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

For once, I think the smarmy lawyer is stunned, his silence thick in the air as he processes my words. I hear his office chair creak as he moves in it, most likely shifting his extra weight. “Excuse me?”

"I think you heard me." I lower my head and voice. “I'm not selling a damn thing. Because the deal is fucking off, Frank.”

The snake-oil salesman's chair squeaks again, and his voice comes out a hiss in my ear…

A shaky hiss.

He sucks in air.

“I wouldn’t tell you to sell it if I didn’t think it was the best deal for you,” Frank says, a note of desperation in his voice. “I’ve taken a look at Fletcher Financial Group’s books, and I’m telling you, you’re better off selling now.”

“I’ll be the last person to tell you what to do,” I say. “But I’m not selling the company. So, back the hell off, Frank. I mean it. It's no longer your concern."

"The hell it isn't. I helped your grandfather build this damn company."

"And lose most of it because of your shady business deals with arrogant bastards like that thieving Chris Jackson, who swindled his money. Thanks for the memories. But your services are no longer needed."

The lawyer grows haughty, his tone turning tight as he squeaks again in that God-awful chair.

"You're forgetting the successful deals I did broker? Deals like the one I helped you grandmother strike with Quinn Real Estate Enterprises? Or maybe your little buddy Lachlan Quinn can remind you…when he's not covered in women and blow?"

My face burns as I remember Lachlan's dirty secret.

His wild lifestyle. Former addictions. The deception that had led his brother Noah, Sophia's boyfriend, to come knocking at my grandmother's door for the partnership they needed when Chris Jackson walked out of the door with his own portion of swindled Quinn money.

The stuff people whispered about the Quinns was all true.

But that isn't what's eating me alive.

My grandmother was known for saving companies…

Me? At the start of this weekend, I'd been in the process of destroying one.

My own family's.

Seven years ago, I walked away from taking over my grandfather's company. And I didn't know if I was strong enough to not walk away again.

I’m no longer the eighteen-year-old boy I'd been when I'd left the Fletcher home. When I'd given up all my rights to the company and the luxuries that came with it.

But I'm now a man.

A man who's going to be responsible for more than he'd ever bargained for. More than he ever wanted.

A man with power now over the Quinns, other business partners, jobs and livelihoods.

A man responsible for maintaining the Fletcher family.

A man who'd have to turn into the grandfather he'd never wanted to be.

And Frank Levins seems to sense it.

"Believe me," he goads me from the other end of the phone, "you don't want all that responsibility. I know you don't. Your family wasn't there for you… They left you behind. It's not too late to leave them, too. Leave them…how they left you."

The sides of me—the boy I used to be and the man I'm becoming—battle it out. And to be honest?

I don't know who will win…

But I know whichever side does won't be using Frank Levins to do it. I bend closer to the cell phone's speaker, speaking low.

"Thanks for the history lesson there, Frank. But I've got it from here. Don't worry about me. Or my family."

“Yeah, you think so?” he spits, as I stop pacing, walking down the spiral staircase, my steps slower as a menacing tone enters the conversation. I listen closely, though the house is empty. “Maybe you should be worried about yourself. And your family,” he says at last, his words sending licks of heat down my spine. “You don’t get it, do you? Without immediate intervention, that little bar you're so intent on saving will go under. And that red-haired beauty of yours will have to work some crappy job for minimum wage, and anyone,” his voice lowers to a warning, "and I do mean anyone will be able to buy it from her at an even lower price than he or she was planning. Something to think about.”

I head to the kitchen, my footfalls echoing through the grand expanse as I march fast, the skin under my collar growing a thousand degrees hotter.

“Well, shit, I guess it's true what they say. You should have been a salesman, Frank. Because you are absolute shit at being a lawyer. Or at least a respectable one, if you ever were."

“I don’t need you to tell me who I am, boy. I’m an intelligent man. You see,” he continues, “you thought a guy like Chris Jackson has a grudge against the world? Men like that only take lessons on getting what they want from men like me. Men who take what they want. And I will use every tool at my disposal to inflict pain on every last person who double-crosses me. You can bet the farm on that. I carry insurance. Even against Fletchers.”

I squeeze my fist around the phone, my rage finding no place to land.

I nod to myself, even though Frank can't see me.

“You use that insurance of yours, Frank. You're going to need it. I'll see you on the other side.”

I hang up and reach for my keys.

Nancy's going to need to be out of here soon.

I'm going to need to make a few calls.

—

NANCY

I wake up in the middle of the night, feeling inexplicably cold.

I’ve removed my dress. Climbed under the covers.

This big comfortable bed should have been enough to calm me down, enough to soothe away the fears that the near crash etched into my skin.

But it isn’t.

It’s not enough.

Nothing else is enough… I realize, but Andrew’s arms.

Against my better mind, I woke up, craving his touch, marveling at how in so little time I’d grown addicted to him.

Addicted to the hot way he stared down at me—amused and lustful all at the