Black Lies
Page 31

Brant didn’t come home that night. I used my key to let myself in his house, telling myself I was staying there to surprise him with breakfast, not because I wanted him to hold me all night and reassure me that I was loved. Instead, I spent the night alone in his bed, hugging a body pillow and trying not to let my mind wander. Lee dominated my thoughts. He had a girlfriend. One he had left me in the parking lot for. One that he probably f**ked half the night. I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket tighter, and wished it was Brant’s arm. I fell asleep in his empty bed and didn’t wake until noon.
Chapter 26
Brant
When you really love someone, you cannot walk away. No matter what they do. No matter the lies from their mouth, or the actions from their bodies, you tie yourself tightly to their sail and vow to be there through thick and thin. Let the wind blow you where it may. Even if that place is a crash. Even if that place tears you apart and kills anything good.
Chapter 27
“The girl’s name is Molly Jenkins. She’s a med student at UCLA. Dean’s List there, was a scholarship athlete until she damaged her ACL.”
“What sport?” I flipped through the folder, image after image of buoyant blonde making me grit my teeth. The girl was prettier than me. Younger. Perkier. With what appeared to be D cups. Was this what Lee liked?
“Tennis.”
I closed the folder, not needing to see any more perfection. Tennis. Ugh. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I beg your pardon?” The wiry man before me shifted in his seat. Adjusted his glasses.
“I don’t want her strengths. I want her weaknesses. Does she do drugs? Have a kid? Bang trailer trash on the weekends?”
Big dumb blinks behind wire-rimmed glass. I hired the best company in town and this is what I got. “Umm… my report was very comprehensive…”
“And left anything negative out.” I tossed the folder onto his desk. “Where’s the dirt?”
“I didn’t find anything like that…” He wet his lips. Nervously tapped his hands in some odd drumming pantomime on his legs. I stared at his hands until they stopped.
“Where does she work?”
His face relaxed slightly. “Olive Garden. The one in Stonestown.”
“Get me a copy of her schedule. What days this week she’s working.”
He nodded, short and nervously, the downward tilt of his head revealing the plugs that dot the landscape of his forehead. “Anything else?”
“No.” I tapped my fingers against my lips. “Not yet.”
I pulled out my desk drawer. Grabbed a checkbook and printed his name on the front. Completed it with a generous enough amount to properly incentivize the man. Then I ripped off the check and stood, holding it out.
“Call me when you know more.”
He grinned, revealing a row of stained teeth, their tips pointing in more directions than a pencil holder. “Yes, Ms. Fairmont.”
I gave him a polite smile and picked up my cell. Waited until I heard the door close behind him, then completed my call.
I’d never taken down a girl before. Didn’t have prep school archenemies, the bitchy girls of television who killed hopes and dreams while modeling couture. My high school friends were civilized, structured. Women at Stanford were more focused on grades and futures over petty rivalries, no spare effort available to be wasted.
So I was entering this game a virgin. But, in my own estimations, a well-equipped one. Financed. Intelligent. And… as a small point to my side… I had f**ked her boyfriend… twice in three hours. I had some inkling of what he liked, wanted. Had enough confidence in his attraction to me, despite the fact that she was absolutely gorgeous and looked nothing like me. It was as if he had flipped open an encyclopedia, scrolled to the section of ‘Opposite of Layana’ and selected her photo. Go figure.
Also on my side: the element of surprise. I was a party of one. Alone in this battle, with no one aware of my scheming, no defenses raised. I would be attacking a sleeping kitten. An innocent, fragile kitten. Ripping her away from Lee and severing any chance of their reconnection.
I should have felt guilty, should have had compassion, but I didn’t. Love is war and Lee was, or would be, mine.
The text came while I was in the shower. I discovered it while toweling off, my damp finger dysfunctional on the phone’s screen, a few attempts needed before I could unlock the screen and view the alert.
1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE
I opened it. Short and sweet, from my ever-helpful private investigator.
HE’S WITH MOLLY JENKINS NOW. PANERA ON 43RD STREET
I texted back.
LET ME KNOW IF THEY LEAVE
Glanced at my watch. 11:12 AM. I was supposed to be having lunch with Brant at noon. I set down the phone and hurried to my dresser, yanking out a pair of dark jeans and tossing them on the bed.
I pulled into the shopping center lot at the same time that Lee’s jeep pulled out, my eyes catching the dark green body, two heads inside, as it careened out into traffic. My phone buzzed.
THEY’RE LEAVING. I’M FOLLOWING.
Thanks a lot. I called him, letting him know I was there, dismissing him for the day as soon as my car caught up to Lee’s. I shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be stalking a man who didn’t know enough to have any interest in me. My phone dinged again. This time, Jillian.
BRANT WON’T MAKE LUNCH. MY APOLOGIES.
Shocker. I shoved my phone in my purse, waved at the PI’s car and earned a passing nod in return. Two individuals, two different motivations, united with a common goal. I pressed on the accelerator, wove through traffic, and caught up to Lee’s jeep.