Page 25 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

I might just be a little ahead of the curve—exactly as I always intended, Khalohn thinks to himself as he makes his friend wait another moment in suspense.

“You’re a dick,” Timothy says before he starts to turn away.

“Oh, come on. I’m just kidding. It’s good news.” He crosses the remaining distance to his chair and takes a seat, swiveling toward the man as he leans back comfortably. Timothy doesn’t miss a beat, rounding the side of Khalohn’s desk before propping himself close enough for them to hear each other in hushed tones.

“So, spit it out already.”

“He’s taking me under his wing,” Khalohn confesses with another grin.

His excitement is uncontainable. While it has always been his plan to latch onto someone with influence—someone who could get him on the fast track, where he could learn not just by watching but by getting his hands dirty—he never imagined it could happen so fast. It also shocks the hell out of him thesomeone with influencewho will take him in and show him the ropes is not just some big shot with tenure, but the CFO himself. At only twenty-four years old, Khalohn is beginning to see the fruits of his labor. The long days, late nights, and endless stream of numbers are paying off.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” mutters Timothy, not masking his dumbfounded expression.

“I shit you not. He said he saw what I did on the Blue Lagoon proposal, and I’ve been on his radar since.”

“Wait.” Timothy folds his arms across his chest, squinting at Khalohn skeptically. “Is he putting you on the Rickman Properties deal?”

“Grunt work, mostly,” Khalohn replies with a nod. “But if that’s not a foot in the right door, I don’t know what the hell is.”

“You son-of-a-bitch,” he replies on a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

Smirking, Khalohn shrugs. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong.”

Timothy stands at his full height, looking down at his friend as he mutters, “Guess this means happy hour tonight is off?”

“I’m out. Grunt work waits for no man. Besides, if I’m late home another night this week, Hollie’ll kill me.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” he teases snidely. “I’ll leave you to it, golden boy.”

Khalohn shakes his head dismissively as Timothy starts back for his desk. Somewhat relieved to be left alone to his tasks, he shifts his attention to his computer and the reports that arrived in his inbox since he left Turner’s office. He allows himself a moment to replay their conversation. A sense of pride fills his chest until it’s almost full. He’s confident no one has worked harder than he has, because no one’s ambitions can match his.

Khalohn is sure of this not because he’s pumped full of arrogance, but because he knows he’ll never have the life he’s chasing unless he goes after it. For the first time in his history, he has an opportunity to create a future that can’t be destroyed or manipulated by anyone. It’s what he’s wanted for as far back as he can remember. It is what drives his efforts and buoys his integrity. He has every intention of succeeding, one full day’s worth of work at a time.

He’s so focused on the projects he’s been assigned, he hardly notices as his teammates leave for their weekly Thursday night happy hour. As the office grows quiet, his attention becomes sharper, until he’s completely lost track of the time. He barely even notices he’s hungry, only distracted from his tasks when he hears the cleaning crew enter the office. Looking at the time and seeing it’s after eight o’clock, he curses under his breath before he starts to pack up for the day.

He lifts an arm to hail a cab just as soon as he steps out of his office building. He expels a sigh of relief when he catches a ride in no time. He calls out his destination in Chelsea to the driver before he’s even got both feet inside the vehicle. As they’re on their way, he pulls out his phone and sees the three messages Hollie sent him over the last hour.

Are you working late again?

Should I eat without you?

Okay, well, I want Italian so, hope you don’t mind. And I hope I don’t have to eat it alone.

The last message was sent only twenty minutes ago, and he’s quick to send her a reply, hoping he’s not too late.

Sorry. Lost track of time. Italian sounds amazing. On my way.

Even in spite of the traffic, Khalohn gets dropped off on his block only fifteen minutes later. He starts to make his way to their apartment building but stops when he sees a flower vender on the corner. Jogging over to the man whose plastic buckets of arrangements are almost empty, Khalohn pays for two bouquets of daisies and then races toward home. His phone alerts him to a message as he climbs the stairs to the fifth floor, but he doesn’t bother to check it.

He fumbles with his keys for a second at his door before he’s able to grant himself entrance. He drops his bag and his jacket in the corner, just beyond the threshold, kicking the door closed as he searches the small flat for his wife. He spots her, sitting at their two-seater dining room table, squeezed into the far corner on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Without bothering to look up from her plate of half-eaten food, she murmurs, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you’d found some other woman you liked more than me.”

“But youdoknow better,” he says, making his way toward her. “There’s no one else I love more than you.”

She sighs, the sound implying he’s right and she can’t deny it. When she finally lifts her gaze to meet his, a small smile crosses her lips. She then rolls her eyes and stands to her feet. Closing the distance that remains between them, she reaches for the flowers, immediately bringing them to her nose.

“You are so annoying,” she whispers into the daisies, peeking at him from beneath her lashes. “But there’s no one else I love more than you, either.”

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