The Lie by Natalie Wrye (most inspirational books of all time .txt) 📗

He raises a hand. “You’re not as good at keeping secrets as you think. Nearly everyone knows. Me. Kev. Sophia… Your problem is that you won’t accept help.” He arches one brow. “So, I’m not giving you help. I’m giving you an opportunity…to set down your worries. A chance to not obsess about every single detail of every single part of your life every single day. The way I know you do now. I watch you, Nancy.” He snorts. “It's hard not to. You're the oldest twenty-four-year-old I've ever met.”

I snort, turning. “Is this your way of flattering me?”

He stares. “Not even. This is my way of telling you the truth.” He waits a beat that’s so quiet I hear the thundering of my own heart in the empty apartment. Andrew continues talking, his words soft.

“You have the chance to come out of this unscathed,” he says, still staring at me. “You can still keep the bar. You can keep everything you've worked for.” He draws closer, a soft smile gracing his lips. “If you come away with me.”

“I'm sorry?” I say, catching his eyes again, which have fallen to my chest. “Come away with you? What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said,” he says, still smiling. “Come away with me. Spend the weekend with me…in exchange for a favor.”

And suddenly he’s close, so close my pulse pounds through my chest, my face flushes. I look up at him.

“Exactly what kind of favor? What are you offering?”

He stops. His eyebrows lift, and my breath catches.

My pulse pounds in my ears—beating soundly as he drags his fingers through his dark hair and smiles.

“In short? I’m offering you pretty much the world.” Andrew starts to circle me, and his scent—that naturally amber wood flavor of skin—starts to encase and envelope me.

I can barely breathe, as he shrugs one shoulder.

“You could go to Paris. Rome. Belgium. Milan. Take a trip like you've never had. I have connections—friends. I could get you anything you wanted, absolutely anything.”

“The problem is,” I tell him, “I don't want anything.”

He laughs then, a wolfish laugh. ‘Why not…?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head. “I can tell that you are.”

“I’m sure. I’m not interested.”

“…Let a little loose,” he finishes, echoing Sophia’s words to me tonight. “Let your hair down… And not just sexually. You could travel and see the world. I can help you get in touch with your bright side. I can show you that there’s more to life than just survival in this little alcove of Manhattan.”

“You do know what you’re selling, right?” I ask him.

“It’s the only thing I’ll accept in exchange,” he says, smiling. “I don’t care how you use it, but you’ll have to agree…” He pauses, an equally wolfish grin twitching at his lips. “…to pretend to be my fiancée for the weekend.”

My heart stops. The pounding it’d just been subjected to seconds before ceases to exist.

White noise drowns out everything else. And I can’t hear a single thing besides the one word coming off my lips.

The word that will help me understand it all.

My mouth can barely form around it.

My throat mimics the Sahara as I croak, “Why?”

“My reasons are my own business,” he offers with finality. “Your reasons can be whatever you want. Whatever you'd like. Whatever you'd need.”

“What I need is more details.”

“Sorry to disappoint you then…because I don’t have any.”

I scoff, storming the length of the floor. “This is unbelievable.”

I spin to him, high heels clicking. “I don’t get it. Why you want this. Why you want me.” The words are nearly a yell. “I’m not an idiot, Andrew. And I wasn’t born yesterday.” I point a finger towards his face. “If you’re this handsome and rich heir, then I’m guessing you can have any woman you want,” I say, my voice faltering. “So why me?”

He looks at me, his hand on his hip. “You really think I’d take a woman like you just for sex?” His smile widens, revealing straight, white teeth. “Trust me: This isn’t about sex… But if it were? Just know…that I would ruin you, Nancy. Make being in anyone else’s bed impossible for anybody but me. But that’s another story for another time.”

He switches gears fast, leaving me reeling. “So, I’m guessing it’s settled then. We have a deal. We’ll start with a loan… from Fletcher Financial Group,” he says. He pulls a pen and paper from his pocket. “What’s your address?”

I hate when men write things down, I really do.

I give him my address, not knowing why I'm doing it in the first place. My heart races as Andrew writes on a nearby table.

“Now…” he utters, his head down still on the page, “I won't have the fanciest NDA for you to sign. But it will be something, at least. Something in writing. Something to solidify what I'm offering you…” He raises his head. “which is everything.”

He slides the paper back to me. “But this is a start."

I look down, noticing for the first time ever that he's writing me a check—something I haven't seen in years.

A check with my name and address and nothing else.

A blank check.

My heart starts to play the merengue in my chest.

Andrew's eyes clash with mine. “Keep this with you at all times,” he says. “Don’t lose it.” His glacial eyes turn molten, the pale blue color heating into liquid fire as he watches me. “It's the only check I'm making out to you in this deal. I won't write another one.”

I glare, eyes cutting into Andrew’s face—a slew of emotions swirling in my gut. I glance at the check. “And you expect me to answer you right now?”

“I expect you to answer tomorrow. Tonight, is for you. Tonight, is for you to consider my offer.”

“Your offer? To play a game as your would be wife…with who? Your family?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing. Then you walk away with enough money to solve all of your problems.”

“Because you’re a good liar.”

Andrew doesn’t speak