Page 33 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“Send her in,” he insists, wiping his hands before pushing aside the remains of his salad.

He hears the muted sound of Lorelai’s heels against his carpeted floors before she rounds the front of his desk. He says nothing as he sits back in his chair, and she doesn’t wait for him to prompt her to speak. Knowing what it means to have been granted an audience with him, she slips her hands into the pockets of her fitted, bright yellow, cropped slacks, and lays all her cards on the table.

“They know who we are, they’ve seen our proposal, I’ve done a hell of a lot more than my due diligence in record time, but they’re not ready. There’s blood in the water,” she says with a shake of her head. It’s obvious she’s irritated, but he knows she’s not finished. She’s relentless, which is why he put her on this deal in the first place. She goes on to say, “But it’s family blood, and the CEO has voices in his ear who have greater influence than anyone on his payroll.”

Khalohn nods, having been exactly where she is in the past. “This is about trust.”

“Yes, which is why they’re insisting on an informal sit down. We’re not the only ones hunting them. They’ll be in the city until Thursday. Look,” she starts before she pauses. Extracting her hands from her pockets, she reaches up to sweep her hair behind her ears. Khalohn hides his smirk, certain he already knows what she’ll say, but not wishing to clue her in to that fact. “I know you told me not to need you on this, but—”

“Dinner. Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. But I expect you to bring it home.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies with a curt nod.

She starts to make her exit, and he shifts his attention back onto his computer as he calls out, “Have Maribelle make the reservation.”

“Certainly.”

Before his attention is fully captured by the task he was in the middle of only moments ago, his thoughts drift toward another reservation. He checks the time, noting he’s only eight hours away from his scheduled appointment in Lower Manhattan. He then glances at his calendar, satisfied to see his upcoming evening is filled with plenty of distractions, in the form of international conference calls to Japan. Aware he has far more valuable ways to spend his time, other than to daydream about the ways in which he will indulge his sexual appetite later, he shoves all thoughts of Bryn out of his mind and gets back to work.

Jessica sits acrossthe table from Beth in their tiny kitchen, peeking over at the tired, middle-aged woman every few minutes. While her mother is searching for work on the outdated laptop she’s been using for that one reason going on weeks now, Jessica is doing the same on her phone. At least, she should be. Her mind is too distracted to focus. She would be lying if she denied her sense of urgency has been usurped by something akin to doubt.

The large sum of money she was promised has been sitting in her account for the last two days. She’s logged-in to her bank app more times than is necessary over the course of the past twenty-four hours, but she can’t help it. Neither is she quite ready to touch it. Well aware she will eventually spend every dime, she is also conscious of the fact that she needs to be careful about how it is distributed. While she certainly has to plan ahead, figuring out how to get the funds to last as long as possible, she also has to utilize it in such a way that it won’t cause Beth to be suspicious about where the money has come from.Technically,neither of them has a job.

It has occurred to Jessica, more than once, she could lie and tell her mother Stefano dipped into his pocket in order to help them out. In the end, she always arrives at the same moment—the memory as vivid as if she were still sitting at the center of it. She sat across from her best friend at the diner and insisted she would see her own way out of their financial troubles. It’s who she is. Jessica has decided, if she is going to lie, she needs to lie as the woman her mother raised her to be.

Right. That makes so much sense. Because she definitely raised you to be a prostitute.

Unable to stifle her sigh of frustration, Jessica lets it out and then drops her phone along with her forehead down onto the table.

That—that right there is why I can hardly think straight.

More than the logistics involved in spending the money, and more than the lies she keeps tucking into the cracks of her story, she’s troubled by the doubt that arises every time Godrik struts into her thoughts.

Are two nights going to be enough? Could I offer myself up for another? Four nights. Five—mom and I would have so much money, I could convince her to stop spending every day sitting at this table, looking for work that isn’t there. But what would it say about me if I was willing to take that chance? And how many men would that be?

She closes her eyes when she feels Beth begin to stroke her fingers through her hair comfortingly. Her delicate touch makes Jessica feel better and worse at the same time. As much as she hates lying to her mother, she is convinced it’ll be worth it in the end. She allows herself to trulyfeelBeth’s fingertips as they graze her scalp all the way to her ponytail before she pulls away and starts at Jessica’s hairline again. The repetitious motion puts her at ease, all the while reminding her she’s not a prostitute.

At least not yet.

A grimace tugs at her face at the sound of the antagonizing voice disguised in her own tone. She squeezes her eyes closed tighter, breathing in deeply as she forces herself not to lose the feeling of her mother’s touch.

As she continues to wait on Stefano’s call, she acknowledges it’s only a matter of time before aprostituteis exactly what she will become. One more night, or a dozen, it will make no difference. Yet, that realization no longer carries the fear which accompanied it a week ago. As naïve as it is to admit it—one pair of blue eyes and one demand for a dance has caused her to reassess everything. Every day since Saturday has brought with it a dose of curiosity that has caused an anxious anticipation she never expected.

Godrik has proven to be nearly impossible to put out of her mind. It’s his pretty blue eyes she stares at in her mind’s eye whenever he’s actively consuming her thoughts. But it’s not merely his good looks which have her thinking about him repeatedly throughout the day. More than the cut of his tailored button-down shirt or the shine of his fancy shoes, more than the confidence he possesses in a single finger or the intensity of his stare, she’s found herself replaying and analyzing the way he treated her on Saturday night.

I was his for the taking, but he didn’t take. Hegave. Even if he doesn’t know it, he gave me a piece of myself I never thought I’d find in that room.

Over and over again, she reminds herself that next time will likely not be the same. No man in his right mind would throw thousands of dollars her way just to watch her dance. Even so, the idea of seeing him again doesn’t scare her. As terrifying as it is for her to admit, even to herself, she is looking forward to the next time they’ll be in the same room together. If nothing else, she has somehow arrived at a place where she assumes he can be trusted. If he is to be her first, she’ll have more to be thankful for than regretful of. Her certainty is weakened only by the truth that Godrik Morgan is nothing more than a stranger.

But there’s something about him—something he keeps close—something hehides—something I want to see.

As romantic and unrealistic as it sounds, Jessica doesn’t care. She allows herself to entertain such thoughts and to flesh out the fantasy she has created forBryn van Doren.To look at it any other way would be to admit the people who roam the decadent halls of Clandestine’s aren’t people at all, but puppets and puppet masters. That, or something far worse and debase.

Had Godrik been anyone else, she might be dreading Stefano’s call; she might feel used and disgusting and faceless. She is convinced she wouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of breaking the deal she made with Stefano to quit after only two nights—but he had seen her. Godrik allowed her to be seen. And as he watched her dance, she saw a piece of him, too. Overpowering her cowardice is her desire formore.More money, certainly, but it doesn’t stop there.

He isn’t a monster, whoever he is.

“Why don’t we take a break, hmm?” suggests Beth, pulling Jessica from her wandering thoughts.

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