, her cheeks coloring. “What game is that?”

  “The long game, baby girl. You just stepped into the majors. Sure you’re ready for this?” I pester her, dropping my voice, dipping my head toward hers.

  Her eyes widen before narrowing, accepting my challenge. She inches closer to me, slow and stealthy, like a damn cheetah. “More than ready, Hollywood. It’s you who’ve taken on more than you can handle.”

  Snorting, amusement fills my tone. I like how brazen she is, how she never backs down. It keeps me in my place and throws me off-balance at the same time. “Is that right? I think I can handle you just fine, baby. All night long, ‘til you’re begging for more.”

  Aaaand there goes my professionalism. Again.

  She gasps, her face turning the most brilliant shade of red. I wait for her to issue a witty retort, to call me on my shit.

  Come on, Zoe. I need you to put me in my place.

  “Hate to disappoint, Holt,” she recovers, and relief flickers through me. “But a man like you could never handle a woman like me.”

  “Ouch,” my grin widens as I drop a hand over my wounded heart. Ego. Same thing. “A man like me? What kind of a man do you take me for?”

  Zoe giggles, her fingers pinching the stem of her wine glass as she takes another sip. “You missed the point, Hollywood. It really has nothing to do with what kind of a man you are. It’s more about what kind of a woman I am. Most guys, yourself included, are always too focused on yourselves to see that it’s not all about you.” She winks, taking the sting out of her truth.

  It’s no secret that I’m arrogant, used to getting my way, and almost always the person in control. Especially in an exchange like this.

  I never have to try this hard with a woman. To win her over or keep her at a distance.

  Zoe’s eyes glitter with satisfaction over the rim of her wine glass. She knows she’s winning the banter game. She just flipped my entire argument on its head.

  I finish my wine and Zoe’s laughter, melodious, rings out.

  “Don’t take it so personal, Holt. I told you from day one, you would have crashed and burned. Besides, we’re here to work.” She reaches into the breadbasket for another roll. “Tomorrow, we’re diving right in. I spoke with your trainer in L.A.” She waggles her fingers at me like a little kid, and even that seems cute and not annoying. “I know all your weaknesses, and I’m going to make you sweat.”

  I breathe in a shaky breath, my grin tight. Why is this girl, my trainer, already under my skin? Already making me like her when the most important thing I need to do right now is keep my distance?

  She’s on your team.

  She’s on location.

  She’s off-limits.

  As her chatter fills the air and her easygoing smile and friendly eyes scan the restaurant, I find myself unable to look away. Her energy, her glow, her mixture of sweetness and strength, thaws parts of me that I prefer to keep frozen.

  “There he is.” Preston drops a heavy hand on my shoulder as he walks past our table. “Hi.” He smiles at Zoe, taking a step toward her and extending his hand. “I’m Gray Preston.”

  Zoe’s smile is blinding, as radiant as the goddamn sun. I hate the way her face lights up as her gaze latches onto Gray’s. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Zoe Clark, Eli’s new trainer.”

  “Ah, yes. I heard you would be joining us.” He dips his head toward me. “Do you have a moment when you guys are finished? I want to run something by you.”

  Before I can respond, Zoe answers. “We’re nearly done.”

  “Excellent.” Preston practically beams at her, his eyes wandering over her face for a beat longer than necessary.

  My blood simmers through my veins. Is he into her? Did he really come over to speak with me or because he wanted to meet Zoe? Jesus, man, get a grip.

  When I realize both Zoe and Gray are staring at me, I clear my throat, “Sorry?”

  “Pop by my table when you’re all done?” Gray asks, his brow furrowing.

  “Of course. Give me fifteen.”

  “No rush.” He turns toward Zoe again. “It was lovely to meet you Ms. Clark.”

  “Oh, call me Zoe.”

  “Only if you’ll call me Gray.”

  Her smile widens and I swallow back bitterness. “It was great to meet you too, Gray.”

  Preston finally leaves and I indicate toward the server that I’ll take the check.

  “Wow.” Zoe breathes out across from me and I feel my frustration heighten. “I can’t believe that’s Gray Preston.”

  “The one and only.” I mutter, signing for our meal.

  “Oh.” Zoe reaches out a hand, her other fiddling with her purse. “You don’t have to —”

  “Get out of here, Violet.” I dismiss her attempt to pay for her meal. Standing from the table, I glance at Preston, not sure if I’m relieved or irritated to be leaving Zoe to speak with him.

  Zoe turns toward me as she stands, her lips curled upwards like she knows a secret I don’t. Damn this woman. Why can’t I get a pulse on her?

  “See you tomorrow, Violet.” I tug on the end of one of her purple streaks.

  “Thank you for dinner, Holt. 6:45AM. Meet me on the beach.”

  I smirk in surprise. “The beach? Baby doll, I thought we were here to —”

  “The beach, Holt. Don’t be l
ate. And don’t forget your sunscreen. I hear you burn easily.” She throws the last bit out like the ribbing it is, but as I stare at her, untouchable and unflappable, and my gaze catches on Preston, authoritative and dynamic, I feel like I’m floundering. Suddenly, her words ring like an insult in my ears. I shift my weight, a flicker of unease traveling through me.

  I’m in over my head.

  With this film.

  With my career.

  With my goddamn trainer.

  “Bring your best, baby,” I deflect, trying to find my footing.

  “You’re not ready for my best, Hollywood. But you will be.”

  7

  Zoe

  He rattles me. He knows it.

  And he likes that he does it, making the nerves worse, the doubts larger, the stakes greater.

  I’ve never backed down from a challenge before, and Eli Holt thrusts me into my next great upset like the cocky bastard he is.

  The breeze coming off the water is still cool at this time in the morning. The morning glories of birds mix with the fading cheeps of nighttime critters. Wrapping my long-sleeve Lululemon sweater tighter around my waist, I scan the assortment of weights, ropes, and sliders I’m going to use for this morning’s workout.

  “You look beautiful.” His voice runs over my skin like a caress, alerting me to his presence and sending my poor, unsuspecting body into a tailspin. Goosebumps skate over my skin, my stomach flip-flops, and my chest constricts.

  Feigning casual, I snort and glance at him over my shoulder. “That work on all the girls?”

  “Every last one.” He’s clad in black basketball shorts, a teal workout tank that brightens the color of his eyes, and trainers.

  “Not this one,” I retort, nodding toward the weights. “We’re going to circuit train today. I’ve got several stations set up. I’ll run you through the exercise for each and the amount of reps you’re required to do. I’ll be timing you. The goal for each subsequent round is to beat your time. We’re focusing on endurance and stamina.”

  “Got plenty of that, baby,” he croons, a cocky expression on his perfectly sculpted face.