Page 55 of Filthy Liar

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

He pins me to the wall, and I force myself to keep breathing. I only have one good play here, and it’s convincing him I’m not the enemy. “How the fuck old are you now?”

I may not be the enemy, but I’m not a great sport about demands. “It’s rude to ask a lady her age.”

“You are no fucking lady.”

“Are you trying to figure out how long it took for me to leave the foreign service and reinvent myself as a journalist looking for a story from behind your reception desk?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t like the answer.”

His eyes glitter as he waits me out. I hold his gaze. We have so much history. But the reason I met him will forever be tainted if he finds out the truth, and I’m not sure I can bear that.

“Everyone get out,” he growls. “I think what Ms. Whatever Her Name Is Here has to say, I think it’s for my ears alone.”

It’s a testament to their bond that the other men don’t question him. As one, they get up and leave.

But if I thought that it would be easier once we’re alone, I was mistaken. I don’t know what I thought. I’m having trouble keeping all my emotions in check right now. “Jason,” I whisper.

“Shut up.” He lets go of me and steps back. “I don’t like any of this. I don’t like that you lie as easily as you breathe. I don’t like that I still want you, no matter how many times you dart away from the truth,Melinda.”

“Why do you say my name like that?”

“Because I should have known sooner than I did that something wasn’t on the up and up with you. It was too easy, the way you wormed your way back into my firm.”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I hiss at him. “And you know it.”

“Lie to me again, Melinda. Lie to my face.”

“I hate you.”

He kisses me, hard, his mouth a crushing press against mine.

A sob rips from my chest, and he catches my face in his hands.

“What are you scared of?”

“You.” I spit the word at him.

He doesn’t blink. “Is that supposed to hurt?”

I shrug.

“Because I think you are scared right now. I thinkIscare you, and that means we’re finally getting somewhere close to the truth. And that will never slice me as deep as all the lies you’ve told me with ease.”

“I can’t tell you who is behind this. You won’t believe me. I need to show you.”

“I might believe you.”

I shake my head. “You said it yourself downstairs. You don’t trust me.”

“How can I? I don’t know you.” His jaw clenches. “But I want to trust you. I’m listening.”

My mind races. How can I show him what I think I know? “I went to Harvard. I was a scholarship kid, very smart. Too smart. I worked at the Crimson and broke a couple of good stories, but then I wanted to write a story that got killed. And that was my first experience with learning just how powerful money is, and what it can shut down.”

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