Page 4 of This Beautiful Lie
The women wore dresses that cost more than my rent. The men smiled with the kind of confidence that only came from money made a generation ago. Old money had a rhythm to it—smooth and slow, like everyone had all the time in the world. And me? I was just the performance. The prop. A daisy dropped into a bouquet of white roses.
Still, I held my head high and moved forward.
I scanned the crowd, searching for the man who brought me here tonight. A glance, a signal—anything to anchor me in my shoes. But there was nothing. Just a blur of well-tailored suits and gowns that shimmered beneath ambient light.
I took a breath and adjusted the strap of my clutch at my wrist. Keep moving. Keep smiling. That’s what the job required.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a pawn without a plan. I needed to see him first. To read his body language before he had a chance to read mine.
Because that first look always told me everything, and tonight I needed to be sure who I was dealing with.
Tucking my cell phone back in my clutch, I forced myself to flip the switch. From anxious, broken, full of insecurities Emily—to the woman men hired to date. Poised. Polished. A little mysterious. An accessory, not a risk. A beautiful woman without baggage or strings.
I took a step forward, heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
A man in a grey suit with a receding hairline turned in his seat. He scanned me up and down, gave me a knowing smile, and I moved in his direction.
He seemed nice enough. Not too tall, not too muscular. Someone I could handle if he got too frisky.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” My words came out a little too fast.
He remained quiet, turning back toward the bar as he took a sip of his drink.
“There was an accident on the 405––” I sat on the stool beside him. “I called, but?—”
He turned toward me, brows pinched together with misunderstanding. “Are you talking to me?”
And that’s when I noticed her––his wife… or a woman I presumed was his wife––sitting on the other side of him, a champagne flute in one hand and a diamond ring on the other.
Fantastic.
My cheeks flushed as I crossed my legs in the opposite direction and placed my clutch on the bar, trying to recover some semblance of composure. Maybe I should leave. Maybe I should move. Maybe I should fling myself into the nearest Ficus and pretend I was part of the décor.
But then, a man leaned over the bar on my other side, and all the air evacuated my lungs.
He was an Adonis. Big, sturdy, handsome in a way that made every nerve in my body aware of every cell in his. He was dressedin a gray suit that hugged his frame as if it had been stitched there by God.
As if I didn’t have a choice in the matter, my eyes tracked from his arms to his neck, then to a well-trimmed beard that traced the sharp lines of his jaw instead of softening them. It only made him more attractive—rugged without trying, controlled without being cold. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. And a face that made me forget, for one suspended second, how to breathe.
“Whiskey. Neat,” he said to the bartender.
His voice was deep and smooth—like a secret whispered in the dark.
Normally I wasn’t affected by men that looked like him, but lust immediately filled my belly.
Thank God I was sitting down, because I instantly felt faint…
The worst part? He didn’t even notice me.
I could have burst into flames, and he wouldn’t have blinked. His eyes stayed on the bartender, calm and serious, as though ordering his drink was the only thing that mattered to him.
My gaze slipped to his mouth—full, serious, with a sexy sort of pout to it. I found myself wondering what had him so upset. He seemed like the kind of man who could have anything he wanted. The kind who would break your heart, then show up the next day with your own stupid permission to do it all over again.
“Can I help you?” he asked, deadpan.
I blinked––three times in rapid succession––then finally recovering enough to snap my neck in the other direction. Lord, kill me now.
Just ignore him. If I ignored him long enough, maybe he’d go away. Forget about how awkwardly I’d been staring at his mouth.
