Lies That Sinners Tell (The Klutch Duet 1)

I hadn’t asked anyone to come with me to the class, but when Wren caught wind of what I was doing, she’d declared that she was coming. She was a woman who did things because she wanted the experience, loved to try new things. She’d gotten her pilot’s license last year.

That was Wren.

There was also the fact that she was a great friend who wasn’t going to let me do something like this alone.

“Okay, we’re done for the night, great work everyone!” our instructor called out.

I let out a sigh, my heart pounding and endorphins rushing through my blood. I hadn’t exactly been what you’d call fit before this. I’d only worked out sporadically, and I definitely did not do it enough to justify my exorbitant gym membership at one of the fanciest health clubs in town. But they gave great massages and had fabulous steam rooms. I also loved going there just to relax by the rooftop pool with a cocktail.

We still did that, of course, but I needed to feel stronger in my body and let out all the anger I had inside me. Anger at myself. At the man who’d done this to me. At Jay. For getting involved and making me think about him in the midst of it all.

“I’m definitely going to have to take a muscle relaxer with a martini chaser after that,” Wren groaned, rubbing her shoulders after we’d taken off our gear and put it into our respective gym bags. Gym bags being Louis Vuitton overnighters because neither of us actually owned such a thing as a gym bag.

“An Epsom salt bath with a gigantic glass of red for me,” I replied.

“Come to my place first? Cocktails and a cheese board?” She tapped at her phone. “I’ve ordered one on Postmates, so you can’t say no because it would make you a terrible friend to leave me alone with that much food.”

I checked my own phone, finding three missed calls and two text messages. From clients, from magazine editors and one from Zoe. Hers was also about a job, a client of hers wanted to work with me.

Things had been going good for me at work. Actually, better than good. Things were moving fast for me now. It had taken almost seven years of backbreaking work with assholes for bosses, crappy pay and long hours to get to this spot of asshole bosses, crappy hours and slightly better money. Not to mention relationships with designers who liked to gift me clothes in hopes that I’d dress my clients in them.

Harpers had called last week to do a column on me. Not an editorial where my name was at the bottom, but an entire column on how I became a stylist to the stars.

My father was over the moon. The man had a subscription to Harpers and Vogue just to make sure he wouldn’t miss an issue that I worked in. He’d made a scrapbook.

“I’ve got a starlet from some teen show demanding I head over to her place in Beverly Hills to dress her for some YouTube party,” I frowned.

Wren rolled her eyes. “Fuck that. You’re far too in demand for that shit. Also, I do not trust myself alone with all that cheese.”

I grinned. “I’m too tired to deal with this particular client, don’t worry,” I replied, tapping on my phone about a scheduling conflict. I turned it off after that because I’d likely get a barrage of phone calls in response to my refusal. The rich youth of today did not like being refused. They were not used to it.

It was healthy to say no to clients now and again, it kept me exclusive. In demand.

“Okay, good,” Wren breathed. “I need to debrief you on my latest man.”

“The senator?” I asked, thinking of the man twice her age and going through a nasty divorce. Wren had started up with him after the divorce proceedings began, of course. She may have been wild and liked to jump from one relationship to another, but she never screwed married men.

Wren checked her reflection in her compact as we walked to the doors. She snapped it shut and turned to me. “Oh no. Long gone. Wanted me to peg him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, I’m not one to look down on any kind of sexual preference as long as everyone’s willing and of age. But at his age ... with his wrinkly ass? No thank you.”

I screwed up my own nose, thinking of that image although I really, really didn’t want to.

“This one’s a prince,” Wren beamed.

I had learned not to be shocked by anything that came out of Wren’s mouth, therefore I did not bat an eye. “Which country?”

“Bhutan. A darling little country in South Asia.”

Before I could ask more questions, a shadow descended upon us, causing us both to stop walking quite suddenly.