Page 4 of Lie With Me

I struggle to remember the last few minutes.

The man liked pain. Likedinflictingpain. But it was different than what I’ve experienced before.

There was an empty bottle of beer. He broke it.

He said he wanted to carve me up while he used me.

I told him no and shouted for Momma.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” a female says. She sounds far away, and then there’s a shooting pain in my abdomen, causing stars to burst behind my eyelids as I squeeze them tight.

I swear to whatever God is listening that if I make it out of this alive, I’ll never allow someone else to have control over my body ever again.

Then…there’s nothing but silence and darkness.

Tripp

“You do realize you’re my only son, right, Tripp? I don’t want to hear any crap when I name someone else as my successor.” My pops berates me over the phone as I leave the St. Regis and head up 5th toward Central Park.

It’s getting dark out. The early winter chill seeps straight through my jacket and into my bones like it’s trying to freeze me where I stand. Even though I just had drinks with a potential client, and the alcohol still warms my insides, an unpleasant shiver courses through my body, so I pick up my pace to get my blood pumping. The office is only a few blocks away, and I’ll get back faster on foot than catching a cab in traffic.

“Pops, you know I love you, but real estate development just isn’t my calling. Besides, with Jackson running Tailor Industries now, I’m on my way to becoming CFO. I love what I do. Plus, I get to bullshitwith my friends all day. I hate the guys that work for you, no offense.”

It’s always the same argument.

He wants me to take over Kennedy Contracting, but I’d rather keep my job at my best friend’s conglomerate. His uncle hired me straight out of Harvard, and I’ve worked my ass off for him ever since.

Sure, it’s sort of nepotism since Scott Tailor was like family before his unfortunate death just half a year ago. But it doesn’t mean I don’t work just as hard as anyone else at Tailor Industries.

“You’re spoiled, Tripp.” There’s no bite to his tone, as if he’s amused by my decision to keep working hard instead of having a company wholly handed to me.

Which, by the way, is the opposite of spoiled.

“Says the man who wants to give me a multi-million dollar company. Listen, I just finished up a meeting at the King Cole Bar. I’m headed back to work, but I’ll see you this weekend?”

The streets are crowded, everyone doing their last-minute Christmas shopping before the holiday next week. Glittering decorations adorn the buildings as I walk past, their garland swaying in the winter breeze. There’s no one standing in line at a random food cart, so I grab a coffee, even though it’s nearly five. Thursday nights are always late at the office, with most of the bigwigs taking off early on Fridays to jet-set wherever they spend their weekends.

Are there better coffee options at the office? Yes.But nothing beats the strong, bitter, black sludge from the food carts on the street. It’s like injecting caffeine straight into your bloodstream.

“Yeah, your mother is looking forward to seeing you. She keeps complaining that you’re ignoring her calls.” There’s a shuffle of papers in the background, and I hear his secretary tell him someone is there to see him.

“Maybe if she stopped asking about what happened with Emily, I wouldn’t feel the need to ignore her. It’s almost been a year. She needs to let it go. God knows I have.”

Or am at least still trying.

“Well, you can’t ignore her at family dinner, so figure out whatever it is she needs to hear to make her stop asking ‘cause I’m just as tired of hearing about it as you are. I have a client walking in. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, Pops.”

As soon as I end the call, a message comes through, pulling my attention back to my phone instead of the sidewalk.

Jackson

I finally got Carmela to agree to give you a membership. You’re free to go to Désirer whenever you want.

My best friend and boss, Jackson, also took part ownership of a highly exclusive sex club when his uncle passed. The first day Jackson went to the club, he recognized his now fiancée and pretended to besomeone else while pursuing her because she hated his guts in real life. I have no grand illusions of findingmyhappily ever after there, but having somewhere to let loose where no one knows who you are?

Yes, please.

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