Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

“Reed Rivers. I was freaking out he’s listed as one of the panelists.”

“I didn’t hear any of that. Who’s Reed Rivers?”

“The founder of River Records—the record label.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Well, you’ve sure as hell heard of their bands and artists. Hang on. I’ll consult the mighty Google.” Alessandra pauses briefly. And then, “Holy shit. The River Records roster is insanity. They’ve got both Red Card Riot and 22 Goats. Plus, Danger Doctor Jones, Laila Fitzgerald, 2Real, Aloha Carmichael, Fugitive Summer, Watch Party... ”

“Holy crap.”

“Right? The list goes on and on. That’s only the top tier of the roster, but the next tier down is still pretty damned impressive.”

“Those are all my favorites.”

“Those are all everyone’s favorites. It’s why every student at my school would sell their soul to get signed by River Records.”

“Including you?”

“Dude, I’d sell my soul, kidneys, and freaking virginity to get signed.”

I cringe. “Please, don’t joke about selling your virginity. I took a class on sex trafficking this quarter that was horrifying.”

“I was kidding. Obviously.”

“I know. But that would be a disgusting way to lose your virginity—to some pervy old guy you don’t even like. Also, careful what you put out into the universe. From what I’ve heard, the music industry is full of predators, every bit as much as the movie business. Creeps who’d happily promise a sweet little virgin like you the sun and moon, just to get into your pants.”

Alessandra laughs. “Interesting your momma bear comes out to protect my virginity, but not my soul and kidneys.”

“Only one scenario seems like a real-world possibility.”

If I know Alessandra, she’s rolling her eyes at me right now. But smiling, too. “Okay, Georgie,” she says. “I promise I won’t sell my virginity to anyone, okay? Well, except to Reed Rivers. I can’t make the same promise when it comes to him. That man can have anything he wants.”

“Stop.”

She giggles. “Google him, and you’ll see what I mean. Honestly, Reed wouldn’t need to promise me the sun and moon in exchange for my V-card. Just an Uber ride home. Actually, not even that. I’d demand nothing from him. Take my virginity, Reed Rivers! Please!”

I can’t help giggling with her. “How old is he?”

“Mid-thirties, I think. No older than forty.”

Oh, my sweet Alessandra. The girl’s got daddy issues, that’s for sure, every bit as much as I’ve got mommy issues. When our parents got together, Alessandra had just lost her father in a hit and run, and I’d just lost my mother in a car accident. And both our parents wrongly thought they could find comfort and solace and a fresh start in marrying another grieving person.

Unfortunately, they quickly found out that was a bad idea. That marriage in the midst of deep grief, especially to a person with whom they had nothing in common, actually made both of them feel ten times worse in their times of need. But, whatever. As confusing and chaotic, and short-lived, as the marriage of my father and Alessandra’s mother turned out to be, I wouldn’t undo it, even if I could. Because it brought me my beloved sister, Alessandra.

By the time I reach the lecture hall for the music event, my breathing is slightly elevated from jogging across campus, so I take a nearby seat on a bench to finish my phone call. “So, which three songs of yours do you want me to load onto a flash drive to give to the record label guy? I’m going to get you signed to River Records, baby. Absolutely no selling your virginity required.”

Alessandra sighs. “Oh, Georgie. You’re so sweet. But getting me signed to River Records, especially at an event like this, would be like hitting a golf ball on Earth and landing a hole-in-one on the moon. Last year, the most amazing singer-songwriter at my school won a contest where the grand prize was having Reed personally listen to her music. And guess what? He listened and turned her down.”

“That’s because she’s not you.”

“She’s better than me.”

“Impossible. But for the sake of argument, let’s say she’s as good as you, then the reason she got turned down was she didn’t have a hype-woman, like me, singing her praises.”

“The odds are miniscule you’ll get the chance to talk to him at all. And, if you do, it’ll be four seconds where you won’t have the chance to dazzle him with your patented Georgina Ricci magic. If the situation were different—if you were going to be meeting him one-on-one, I’d put money on you being able to charm him, like you do everyone else. It’s a well-known fact he loves beautiful women, so I’m positive you’d be able to grab his attention. But, as it is, this event is going to be packed with hundreds of music students, all of them toting flash drives in their pockets.”