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

main house, heading back to our bedroom with little energy left in me to do anything but admire the woman I carry all the way there in my arms.

She looks soft right now. Softer tonight than ever—exhausted, herself, from the whole ordeal.

And if she were a different woman, and I a different man…

I might do something crazy, something insane.

Something like telling her how fucking great she looks in that dress—the one currently hanging onto every small curve.

With its low-dipping neckline and smooth silk, the little silver number she’s donning tonight looks like it’s been poured over her, dripped on her sumptuous body.

The slender straps show off her shoulders, emphasizing her delicate arms. Her rose gold hair hangs in waves just above her smooth collarbone, and the high slit along her thigh leaves little to the imagination, highlighting all the smooth, slightly bronzed skin that lies beneath.

If I were a different man, I’d press my lips to that naked collarbone—tease it with my tongue. If I were a different man, I’d wrap my hands around her tiny waist, pulling her to me.

I’d slip my hands underneath that dress’s slit and slide it to her panty line to tease what lies underneath.

Until she was squirming, begging for me to go farther, pressing me to push her underwear aside and commit all the acts a traitor to his own family like me can’t.

And I don’t know why I tried so hard not to see it before. Why I fought the urge to be near her tooth-and-nail because I was too stubborn, too egotistical and too much of an ass to see the truth.

That I've met a woman I can let go with, a woman whose strong will rivals my own.

And she deserves the man to match.

But I can't be that man while plotting against my own family…

The second we head through the estate’s French double doors, I lead her back to my bedroom and I’m shocked beyond all belief when she doesn’t put up a fight, letting me tuck her to sleep between my sheets.

I fought the urge not to watch as she slipped out of her sexy silver dress—her body exhausted from tonight’s events and near crash, but after she’s safe in my bed, I do some slipping of my own, slinking out of the bedroom and sneaking my cell phone out of my slacks.

Down the hall and out of earshot, I start dialing Frank Levins’ number, knowing in my heart that the greaseball is already up and waiting for my call.

I’m right.

The line only rings once before Frank picks up, his voice as oily and insincere as his smarmy face. His weighty voice booms over the speaker, sounding out loud.

“Lincoln, buddy!” He exclaims as if we’re old friends. “Been waiting for your call.”

“I’m sure you have.” My mouth presses into a thin line. “I’m guessing you had your questions about how the weekend is going.”

“Oh yeah, that’s for sure,” Frank’s voice booms out from the other end of the line. “So, what’s the damage, buddy? We're almost finished shoring up that bar loan you asked for.”

“Do we need to discuss the costs?” I ask.

“Nah, man,” he says. “I’ll just crunch some numbers and get back to ya.”

“The bar, the inventory, the employees, the insurance and all that, right?” I ask.

“Yep.” But then adds. “But you’d know. You always know.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I say calmly. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“You’re not?” He chuckles. “I could have sworn you were calling to tell me how great the weekend’s been and how wonderful the bar will be when we hand over this loan.”

“That too,” I say, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

“From what I hear, you chose to use that sexy little redhead as your fiancée decoy, anyway. Told ya she’d be a great fit.”

“Wait…” Fuck keeping the anger out of my voice. My entire head heats as I press the phone closer to my ear, my words a dull roar. “Who the hell told you that I brought Nancy with me this weekend?”

“Oh, I have my ways of finding out information, Lincoln. You know that. By the way, gotta tell you… TrustSolutions Banking is planning on visiting Fletcher Financial Group this week. You should probably, you know, prepare some sort of presentation for them.”

“Frank,” I growl, “what the hell are you going on about?”

“It’s almost a done deal, right? You show up with a fiancée to satisfy your grandmother's personal lawyer, you'll get the company and we'll sell it for parts. Just like we planned.” He sounds almost excited, like he’s about to run through a list of presents on Christmas morning. “I’ve already got a few buyers who are interested, man. And you should see their offers…"

"Offers, huh? Offers like the one you once presented to my grandfather from P.O.S.'s like Chris Jackson? Those kinda offers, Frank?"

The lawyer hesitates, clearing his phlegmy throat. He starts again. "That was a long time ago, Lincoln… And it's all water under the bridge now."

"Is it? Ya know, I've got a lot of work to do, Frank. I'm not in the mood to play games. I'll soon have a funeral to attend, and pretty soon, a business to run here. You know I do.”

"Well, I'm not playing games, either," he says. "This is a done deal. All you had to do was show up with a fiancée. We've got a few buyers who are interested in the company. And we'll both be rich men. That was the agreement… I get you the loan for that rinky-dink little bar you work at in Manhattan, and you cut me my piece of the Fletcher Financial pie when you sell it. We had it all figured out…didn't we?"

“No,” I say, my anger rising, “we didn’t. I don't know how to say this other than just to come out with it… But no… I am no longer interested in selling the company. I decided I'm not for sale, Frank. My family is not for sale.