Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy Book 2) Page 10

  He lets out a slow exhale. “Amalia’s leaving at five today. Be at my house at five-oh-one.”

  “I’ll be there. I can’t wait to be alone with you again. Now that I’m hearing your voice again, I’m physically craving you.”

  His breathing has become audible. “I can’t wait to make you scream again. I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt to fuck you in my swing.”

  “Georgina?” a male voice says, and I abruptly swivel my head toward the counter, bug-eyed, like a thief caught with two bags of money. Charles, the clerk, is approaching the counter.

  “I’ve got to go,” I blurt to Reed. “The... barista just called my name for my coffee order. I’ll see you at five-oh-one.”

  “Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.”

  My heart racing, I hang up, feeling like an asshole, a liar, a scumbag for lying to Reed, and stride to the counter. “Wow, that was fast. Thank you.”

  Charles puts a large cardboard box onto the counter between us. Its side is imprinted with the words Courthouse Copy Service. “This is everything,” he says. “There weren’t a lot of documents in each file. Just the plaintiff’s complaint, the defendant’s answer, and a notice of settlement.”

  “Perfect.” I pay for the copies and reach for the box, but Charles doesn’t let go of it. “Why don’t I carry this to your car for you? It’s kind of heavy.”

  “I’m strong. I can handle it. Plus, I don’t have a car. But, thanks.”

  “Well, how about we grab a coffee, then? I’m due for my break.”

  Shit. Seriously? I don’t have time for this. “Thanks for the kind offer. But I’ve actually got a boyfriend, so...” I physically yank the box from Charles’ grasp. “Thank you so much for expediting this for me. You’re a prince. Bye now. Have a great day.” And off I go, as fast as my legs will carry me, while lugging a pretty heavy cardboard box.

  When I get outside, I put the box down and pull out my phone. “Siri, where is the nearest coffee place?”

  “I think I’ve found what you’re looking for,” Siri replies, showing me several nearby choices. I pick one, rest the box of legal documents onto my hip, and head off, excited to find a quiet spot where I can sip an iced coffee and devour as much of the contents of this box as possible before heading to Reed’s house... where, God willing, he’ll take me to heaven again, the same way he did in his swing this morning... only, this time, perhaps while tied to the four posters of his bed.

  Chapter 14

  Reed

  Me: Where the hell are you, butterfly? It’s 5:18 and my net is rock hard and ready to capture you (so I can thereafter tack your wings to paper and enclose you in an airtight frame).

  Georgina: So sorry! I lost track of time reading something at a coffee place downtown, and then got stuck in traffic. My navigation app estimates arrival time of 5:49. Don’t you dare touch your butterfly net before then. Save yourself for me.

  Me: I’ll stay locked and loaded for you, baby. Gate code 874593. I’ll be in my bedroom.

  Georgina: Can’t wait. PS I’m starving. Is there food?

  Me: Amalia’s soup.

  Georgina: Oh yeah! So excited. Don’t eat without me! XO

  Me: Of course not. See you soon. XO

  Smiling like a goof, I toss my phone onto my mattress next to me. For the love of fuck, I just texted her “XO.” I’ve only ever texted that sardonically to Josh. What is this girl doing to me?

  My phone on the bed next to me rings, drawing me from my thoughts, and when I glance at the screen, I see it’s Isabel calling me. Fuck. She’s been calling me all day, without ever leaving a voicemail. Sighing, I pick up my phone.

  “Hi, Isabel.”

  “Finally!” she shouts. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Why haven’t you picked up?”

  “I’ve been in meetings. Why didn’t you send a text or leave a voicemail?”

  “Because what I’ve got to say has to be said in an actual conversation.”

  My heart stops. No. In a flash, my brain hurtles back to that drunken night in the Hamptons. How long ago was that? I wore a condom that night, didn’t I? I’m positive I did... Oh, God, please tell me I wore a condom... and that it didn’t break.

  “I’m getting married,” Isabel declares, and every hair on my body wilts in relief.

  “Did you just sigh with relief?” Isabel shouts, going from zero to sixty on a dime.

  “I sighed, but it was with happiness for you. So, who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Seriously?”

  “What?”

  “I call you, out of the blue, to say I’m getting married, and that’s your reaction? I’m happy for you, Isabel, who’s the lucky guy?”

  I chuckle. “How should I have reacted? I know you’ve always wanted to get married.”

  “To you, dumbass!”

  “Well, we both know that was never going to happen, so it’s good you’ve found your Plan B. Now, are you going to identify the lucky man you’re going to pledge yourself to for eternity, or not?”

  She pauses for a long beat, before saying, “It’s Howard.”

  “Devlin?”

  “Obviously, Reed.”

  Holy fuck. Even lying here on my bed alone, I make a face like I’ve just swallowed a bite of rancid yogurt. Howard Devlin is a sixty-something-year-old blow-hard billionaire movie producer/studio head who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. He’s always had an obsession with Isabel. That’s not a secret. Ever since she first met him at her first big audition. But she’s never given him the time of day. And now, suddenly, she’s agreed to marry him? It was Howard’s studio that signed Isabel to her four-movie deal a couple weeks ago. Did Howard make this engagement a condition of the deal? Is this a PR stunt? It’s got to be. Isabel can’t possibly love him. And she certainly doesn’t need his money. She’ll probably net upwards of fifty million by the time those four pictures are done, assuming they hit as big as hoped. Was fifty million Isabel’s price to slip a ring on her finger? Or did Howard sweeten the pot, on top of that, to coax her into saying yes to his proposal?

  “I didn’t want you to find out online,” Isabel says. “I’m going to post a photo of Howard and me tomorrow, with my rock on full display.”

  “You’re making it ‘Gram official, huh? Wow. This is serious.”

  “I want you to comment on the post. It’s important people see we’re still good friends, and you’ve got no hard feelings about me dumping you and moving on.”

  I chuckle. She didn’t dump me. And I definitely don’t have hard feelings. But what I say is, “Fine with me.”

  She sighs. “Thanks.”

  Oh, shit. I shouldn’t do it. I don’t give a fuck what she does. But that “thanks” sounded so damned defeated, I can’t resist. “Are you okay, Isabel?”

  “Of course, I’m okay. I just got engaged. I’m on Cloud Nine.”

  She sounds resigned. Detached. Just plain sad. But, unfortunately, I’m not the guy who can make her happy. Surely, Howard Devlin isn’t, either. I’m not sure anyone could make Isabel happy, actually. Her online avatar is the happiest woman alive. But the real Isabel? She’s got a gaping hole in her soul she’s never been able to fill—though, God bless her, she keeps trying.

  “So, Gary said you’re throwing a party on Saturday night,” she says, referring to Gary Pembroke, her agent, the top guy at the top talent agency in Hollywood. A guy who represents the highest echelon of A-listers, some of whom have already RSVP’d for my party.

  “Yeah, my entire roster will be there, other than RCR and a couple others. Plus, a pretty impressive crowd from your world will be there, too.”

  “Yeah, Gary said it’s going to be the coolest party of the year.”

  Well, clearly, she’s trolling for an invitation. Which isn’t going to happen. Hell no. Indeed, I open my mouth to say as much, when an idea slams me. Georgina. I bet she’d give her right arm to interview Isabel for Dig a Little Deeper! In fact, I bet Georgina would pick the worl
d’s current “It Girl” as an interview subject over me, any day of the week, if she were forced to choose only one of us. Granted, CeeCee sent Georgie to peel my onion, but I can’t imagine CeeCee would complain if Georgina came back, instead, with an in-depth interview of the world’s biggest movie star!

  The only problem with this plan? Isabel’s a notoriously wooden interview subject. She’s renowned in the industry for giving great soundbites—which is a skill in itself—but, otherwise, giving rote, formulaic interviews filled mostly with PR talking points. It’s actually a fantastic thing when Isabel’s on a press junket, where she’s tasked with answering the same questions over and over to plug her latest movie. Or on a talk show, where the goal is being superficial and fun. But ask the woman to let down her guard and provide thoughtful, honest answers to less predictable questions, and she’s a fucking train wreck.

  But, still, I think this idea is worth a shot. I can’t imagine a better “get” for Georgina than somehow managing an exclusive, in-depth interview of Isabel Randolph. Talk about something that will take the sting out of Georgina’s disappointment at the end of the summer, if I wind up nixing most of her article about me. Of course, I’m not stupid. I’m only willing to invite Isabel to the party—a party attended by Georgina—if Isabel will be bringing the great love of her life as her plus-one, to ensure Isabel isn’t all over me like a cheap suit.

  “Hey, why don’t you and Howard come to the party on Saturday?” I suggest. “If you want buzz about the engagement, then this party is the perfect place to get it. Photos of you two partying with rock stars and Hollywood A-listers will go a lot more viral than an Instagram post.”

  “Oh, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  I decide to give myself a bit of insurance that Isabel will actually show up to the party with Howard. “I’ll even say a toast to you and Howard.”

  “Oh, that would be awesome. Thank you.”

  “You know what? I just got a great idea for an invaluable PR opportunity for you. Are you familiar with the magazine, Dig a Little Deeper?”

  “Yeah. My PR woman keeps trying to nab a cover feature for me in that one, but no dice. Apparently, I’m not ‘forthcoming enough’ for the kinds of interviews they feature, especially for the cover slot.”

  “Did you know Dig a Little Deeper and Rock ‘n’ Roll were both founded by CeeCee Rafael?”

  Isabel gasps. “Oh! Will CeeCee be at the party? I’d love to chat her up and convince her to give me that cover slot.”

  “No, CeeCee won’t be there. She’s out of the country this week. But just the other day, CeeCee told me, in confidence, she’s considering a ‘Women in Hollywood’ special issue of Dig a Little Deeper.” It’s bullshit, but sometimes, the end justifies the means. “Don’t tell her I told you about this, Isabel. CeeCee hasn’t fully decided to do it yet. If she does, though, she said she’s leaning toward putting Gabrielle LeMonde on the cover.”

  “Gabrielle?” She scoffs. “That’s so inside the box. Yes, Gabrielle has three Oscars. But she’s never secured a four-picture deal like mine. Nobody has. I’m a trailblazer, Reed.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. That’s exactly why I brought it up. You should be on that cover.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “This is confidential, too, but I happen to know CeeCee has assigned one of the two Rock ‘n’ Roll writers coming to the party, CeeCee’s personal favorite, to gather content for Dig a Little Deeper. How about I introduce you to her, and you can charm the hell out of her—so much so, she wants to do an in-depth interview of you she could submit to CeeCee? If the interview is kick-ass enough, I’m sure CeeCee would want it as her cover feature for a ‘Women in Hollywood’ issue.”

  Isabel squeals. “I love it!”

  “Apparently, this writer is some sort of phenom. Fresh out of college, and yet CeeCee said she’s the best writer she’s ever hired. I’m positive she’ll be able to cook up something spectacular with you.”

  Isabel starts babbling about how excited she is. But as she talks, I hear Georgina’s footsteps in the hallway—and, instantly, just knowing Georgina is in the house is making my dick buzz like a neon hotel Vacancy sign that’s just been flipped on

  “Hey, I’ve got to go, Isabel. I’ll see you and Howard on Saturday.”

  “Thank you so much for always having my back, Reed. When push comes to shove, you’re the one person—”

  “You bet. I gotta go.”

  “Hang on. Are you planning to have a pre-party at your place before the party? I’d love to—”

  “Nope. No pre-party. I’ll see you at the party. Owen will text you. Congrats on your engagement.”

  Click.

  Chapter 15

  Reed

  I fling open my bedroom door after hanging up with Isabel, bursting at the seams to see Georgina. But she’s not in the hallway. Shit. Did I imagine her footfalls a moment ago?

  But I’ve no sooner had the thought than Georgina emerges from her bedroom door. When she sees me, her face lights up. Squealing, she barrels toward me, leaps into my arms, and wraps herself around me like a monkey in a tree.

  And that’s it. Without delay, we’re a frenzied blur of lips and tongues and hungry, groping hands. I clutch her ass, kneading it frantically, as she grips my neck and hair and grinds her center against my aching bulge behind my pants.

  Still devouring her, I turn around and bump and thump my way through my bedroom doorway, somehow making it across my room and to my bed without toppling over or sending a lamp crashing down.

  Like a man possessed, I lay Georgie down on my bed and begin frantically peeling off her clothes and mine, while she gasps and purrs and goads me on. When we’re both naked, I open her smooth, trembling thighs, crawl between them, and begin eating her with unbridled enthusiasm.

  When I glance at her face, I find her looking enraptured... but with her eyes closed.

  “Look in the mirror,” I say. “Watch me eat you.”

  Her eyes flick open and train on the ceiling above us, and I get back to work, even more turned on to know she’s watching me. And soon, she’s losing her mind. Writhing, moaning, clawing at the bed. Until... bliss. I’m gifted with a screaming climax from Georgie that makes me dizzy with arousal. Panting, I crawl up the length of her writhing torso, place her thighs on my shoulders, and plunge myself deep inside her.

  My thrusts are hard. Animalistic. Deep.

  And Georgina responds by digging her nails into my forearms, screaming my name, and finally, coming hard. Not surprisingly, when I feel her innermost muscles constricting—milking me ferociously—it’s more than I can withstand. With a loud groan, I release along with her, blurting her name like a prayer. I feel dizzy with my pleasure. Momentarily blinded by it. Blissed out like I’ve mainlined a brick of cocaine.

  When we finally come down, I heave myself onto my back next to Georgina, trying to catch my breath, and she gasps at the air alongside me.

  “That was amazing,” she says.

  “I told you not to knock the mirror till you tried it.”

  She smiles. “You have the most gorgeous ass.”

  “You have the most gorgeous everything.”

  I stroke her arm. “I’ve got some great news to tell you. Isabel Randolph called me today.”

  Georgina stiffens.

  “To tell me she’s engaged,” I quickly add.

  Georgina lifts her head and looks at me, but says nothing.

  “To this guy named Howard Devlin. He’s one of the most powerful movie producers in Hollywood. He actually owns a studio.” I tell her a bit about Howard and the mega-successful studio he owns, concluding with, “His studio churns out blockbuster hits and Academy Award contenders, in equal measure. The guy can’t miss.”

  “So, what you’re saying is he’s the Reed Rivers of the movie industry?”

  I chuckle. “The reason I brought it up is that, while Isabel and I were talking about her happy news, I got an idea. What if you interviewed Isabel
for Dig a Little Deeper? You know, in-depth, as one of the ‘audition’ pieces you submit to CeeCee?”

  Georgina gasps. “Oh my God. I would love to do that! Do you think she’d say yes?”

  “If you meet her and charm the hell out of her, I sure do. Which is why I invited Isabel and her new fiancé to the party on Saturday night. I figured it would be the perfect opportunity for you to get her to say yes to an in-depth interview.”

  Georgina bolts to a sitting position in the bed. Apparently, she’s too excited about this idea to remain horizontal. “So, Isabel said she’d come to the party?”

  “Yup. She also said she’s excited to meet you and talk about a potential interview.”

  Georgina squeals. “You’ve already floated a possible interview with me?”

  “Yep. To be clear, it’s not a sure thing. You’re going to have to convince her you’ve got the chops to write something worth her investment of time and image. And even if she winds up giving you an interview, you’re going to have to finesse her to get something that will be on-brand for Dig a Little Deeper. For all her social media presence, Isabel is actually an extremely guarded person. Very curated, if you know what I mean. Too image-conscious for her own good. But if anyone can break down Isabel’s walls and peel her onion, it’s you, Georgina Ricci.”

  Elation washes over Georgina’s face, followed immediately by determination. “By God, I’m going to make this happen.”

  I chuckle. “I don’t doubt that for a minute. The way you handled Leonard today blew me away. If today had been a music demo, I would have signed you on the spot.”

  She leans down and kisses me. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “And thank you for trying to arrange this incredible opportunity for me. I can’t believe it.”

  “You’re welcome. I cracked the door open for you, baby. Now, kick that fucker wide open.”

  “Oh, I will.” She bites her lower lip for a moment, her mind visibly teeming with thoughts. “Are you surprised she’s getting married?”