Beloved Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Beloved Liar Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Rowe

  Books by Lauren Rowe

  Playlist for Beloved Liar

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Books by Lauren Rowe

  Author Biography

  Beloved Liar Copyright © 2020 by Lauren Rowe

  Published by SoCoRo Publishing

  Layout by www.formatting4U.com

  Cover design © Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers

  Books by Lauren Rowe

  The Reed Rivers Trilogy (to be read in order)

  Bad Liar

  Beautiful Liar

  Beloved Liar

  The Club Trilogy (to be read in order)

  The Club: Obsession

  The Club: Reclamation

  The Club: Redemption

  The Club: Culmination (A Full-Length Epilogue Book)

  The Josh and Kat Trilogy (to be read in order)

  Infatuation

  Revelation

  Consummation

  The Morgan Brothers (a series of related standalones):

  Hero

  Captain

  Ball Peen Hammer

  Mister Bodyguard

  ROCKSTAR

  The Misadventures Series (a series of unrelated standalones):

  Misadventures on the Night Shift

  Misadventures of a College Girl

  Misadventures on the Rebound

  Standalone Psychological Thriller/Dark Comedy

  Countdown to Killing Kurtis

  Playlist for Beloved Liar

  “You and Me”—James TW

  “Oh, Darling”—The Beatles

  “I Don’t Want to Get Over You”—The Magnetic Fields

  “Bad Liar”—Imagine Dragons

  “Love the Way You Lie”—Eminem

  “Ready to Let Go”—Cage the Elephant

  “Golden”—Harry Styles

  “Adore You”—Harry Styles

  Chapter 1

  Reed

  It’s a temperate Sunday afternoon in the Hollywood Hills. The perfect day for Hazel Hennessy’s first birthday party on her parents’ small backyard patio. The birthday girl is sitting in a highchair, wearing a bib that reads, “I’m the Birthday Girl, Bitches!” Her party guests, other than me, are crowded around her, singing “Happy Birthday,” while her proud mommy stands over her with a white cupcake topped with Elmo and her smiling daddy records the occasion on his phone.

  And where is Uncle Reed in this happy moment? Nowhere good. He’s slumped in a chair in a corner of the patio, slugging his third Bloody Mary, while drowning in a dark and stormy sea of soul-searing regret.

  Because... Georgina.

  It’s been sixteen hours since she took off in that Uber with her stepsister, without looking back, leaving me to wallow in a brand of pain I didn’t even know existed. What I’m feeling in this torturous moment is the kind of pain artists sing about in their most tormented breakup songs. The kind of pain I’ve heard other people talk or sing about and immediately thought to myself, “Get over it, you fucking pussy. Move on to the next and you’ll be fine.”

  And now, here I am, wallowing in misery, drowning in Bloody Marys, and certain I’ll never “get over it” or “move on to the next and be fine” ever again.

  My phone vibrates in my hand, and I look down, praying I’ll see Georgina’s name. But, no. It’s Owen, telling me something I don’t care about. Goddammit! Why won’t Georgina respond to any of my texts or voicemails? I mean, yes, I know why. Because, last night, in a space of mere minutes, Georgina got hit by a shit storm trifecta that made her question everything. In rapid-fire succession, Georgina figured out I’d funded the grant, she found her stepsister sobbing in an upstairs guest room, thanks to a speech I’d given to her about her demo, and, worst of all, Georgina discovered me coming out of the garage with Isabel, right after I’d kissed her. In that horrible moment that’s now running on a permanent loop in my brain, Georgina saw Isabel’s smudged lipstick and the guilty expression on my face and decided, wrongly, that I’d fucked the living hell out of Isabel in that garage, rather than merely giving her an ill-advised goodbye kiss. And, just like that, Georgina’s trust in me was shattered, along with her precious heart. And now, I’m rightfully paying the price for my stupidity.

  Out of nowhere, an idea pops into my head. A lifeline. An ingenious idea that will prove to Georgina I did nothing more than kiss Isabel. Granted, this idea wouldn’t fully exonerate me in Georgina’s eyes, since touching Isabel at all was wrong. A betrayal I wish, more than anything, I could take back. But, still, at least this idea would put an end to Georgina thinking I screwed the crap out of Isabel in that garage. At least, Georgina wouldn’t be thinking I cared so little about her, and our magical week together, that I took the first possible opportunity to screw my ex. And, maybe, knowing I’m not that big a monster would soften the blow a bit for Georgina and then, hopefully, pave the way for her to eventually forgive me.

  My mind begins turning this idea over. Looking at it from every angle. Weighing the pros and cons. And, soon, much to my dismay, I conclude it’s a non-starter. Surely, it would create more problems than it solved. Shit.

  I take another long swig of my Bloody Mary, and sigh from the depths of my tormented soul. I just wish Georgina would call me, if only to chew me out or interrogate me about the grant. CeeCee is still in Bali, so I’m presently Georgina’s only source of enlightenment about the grant. Doesn’t she want to hear what I have to say about how that happened? Does she hate me so much she literally never wants to hear my voice again? Because, if so, then I’ve got some bad news for her. She’s still assigned to the special issue—including writing an in-depth article about me—and I fully intend to hold her to her professional obligations.

  The crowd reaches the last note of their song, and I let my eyes drift to Josh’s former assistant, T-Rod. Theresa “Tessa” Rodriguez. Nowadays, Morgan. The Woman I’ve Wanted to Fuck for Ten Years. She’s standing next to her asshole husband, Ryan, holding a dark-haired baby on her hip, as Ryan holds their toddler’s hand. And, man, she’s smoking hot. Hotter than ever. Motherhood definitely suits her. But there’s no doubt about it: I don’t want T-Rod. Not even in a fantasy. Sitting here now, I know, without a doubt, the only woman I want, the only one my heart and body are capable of wanting, is Georgina.

  It’s a mind-blowing thing to realize, considering how long T-Rod has been my gold standard of hotness. My go-to masturbation fantasy. But it’s the undeniable truth. Georgina owns me now. Georgina is my new gold standard. My queen. Before today, I knew Georgina had burrowed herself underneath my skin and slithered her way into my bloodstream. But now, as I sit here trying in vain to “move on” and “get over it” and “be fine,” I realize something shocking: Georgina has embedded herself into the very tissues of my heart.

  T-Rod laughs, along with everyone around her, so, I shift my gaze to the birthday girl to see what’s up and discover Hazel has just smashed a large glob of white frosting into her face. She was aiming for her mouth, and missed, apparently. And the crowd loves it. I don’t blame them. It’s a cute moment. Objectively humorous. But I don’t give a shit. Because... Georgina. If only she’d call me to let me explain!

  I glance at T-Rod again, and marvel at how much she reminds me of Georgina. In ten years, I bet that’s exactly how Georgina will look. T-Rod is a crystal ball showing me Georgina as a mommy. Georgina as a wife.

  Out of nowhere, while I’m still staring at T-Rod, her asshole husband gives her a kiss and then glares at me. I quickly look away. Was that a not-so-subtle message to me? Did Ryan notice me staring at his wife and decide he needed to stake his claim? Fucker. Calm down, man. I don’t even want your fucking wife anymore. I was just imagining she was someone else. Someone who used to trust me.

  Aw, fuck. Out of nowhere, I’m having a horrible thought. If I don’t win Georgina back, pronto, if I don’t fix this mess I’ve created, Georgina is going to “get over it” and “move on to the next” and “be fine.” Maybe one day soon. And then, one day, ten years from now, she’s going to be standing at a kiddie birthday party alongside her asshole husband, holding his baby on her hip, getting kissed by him when he notices some pathetic loser staring at her. And I won’t be Georgina’s asshole husband in this scenario. I’ll be the pathetic loser staring at her, wishing she were mine.

  Testosterone whooshes into my bloodstream. White-hot jealousy. Aching regret. And all of it followed by a tidal wave of panic. If I don’t fix this right away, Georgina is going to move on to the next. She’s going to fuck someone else. Fall in love with someone else. Get married to, and have babies with, someone else.

  In a flash, most likely to avoid my head physically exploding, my brain transforms T-Rod across the patio into Georgina. And Ryan into me. That’s my baby on Georgina’s hip now. Nobody else’s. Georgina fucked me to make that baby happen. Nobody else. In fact, in this fantasy, Georgina never fucked anyone else, after me. Ever again. And she certainly never pledged her undying love to some other motherfucker. Hell no. She pledged her undying love to me.

  Calm washes over me. Obviously, I’ve got no desire to get married or have a baby, not even with Georgina. But I sure as hell don’t want her doing either of those things with someone else.

  I finish off my Bloody Mary and check my phone again. But, still, nothing from Georgina. Just more shit I don’t care about from Owen.

  I shouldn’t do it, I know, but I can’t help myself. I tap out yet another ill-advised text to Georgina. And then, just because I’m in my texts, I answer Owen, too, including telling him he’s fired, just for kicks. But it’s no use. Nothing, not even “firing” Owen, is numbing this searing pain. The only thing that could possibly help me now would be seeing Georgina’s name lighting up my phone.

  “I’ve brought reinforcements,” a voice says, and when I look up from my screen, Henn is standing before me, holding two drinks. In reaction to whatever misery he’s seeing on my face, his features contort with concern. “Aw, Reed. If you feel half as miserable as you look, then I’m sincerely worried about you.”

  Chapter 2

  Reed

  Henn gives me a choice between his two proffered drinks. When I pick the gin and tonic, he sits across from me with the vodka soda. “You’re not planning to join the party today at all?”

  “It’s for the best. I can’t imagine anyone wants me walking around, scaring all the little kiddies. Have you made any progress on hacking the football coach yet?”

  Henn looks annoyed. “When would I have worked on that for you, since the last time you asked me about it—which was last night, at your party, when I was shitfaced?”

  “I think I’m going crazy, Henn. I can’t stand the fact that he’s out in the world, living his best life, and not suffering at all for what he did to Georgie. She was seventeen. He was her teacher. She trusted him.” Georgina’s words as she screamed at me last night slam into me, yet again: I trusted you, Reed! And, once again, my heart twists painfully. I whisper, “I swear, if I could take a hit out on this guy, and know I wouldn’t get caught, I’d do it.”

  Henn rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re not stupid enough to start searching the dark web for a hired killer. But just in case: don’t do it. You will get caught. And from what I’ve heard about prison, you wouldn’t like it. No Egyptian cotton bedsheets and the veggies, if you get them at all, come from a can.” He sighs sympathetically. “I’ll get into his devices, okay? And when I do, the odds are high I’ll find something we can use to sink him.”

  “But, see, I don’t want ‘high’ odds. I want a guarantee.”

  “If that’s code for ‘I want you to plant evidence,’ then fuck off. You know I’d never do that. Will you please just trust me? I’m amazing at what I do. Let me do my thing and stop acting like Tony Soprano.”

  I lean back in my chair. “I have to do something with this manic energy. If I don’t focus it on taking down Gates, then I’ll have no choice but to focus on what a fucking idiot I am. And I don’t want to think about that. I can’t believe this is a self-inflicted wound.”

  Henn looks sympathetic. “What, exactly, did you do? I’m so confused. One minute, you were making breakfast for Georgina and telling me she’s breakfast-worthy. And the next thing I know, Hannah is telling me Georgina stormed out of the party, looking distraught over something you did.”

  Midway through Henn’s comment, Josh walks up, holding his one-year-old, Jack. “You’re talking about Georgina?” He looks at me. “What happened?” He settles himself into a chair. “I don’t get it. One minute, you were cannonballing into the pool and kissing her in front of everyone, and the next thing, Kat was telling me you’d done something to make her cry her eyes out.”

  I groan. “I don’t want to talk about it, guys. Suffice it to say I fucked up, royally. And I regret it from the depths of my soul.”

  Kat appears, out of nowhere. “Exactly how did you fuck up? Spill it, Reed. Whatever you did to my beautiful Georgina, I could strangle you for it. I liked this one. I wanted to keep her!”

  “I was just explaining to the guys I’m not interested in talking about this.”

  “Too bad. Tell me everything.”

  “News flash, Kitty Kat. That’s not my ring on your finger.” I point to the baby on Josh’s lap, and then to Kat’s baby bump. “And those aren’t my kids. Which means I don’t have to tell you jack shit.”

  Kat doesn’t flinch. She’s a girl who’s grown up with four brothers, after all. Plus, she’s long since learned to take me in stride when I’m in one of my bad moods. “It’s in your best interest to tell me everything. Have you forgotten Georgina will be staying at my house when she comes to Seattle to interview Dax and the Goats? Well, when your name comes up, which it surely will—because that’s what women do: we shit-talk the idiots we love—don’t you want me to know your side of the story, so I can gently try to steer Georgina toward saintly forgiveness?”

  Feigning shock, Josh says, “Wait. Women shit-talk the idiots they love?”

  “Oh, honey.” Kat pats her husband’s thigh. “It’s our favorite sport.”

  Damn. I think Kat has a point. She’s uniquely positioned to influence Georgina’s opinion of me. Plus, Kat’s fiery temperament and personality are a lot like Georgina’s. Kat’s the only person I know who’s as gifted at twisting people around her finger as Georgina, not to mention ripping them a new asshole with a smile. Come to think of it, yeah, I should probably use Kat as a sounding board—as a proxy for Georgina—to help me figure out my best strategy for winning Georgina back.

  “All right. I’ll tell you everything. But this stays between us, guys.” I look at Henn. “Although, of course, you can tell Hannah.” With that, I proceed to tell Kat and my two best friends the whole story. Everything from the panel discussion to the grant, and how it came about, to my conversation with Alessandra, to my regrettable kiss with Isabel in the garage. “The irony,” I say, in wrap-up, “is that kissing Isabel made me realize I only want Georgina.”

  Kat snorts. “Good luck convincing Georgina of that.”

  “Why? It’s true.”

  “Maybe, but that’s the thing cheaters always say after they get caught. ‘Yes, baby, I cheated on you. But it only made me realize how much I only love you.’”

  My shoulders slump in defeat.

  Kat asks, “Before the party, did you and Georgina exchange ‘I love yous’?”

  “No. Is that good or bad for me?”

  “It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, if you’d already exchanged the magic words with Georgina when you cheated on her, she’d think those words meant nothing to you.”

  “Can we not say I ‘cheated’ on Georgina? I feel like that’s a bit dramatic for what I actually did. It was nothing but a stupid goodbye kiss.”

  “It was cheating, Reed.”

  I slump in my chair.

  “As I was saying,” Kat says, “it’s a good thing you hadn’t already said the ‘L’ word to Georgina when you cheated on her. That saves you from Georgina thinking the words are meaningless to you. But, on the flipside, if you were to say ‘I love you’ now, after cheating on her, then Georgina will think you’re only saying that as a ploy to win her back.”

  I exhale with exasperation. “This isn’t helping me. What’s your point? That I can never tell Georgina I love her now? That I’m fucked forever?”

  Kat’s face lights up. “So, you do, in fact, love her?”