Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

To my shock, Reed flashes me a beaming smile. A triumphant, elated one, like he’s the heavy weight champ who just scored a knockout punch in a title fight. And, all of a sudden, I get why Reed called this poor girl back into the room and supplied my name and orchestrated this horrifically humiliating moment. So he could spike the ball in the middle of Caleb’s end zone.

“Change of plans,” Reed says coolly to the PA. “Tell Caleb I’ve decided Miss Ricci isn’t attending his party tonight, after all. Not as his personal guest, or in her official capacity. And she’s not joining the tour this coming week, either, or interviewing him individually. You can tell him I’ve nixed all of it for business reasons. But assure him, please, that Miss Ricci is working on a fresh, new angle for a full-band interview, which we’ll lock down next month after they’re back. This week, however, Miss Ricci will be working on a piece about me, as required by my arrangement with the head of Rock ‘n’ Roll.”

The poor woman looks like she’s going to keel over from stress. “Um,” she says. “Yeah, I really don’t think I can say all that to Caleb.”

“Sure, you can,” Reed says. “Tell him everything I just said, using my exact words. However, do not, under any circumstances, talk to anyone, including Caleb, about what you think you might have seen in this room when you first walked in. Whatever you thought you saw happening between Miss Ricci and me, you were mistaken. We were simply having a conversation.”

The girl grimaces with discomfort. “I’d never say a word about anything. Because I didn’t see anything besides two people talking. But, um, Mr. Rivers, would it be okay if you tell Caleb everything you said?” Her face is pleading. Vulnerable. Panicked. “Please? Because I don’t think I can remember it all. And, also because... ” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I think Caleb is going to get really pissed off when he hears all of that, and I really don’t—”

“What’s your name?”

“Amy O’Brien.”

“Nice to meet you, Amy,” Reed says. “You’re traveling with the tour?”

She nods. “I’m assigned as Caleb’s PA. Whatever he needs... ” She looks at me and blushes. “I mean, as his gofer. You know. Not for... ”

She clamps her lips shut, and again, I bury my face in my palms. Holy crap, this is a nightmare.

“Let me explain something to you, Amy,” Reed says, his tone brimming with condescension. “I’m the reason you get a paycheck every two weeks. Not Caleb. I’m actually Caleb’s boss. Did you know that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which means, if you think about it, I’m your boss. And that means when I tell you to do something, then you’re gonna fucking do it, unless, of course, there are extenuating circumstances. For instance, if you’re feeling scared for your physical safety, you need only tell me that and all bets will be off. Are you feeling scared for your physical safety to go tell Caleb what I said, Amy?”

“Uh... ” She sighs and shakes her head, obviously wishing she were feeling scared for her physical safety right about now.

“Is that a no?” Reed asks.

“That’s a no.” She grimaces, again telegraphing her fervent wish to feel physically threatened rather than have to traipse back to Caleb and tell him what Reed said.

“Do you have any religious objections to telling Caleb everything I just said?” Reed asks.

“No, sir.”

“Is there any reason whatsoever you can’t tell Caleb what I just said, other than the fact that you hate confrontation and conflict and maybe don’t want to watch him have a tantrum?”

“Well, also, I can’t really remember what you said. My brain is kind of freaking out right now, to be honest, Mr. Rivers.”

“I understand. Listen carefully, Amy. I’ll repeat it all for you.” Slowly, Reed repeats everything he said earlier, and the poor girl nods and holds back tears the whole time. “Repeat it back to me, Amy O’Brien.”

She does. Not well, but she manages.

“Good. And that’s all you’re going to say. If Caleb asks why Miss Ricci isn’t going to the party, or why I’ve decided the tour and individual interview aren’t happening, you’ll say he can talk to me about it, if he wants clarification.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amy, do you remember signing an NDA when you accepted this job?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you understand what an NDA is?”

“It’s a non-disclosure agreement.”

“That’s right. It means if you tell anyone about the private things you witness while on tour, you could not only get fired, but also sued for the money set forth in the liquidation clause of the contract. You understand that, right?”

She turns green. “Yes, sir. I won’t say a word about anything to anyone, but what you told me to say.”

“Good. Because if I hear so much as one word of gossip about Miss Ricci and me, I’ll blame you. And I won’t go easy on you, Amy. I’ll not only fire you, but also sic my lawyer on you to get the full extent of our legal remedies.”