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

Tell me now, and I’ll try to work with you to make it happen.

It’s a question I can’t answer—a question I haven’t asked myself in what feels like forever.

But before I can reply, we arrive at our destination.

And what a destination it is.

The FlashTop Room.

And it’s as fancy as it sounds.

With warm amber-hued intimate lighting, the former Manhattan factory boasts three stories of a restaurant/speakeasy/piano bar that welcomes in every newcomer with a drink and a smile.

Stumbling back onto the nearest leather stool, I pray that I don’t look as sad as the look in the bartender’s eyes right now.

I flash a grin that threatens to fracture, one hand raising high into the sky. “Do you have whiskey?”

“A whiskey woman, eh?” The bartender grins. “Wouldn’t have guessed it by looking at you.”

I wasn’t, I want to tell him. Not until a few nights ago.

But red wine and a martini won’t do.

So, I don’t even argue. Don’t even flinch when he sets a foreign drink the color of syrup in front of me.

I just inhale it.

I wait a few minutes before inhaling drink number two.

And already the bartender is shooting me that look again.

That look of poor little confused girl.

He isn’t wrong.

He grins after watching my second drink disappear.

“Can I get you anything else?”

I sway, already semi-drunk, my anxiousness rising to the surface of my skin. I meet his eye, feeling like I’m floating.

“Let’s see…” I say. “Get me anything else? Hm. Maybe something sharper than this butter knife?” I glance down at a nearby utensil. “Might not be sharp enough to cut through the skin. My wrists are looking particularly thick nowadays.”

The bartender smirks down at me. A dash of pity plays in his eyes. Or maybe that’s through my drunken lenses. He leans in closer. “Having that kind of night, huh?”

Man, being drunk makes me chatty. Guess realizing I’m a human refrigerator does that to me.

I resist the urge to look down at my phone.

“Let’s just say I’ll tip you a lot if you keep these, uh…whatevers coming.” My gaze roams over the dark cocktail in front of me, and he tilts his head—a simple nod.

The cute bartender continues, quirking one dark brow. “I’m surprised. This is one of our strongest whiskeys at FlashTop, and you’re inhaling it like it’s water.”

I shrug. “It’s not your fault. Ask me by the fourth iteration. By then, gasoline might taste good. Though, I have no point of reference. I’m not the biggest whiskey drinker.” I sigh, sinking farther into my seat. Mr. Cocktails throws me another look, and I shrug. “Though the guy I keep kissing is. Go figure.”

“What, is this guy a fancy bloke?”

“He wasn’t. Now I’m not so sure.” I finish the last of my dark drink, gulping it down. “Last time I saw him, he thought beer from a keg was a delicacy. And then I find out he has money taller than the Taj Mahal, so…cheers to me. Every girl on Earth wants to meet a handsome rich guy. Well, I fucking found one. And I still don’t know what to do with him. It’s all so confusing.”

The bartender shrugs. “Maybe your bloke hasn’t really changed… Maybe it just seems like it.”

It’d be a stretch to think Andrew hadn’t.

I sure as hell had.

A few days ago, I was with someone else. A day ago, I’d been someone else.

And now, twenty-four hours later, I was feeling like a fraud in my own life. A fraud to anyone who’s ever known me.

Guess that part hadn’t really changed.

I should have been prepared for Andrew’s kiss.

That’s who he was.

A man who seduced women.

But I’m not.

I’m wrapped in his silky platitudes about wanting me so badly. About dreaming of me in his arms.

Even when they were nothing but lies.

He wouldn’t be the first liar I met.

That was my father.

But I don’t know what it means this time, I can’t seem to move past it. And frankly, I don’t want to know.

Sophia wasn’t wrong…

I was attracted to Andrew. I’d have to be blind in order to not be.

But the man had always been arrogant. An asshole.

And it made no sense.

Made no sense that a woman like me who was obsessed with structure would fall into a man who wanted anything but structure.

This next sip of liquor barely hits the back of my throat before I’m rushing out of the bar and towards the bathroom, a well of emotions building behind my eyes.

The burn of tears hits the back of my eyes, and I hurry fast.

Moving my high-heeled pumps as fast as I can make them go, I navigate over the dance floor of FlashTop, my footsteps falling clumsily over the concrete and wood.

And just when I stumble too hard, someone catches me, their cold blue eyes focused on my face. The man in front of me wraps his long fingers around my elbows, holding on to my cold skin, his heated gaze warm.

Enveloping me. Inviting me. Welcoming me in against my will.

A leather jacket-clad Andrew blinks, capturing my stare.

“Watch your footing there,” he comments off-handedly. “You’re likely to break an ankle in those shoes if you keep at that pace.”

“And I’m likely to break something much more important if I don’t. Something like my sense of reality, perhaps? I like mine right where it is, thanks.”

“Always so feisty with me. Me, and no one else. Don’t you find that odd, Nancy?” His blue eyes glow under the speakeasy’s low lights—giving them the appearance of ice in motion.

Just as hypnotic.

Just as hard.

Raising a dark brown brow, Andrew eyes me closely, a small grin starting to spread on his full lips. He doesn’t miss a step as he helps me regain my footing, marching beside me, his strides long as we cover ground with haste, eating up yards fast.

His hand remains on my arm.

“Seriously, though, I told you that you’re overly expressive when you’re drunk.”

“Take comfort in the fact that if I could stop it, I definitely would. Especially around you.”

“That expression on your