Page 5 of Love and Lies

Thaz laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pour salt in the wound.”

“You didn’t.” I tipped the eggs into the pan with a pep. “What’s up, man? I know you’re not calling on a Sunday morning because you miss me.”

“Well, that too, for sure—but also, I have an invite to a party tonight,” he said. “And I thought maybe you’d want to come. It’s opening night at a club downtown. I worked on the campaign. Could be good.”

I turned down the heat on the stove, keeping an eye on the omelette. “A club? Which one?” One of those high-society places, no doubt, where people went just to be seen in their ridiculously expensive wardrobes.

You’re high society, too, a voice in my head reminded me.

Yes, but not willingly, I replied defiantly. And I tried my best to get out of it.

“It’s called Down Below, on Church.”

“On Church? You mean that old steak restaurant?” That place had been closed for years and hadn’t found any new tenants. Which didn’t surprise me, since it wasn’t the best location. I wouldn’t have advised anyone to open a venue there.

“Yeah, I know—it’s bold.”

“More like a suicide mission,” I observed dryly.

“That’s why you should come.” I heard the grin in his voice.

I realized what he was getting at and rolled my eyes good-humoredly. “Okay, so this isn’t a friend date—it’s work?”

“It’s work and play,” my buddy pointed out. “It’s a great concept, Jess. Authentic, elegant, but not too fancy. And the two guys running the place are solid. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d steered me to some location or other, having first seeded the rumor that I was planning to be there. It was a marketing tool. Everyone knew that if I turned up to the opening night of a restaurant, bar, or club, it meant the place must be promising. This was part of my inheritance as Christopher Coldwell’s son, and the result of the last two years of hard work.

I let out a sigh and took the pan off the stove. “What’s in it for me?”

“Drinks on the house and my eternal gratitude.”

“I already have that.”

“You can never have enough of my eternal gratitude.”

He’d already won me over—but there was my other commitment to think of, too. “I do have to go to an award ceremony with my mother tonight,” I said, flipping the omelette in the pan with a practiced hand. “Until around ten, I guess. I could come after that.”

Thaz made a disapproving noise. “Come on, how long do you have to be Trish’s chaperone? What does it say in your contract? I know she made you sign one.”

I turned off the stove. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is. You hate those events like the plague—as well as everyone who goes to them, and all the pomp. You used to do anything to get out of them, and if you couldn’t, nine out of ten times you’d cause some kind of scandal.”

Oh, I remembered. Very well. But I wasn’t sixteen years old anymore, I was twenty-three, and these days I wasn’t so hell-bent on rebellion.

“Times have changed, Thaz. You know why I’m doing it.”

“I know. But you can’t be your mother’s date until the end of time just because you’re worried about who she’ll force to go in your place.” He sounded very serious all of a sudden.

“I’m aware,” was all I said.

“So tell Trish she’ll have to go to her boring functions by herself from now on. Those millionaire snobs don’t appreciate your charm. I do.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, but I didn’t want to get into it. “I’ll try to get away as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. See you tonight.”

“See you later, buddy.” I ended the call, getting a plate from the rack for my omelette and sitting down with it at the counter. My phone was now playing “Everything That Isn’t Me” by Lukas Graham.

How fitting.