Page 21 of Sinful Lies

Deep down, I knew he wanted to strangle me for it. His obsessively neat, perfectly tailored clothes, his immaculate office, his rigid little world… and here I was, enjoying every second of destroying it.

I yanked him toward me by his tie, my face inches from his. “Anyway, what is it you need from me, Lazzio?”

When he’s requested me alone, it was usually because there was something only I could handle—some negotiation that needed to be taken to the absolute edge.

So I knew exactly why he had asked me to stay after the meeting.

And I was over our little game now.

My heels were killing me, and all I wanted was to take them off, slip into something comfortable, and soak in a hot bath.

I wanted to go home.

He leaned back just a fraction. “As I’m heading off to Australia, you’re in charge of this weekend’s exhibition. I need you to work some of your magic on James Greg. Get that portrait of Napoleon he’s holding hostage. The bastard won’t budge if it’s me, but for some reason, your pretty eyes seem to do the trick.”

I let go of his tie. “Consider it done. Have a safe trip, Lazzio. Try not to get bitten by a tarantula or something—I’d hate to be the one stuck as CEO.”

With a sway of my hips I turned to leave, knowing he’d have to get the last word in, as usual.

“Try not to fuck Nathan Simons,” he called after me. “Wouldn’t want him needing therapy at my expense.”

I didn’t bother turning around. I just flipped him off and walked out.

Guess I’ll be fucking Nathan Simons this weekend then.

Chapter

Five

“I know it is wet and the sun is not sunny, but we can have lots of good fun that is funny.”

? Dr. Seuss

Jade

26 years old

Four years ago

On the tips of my toes, my ponytail brushing my cheek, I pinned the picture to the wall. I made sure it stayed in place before stepping back and placing my hands on my hips to admire my work.

Another name. Another picture.

The fourth one now.

I dusted my hands off and sank to the floor, spreading out the two files I’d “borrowed” from Lazzio’s office.

The originals? Safely back where they belonged. Files on every one of our clients and collaborators—their lives, weaknesses, secrets, families—everything I’d need for their downfall.

I’d stumbled across Lazzio’s little stash a couple of months ago when he left for China for a month.

Grace, his sweet little witch of a secretary, took the week off; she claimed she was “sick”.

Me, though? I was snooping.

I found those files tucked away in his desk and spent the whole damn night going through them. That’s when I came across the one that made my blood run cold.

James Greg.

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