Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

But, no. Apparently, being an incarcerated felon with an ex-wife in the loony bin and a fourteen-year-old basket-case of a son in foster care was perfectly survivable to Terrence Rivers. Just as long as he still had his secret pot of gold. But, God forbid, the man was stripped of his last illicit penny, and, suddenly, his life just wasn’t worth living anymore. Asshole.

Well, news flash, Dad: you’re not the only one who went flat broke today. Thanks to the purportedly “untraceable” trust fund you set aside for me, the one that was supposed to transfer to me on my twenty-first birthday, I’m now as poor as the poorest guy in my fraternity house. But am I going to kill myself over today’s reversal of fortune? No. Because unlike you, Dad, I know that no matter what life throws at me—which, by the way, has been a fucking lot in my nineteen years—I’ll always come out on top in the end. Despite what I’ve been through these past ten years, despite what I’ve had to steel myself against, to fight against, to overcome, I’ve never lost sight of my future destiny—the one I’ve seen in my dreams—and I won’t let anyone keep me from achieving it. Not even you.

Thanks to you, people hear my last name and think things like “liar” and “thief” and “fraud.” But one day, after I’ve built my empire from nothing but my blood, sweat, and tears and relentlessness, people will hear the name Rivers and think words like “mogul” and “winner” and “self-made man.” And if not any of those things, then, at least, they’ll think “Hey, there’s that asshole who’s living the life of my dreams.” Because if I can’t earn the world’s respect, thanks to your name, then I’ll settle for earning their envy.

At that last thought, I grip my fake whore’s fake hair, shove myself even farther down her supple throat, and release with a loud groan. A moment later, as I pull out of her, I’m trembling—but not from physical exertion. No, in this moment, I’m quaking from the resolve flooding my veins.

“I don’t need him,” I grit out through clenched teeth. And, by God, for the first time in my life, I’m positive it’s the truth. In fact, I don’t need anyone. At my comment, the sorority girl looks up at me quizzically. But before she says a word, I pull a fifty from my wallet and toss it onto the brown carpet at her knees. “Well done, Pretty Woman. Now run along. I’ve got something important to do.”

She looks surprised. “Now? It’s midnight.”

“And I’m running late.”

She makes a face that lets me know she’s offended—and for a split-second, I think she’s going to tell me to fuck off, as she should. But, nope. The spineless sorority girl who so desperately wants to be liked rises and slides into my lap. “What’s wrong with you tonight? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

I’ve got no interest in baring my soul to this girl. Or to anyone, for that matter. I say nothing.

Sighing, she puts her arms around my neck and presses her nose against mine. “Let’s not play Pretty Woman anymore. I’m tired of that game. It was fun at first, but not anymore.”

Shit. I have a feeling a deal-breaker will be coming my way, any minute now.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she coos, stroking my cheek. “You look so sad—like you could cry. Come on, Reed. Tell me what’s going on. Let me in.”

And there it is. Right on cue. Let me in. With a deep exhale, I grab her wrist to stop her from caressing my cheek. “You’re reading me all wrong, Audrey. That BJ was just so damned good, it almost brought me to tears.”

She holds my gaze for a moment, her blue eyes telling me she’s not buying my bullshit. But does she push back? No. Of course not. Because she’s a doormat. With a deep sigh, she stands, slides off her purple wig, revealing her blonde tresses underneath, and drags her tight little ass toward the door. “Call me tomorrow?” she asks, her hand on the knob.

A puff of scorn escapes my nose. I won’t be calling this girl tomorrow, or ever again. Not now that I know she wants more than I’m willing to give her. But seeing as how I’ve got bigger fish to fry than setting a pretty girl straight about her foolish, unrequited crush on me, I reply, “Not knowing what tomorrow will bring is one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

She scoffs, and a part of me hopes she’ll finally grow a pair and tell me to fuck off. But, no. Passive little Audrey Meisner rolls her eyes, blows me a kiss, and slips quietly out the door, never to return to my room again, unbeknownst to her.