Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 2)

I eat the last spoonful of my soup and push my empty bowl to the side.

“Would you like another bowl?” Reed asks.

“No, I’m good.”

“Another beer?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Reed gets up and heads to the stove with his empty bowl.

“So, I did something kind of clever today,” I say.

“Oh, yeah?”

“After you said I wouldn’t believe it if I saw the list of lawsuits you’ve had to deal with over the past ten years, I popped over to the courthouse to see for myself.”

It’s a little white lie. In truth, I’d already had the printout when Reed made that specific comment this afternoon. But Reed already thinks I’m freaking Bobby Fischer, and I don’t want to give him more reasons to think that. Let him think I’m smart and sneaky, sure, but not that smart and sneaky.

Reed returns to the table, puts down his refilled bowl, and hands me a beer bottle. “And? The list is as thick as a phone book, right?”

“Well, I’ve never actually seen a phone book, but I get your meaning. Yes, it was crazy-thick. I don’t know how you sleep at night with so many people gunning for you, claiming you’ve done them dirty.”

Reed takes a swig of his beer and shrugs. “Getting sued is one of the costs of doing business, especially in California. I don’t take it personally.”

“I was amazed at how many different kinds of lawsuits there were,” I say, my pulse quickening. I’m circling the runway, getting ready to land. “There was everything from personal injury to breach of lease to copyright infringement to wrongful termination.”

I watch him closely at those last words... but he doesn’t flinch. Indeed, he smoothly takes a bite of food, as relaxed as ever.

“I’ve got a great team of lawyers,” he says. He swigs his beer. “Also, I rest easy knowing almost all of it is total bullshit. The truth shall prevail, right? And if not, then I pay what needs to be paid, and move on.”

My breathing hitches. Does that mean Stephanie’s lawsuit was the truth? But I don’t have the courage to land the plane yet. I’m still circling like a coward. “The printout noted you’d settled a lease dispute?”

He takes another bite of food. “Yeah. That was years ago. At my very first office space, I’d stupidly signed for way too long a lease period, thinking my business would expand much more slowly than it did.”

At my urging, he tells me about the case. And, as expected, it’s a big ol’ nothing-burger. In summary, Reed’s business blew up like crazy, way faster than he thought it would, and the space he’d been renting became way too small for his operations. So, he vacated that space, in order to rent a much bigger one—the one he’s in now, actually—thereby breaching his lease.

“I never denied I’d broken the lease,” Reed says. “I told the landlord I was willing to pay him what I owed him. But he wanted to gouge me. So I said, ‘Here’s what I rightfully owe you. Sue me for the rest, motherfucker.’ And he did.”

“And?” I say. “Did the guy get everything he’d wanted in the settlement?”

“No. Not even close.”

“Was it all worth it in the end?” I ask, still trying to figure out how to broach the topic of Stephanie Moreland.

Reed’s eyes light up. “Oh, God, yes. I had to act fast when the space I’m in now became available. It was the exact one I used to drive by in college and dream of occupying one day. Every day I get to walk into my lobby at River Records, every day I get to see my name above the door on that particular office space, every day I get to see all those framed gold and platinum and diamond records on those walls, I feel like I’ve made all my dreams come true.”

Goosebumps erupt on my arms. Not only about what Reed just said, but how lit up he looked while saying it. “Hold that thought,” I say, grabbing my phone. “I’ve got to make some notes. You just gave me goosebumps.”

He laughs. “Knock yourself out, Intrepid Reporter.”

I make a bunch of notes. Ask him to repeat a few things. And when I finally put down my phone and look up, I find Reed smiling broadly at me.

“What?” I ask.

He bites back his smile. “Nothing.”

“Why were you smiling like that?”

“If I tell you, are you going to get angry?”

“It depends what you say.”

“Are you going to flip me off?”

“No. I’ll refrain, no matter what you say.”

Again, he bites back a smile. “I just find you incredibly entertaining. And adorable. And, yes, amusing. And sexy. And smart. And, on occasion, all of that just makes it impossible for me not to smile.”

I return his wide, beaming, beautiful smile. “Oh.”

“Does any of that make you want to punch me in the face?”