The Lie by Natalie Wrye (most inspirational books of all time .txt) š
- Author: Natalie Wrye
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Andrew shakes his headāall six feet and four inches crouching over his opponent, his messy hair falling over his forehead in tousled waves. His smile is wickedāhard as ice. āNo. Iām not. Someoneās gotta teach the children in the room some manners.ā
I canāt argue with that.
But if he seriously hurts Reed Hutton, the bar will never recover.
The bad press would be enough to put us out of business.
And so, I do the dumbest thing I can think to do.
I jump in the middle of two men in a fight.
By grabbing one. Cradling his faceā¦ And kissing him right on the lips.
Itās a dumb move. I know it is the second my lips touch his.
But itās even dumber when I canāt stop.
It was only supposed to be a distractionāto get his attention back on me. But the problem is: I donāt pull back from the kiss.
Not right away, anyway.
In fact, I stay lip-locked with Andrew longer than is appropriate for any two people who ream each otherās guts at every opportunity, and when I stay that wayāmy lips pressed against his offers another second to give in to the temptation to deepen the kiss.
The suppressed lust inside me grows fuller, blossoming inside my belly and holding tight.
Andrew doesnāt move beneath my touch, seemingly frozen with my surprise.
And with the strength of a thousand men and one strong martini, I finally release him, withdrawing my mouth from his.
But when I do, I do not get the reaction I expect.
Those arrogant eyesāeyes that almost went white with rage seconds ago, are now the coolest, sexiest, most hungry shade of blue Iāve ever seen.
And I wet my bottom lip as we separate.
āOh my God,ā I whisper, exhaling the words. āI didnātāI mean, I wasnāt trying toā¦ All I wanted to do wasāā
āI know.ā Andrew doesnāt move, blinking once. āMe, too.ā
āUm, what do you say we go get some fresh air? Like, now?ā I peek over at Reed still in Andrewās hands. āLike, right-this-second-now?ā
Andrew nods stolidly. āBest idea either of us has had all night. Letās get out of here.ā
He lets Reed go.
The room has fallen silent around us, even more silent when Reed Hutton drops to the floor with a thud.
Andrew grabs for my wrist, pulling me towards him, and before I can utter another word, he drags me across the room, my hand in his.
We cut a swath through the gaping crowd as we dash out of the door and into the cold Manhattan mid-winter night, the chilled air shocking my system all at once.
Like a punch to the face.
He inhales the chilled air, before letting me go.
āFuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.ā
āI know.ā I breathe out a puff of frigid air that comes out like smoke. āWhatāwhat the hell just happened in there? I think Iām still in shock.ā
āWhat just happened was I just bought myself a ticket to Manhattan Detention Complex. Fucking great,ā he mutters more to himself. āFucking Frankā¦this whole thingā¦ā His voice lowers. āAll his faultā¦ā
Mutter. Mutter. Mutter. And some more muttering.
And I canāt make sense of any of it. So, I donāt even try.
āI should have known better,ā he announces louder, before turning. āThis is not why I came here tonight. And Jesus, I know that prickāā Andrew points back at the bar, starting to pace, āāand he wonāt let it go that easy.ā
āOkay, seriously, who is that Reed guy? Everybody seems to know him but me.ā
Andrew turns, tossing the words. āHeās a friend of the familyāmy family. Or he used to before he got chummy with my grandfatherās ex-business partner, Chris.ā He stares. āYou might know Chris as the guy who tried to burn down your bar last year?ā
Chris Jackson.
Even his name gives me chills.
Thatās the kind of guy he is.
A ruined finance whiz with a vendetta against every business partner whoād burned him, he'd been systemically ruining the lives of all he knew.
Including my fatherāsā¦who once borrowed money from the man to open the bar I inheritedā¦
The Alchemist.
My association with Chrisāa Wanted man who was still on the lam, was like a birthmark. Or more like a permanent stain.
The fire Chris Jackson initiated last year had nearly leveled the business, buried us in debt.
In factā¦it still was. Every day, we were buried.
And according to Michael Bennett, we still had fifty thousand dollarsā worth of repairs left to rebuildā¦
And no money solution in sight.
I wrap my arms around myself, holding tight, the February chill not just on my skin but in my bones. āWell, this night just keeps getting better and better.ā
The fact that Iām shivering on a fairly empty Manhattan sidewalk outside of my own bar only confirms that it is.
The air is freezing, stinging over my skin. With my coat still inside my office closet, I shudder, staring into the hazy Manhattan sky.
My whole career is flashing before my eyesāthe bar. The entire business.
With nothing in writing, technicallyā¦I just had an employee hit a guestāa powerful, connected guestāa guest that can sue.
I glance at Andrew.
Angrier than Iāve ever seen, he doesnāt look at me. Doesnāt seem to notice anything outside of himself until I call out his name.
He stops on the cement.
āThat was a dumb reaction, Andrew,ā I deadpan. āYou know that donāt you?ā
āI had an inkling, yeah.ā
āNot just dumb, but irresponsible. Impulsive. Reckless. Even for you.ā
āThe thought had occurred to me. But keep going. Itās nice to be kicked when Iām down. Call it a kink.ā
I take a step closer, talking slower. āWhat you just did was dangerous. And thoughtless. And stupid beyond all freaking beliefā¦and I canāt believe Iām even getting ready to say this to youā¦which shows I probably need my headāor blood-alcohol levelsāchecked, butā¦ā
I struggle to breathe around the ball of emotion at the back of my throat, glancing at his furrowed face, resisting
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