King of Lies (Empire of Lies 1)

“I work at Vogue,” I said. “I’m the first assistant to the editor-in-chief. I do that, and on the side, I occasionally—” I paused, catching myself before I foolishly let down my guard. I wasn’t sure why I felt so comfortable around him, why I felt like I could let him in and not worry about any judgement.

“And you occasionally do what?”

“Design runway clothes,” I said. “I do that for some of the local shows.”

“I see.” He looked as if he knew that I was lying. “Well, that’s quite impressive. What do you like to do on weekends?”

“On a perfect day when my boss lets me off and doesn’t make me run random errands…” I had to pause and think about it. “I like to slip into other people’s lives for hours at a time, live like they do, and get to know what’s under their skin.”

“Come again?” He raised his eyebrow.

“Read.” I laughed. “I like to sit on my bay window and read about other people’s lives.”

“Hmmm.” He looked into my eyes and I saw a hint of something in his green irises that I often saw in mine.

Pain.

“What type of books do you like?” he asked.

“All kinds. Right now, I’m reading memoir collections and taking my time—soaking in all the rhythms, and underlining things like I’m in school again. Things like, ‘I began to cherish the loneliness of New York, the sense that at any given time no one needed to know where I was or what I was doing’.”

“The Goodbye to All That essay by Joan Didion,” he said, downing the rest of his coffee. “I enjoy her work as well. Anything else in particular you want to show off about your reading?”

I swallowed, completely stunned that he knew exactly where that one line came from. My ovaries had been burning before, but now they were on the verge of exploding. A ‘sexy as fuck guy’ was one thing, a sexy as fuck guy who was well-read was another.

Tapping my fingers on the table, I tried to think of the most obscure piece I’d recently read. “I reread Such, Such Were the Joys by George Orwell every year at least once.”

“He’s the only author I know who can pen an entire story about bedwetting.” He smiled. “Not sure why you would enjoy rereading that. Is that some type of kink you’re into?”

“So, you’re well-read,” I said, rolling my eyes at his last question. “Did you major in English?”

“Do I look like a goddamn English major to you?”

“Real readers never judge books by their covers.”

He smiled wider than he had all evening. “I studied English for three years before I realized it was for the fucking birds.” He leaned forward. “Is this the part where you tell me that we can finally stop with this small talk and go straight to the sex? Or do we need to talk more?”

“I can’t remember.” I blushed and started putting on my coat. I needed to leave before I invited this stranger to my condo and fucked him without another word. I felt way too comfortable around him for some strange reason, and I needed to put a little distance between us before committing to the inevitable. “I um—I have to go right now.”

“Why is that?”

“I just remembered something,” I said, standing to my feet. “It was nice to meet you, Michael.”

I extended my hand and he clasped it, instantly setting every nerve in my body on fire, making me want to change my mind about inviting him home with me.

Letting his hand go, I grabbed my purse and stole one last, long look at him before rushing outside. I made my way to the closest corner and hailed a cab.

Within seconds, one pulled over and I moved onto the backseat.

“Where to, Miss?” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

“1965 Broadway.”

He nodded and hit the meter. Before he could pull off, the left passenger door opened and Michael slid onto the seat.

“This cab is already taken, sir,” the driver said. “Get out and catch your own.”

Michael handed him a couple hundred dollar bills, and he dropped the subject as he moved into traffic.

“Did you miss the part when I said I had to rush off?” I asked.

“That, and the part where you clearly want me to chase you.” He smiled. “I’ll get out in four stoplights. Then again, I’ll get out right now if you can honestly tell me that you’re not interested.”

I didn’t say a word.

“I thought so.” He moved a bit closer, the scent of his cologne turning me on even more. “What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”

“That’s this weekend.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” He trailed a finger against my bottom lip, his touch making me yearn for more. Much more.

“I have a date with another guy.”