Page 8 of Liars and Liaisons

That wasn’t supposed to fucking happen. She wasn’t supposed to approach me first.

And why were her hands so fucking soft? Does she sleep in moisturizing gloves or something?

I make a mental note to figure it out. To find outeverythingthere is to possibly know about the raven-haired vixen. Since seeing her at the estate with Nathaniel some weeks ago, I’ve thought about very little else.

Shaking myself out of the haze the intruder lured me into, I stalk toward the back exit of the room, leaving the den of sin behind. Through the door, the compact sitting area holds nothing but a vintage Baldwin parlor grand, two leather armchairs, and the cigar I abandoned when I realized someone had entered the VIP section, uninvited.

I slide my mask into my hair and stamp out the paraphernalia. I didn’t even want to smoke it; my father’s always been a supporter of using whatever means necessary to get through the tough parts of our lives, and I’ve been told nicotine helps.

If anything, I feel worse than I did when I showed up. More antsy and paranoid that, at any given moment,someonewill find me out—the paps, my family, the girl with the apple-red lips and the nymph-like face.

So much hinges on my anonymity at this stupid fundraiser, and it’s entirely possible that I just fucked it all up.

Why did you kiss her back?a small voice in my head whispers.

Well, what else was I meant to do? I’ve never been the type to deny myself the simple pleasures in life—certainly not a woman throwing herself at me.

Still, it’s too soon. Too early for that certain pleasure. If I don’t bide my time with her, my entire presence outside the estate tonight will have been for nothing.

I won’t let the panic, the constant need to have an eye on my exits and surroundings at all times, be in vain.

My thoughts scatter as the door behind me opens, and I lower myself into an armchair. I’m still flustered as Priya steps inside, shutting us in with one hand and holding a crystal tumbler with amber liquid in the other.

“What the hell was that?”

I don’t respond, staring at the white wall as she approaches. The door is a blur in my peripheral vision, but I’m aware she didn’t close it fully. Tension laces each and every one of my breaths, and I count to seven a few times in an attempt to lessen its grip on my lungs.

Pausing beside me, she extends her arm; when I don’t move, she reaches out and shoves the glass between my fingers.

It almost slips from my grasp, so I tighten my hold and will my anxiety away. It doesn’t go far, just sits like a thousand-ton boulder on the center of my chest, pressing in until it feels like I can’t breathe.

But Ican, and therein lies one of many problems.

Priya snorts softly, perching on the arm of my chair. I tuck my arm in, avoiding brushing her. “Someone’s in a mood.”

“For thirty-six years now.”

“Oh, I know. That was just one of the reasons we broke up.”

With an irritated grunt, I down a quick swig of alcohol. “Not the least of which was your aptitude for inviting other people into our bed.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“Yes, and when the novelty of the situation wore off, I realized I didn’t fucking enjoy sharing.”

Though I never had in the first place and will never fully understand what possessed me to allow her to open our relationship that way. Perhaps because I was young and attempting to be reckless and spent a majority of my time as Priya Kohli’s boyfriend high as a kite, so I didn’t think anything of it.

Not that it matters much now. We haven’t been linked together romantically in over a decade, and even back then, it always felt like more of a distraction from our difficult personal lives than anything else.

Now, she’s simply my transcriber, though that title requires compositions from me for her to work on. Since I haven’t written any in ages, she’s been spending most of her time in New York, arranging and proofing artists that get signed on to my nephew’s infant label.

Since I’m a majority investor and shareholder, Priya’s still my employee, and her loyalty is legally bound. Which is exactly how I like it.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her wide eyes scanning me down the broad length of her nose. “Who was that girl in here?”

“I don’t know.”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe me—and rightly so. “Someone just… waltzed in while the room was occupied?”

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