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

the man-shaped one awaiting me back in Connecticut.

“So,” I say to Kev, “everything's good here? You guys been surviving this weekend without me?”

He fumbles closer, his Scottish trill purposely thick as he responds. “I've been telling ya for a while, lassie…you're not a machine. But this business is. You've done a great job making this place run. We'll be fine.” He jerks his head. “Now, get out of here… Enjoy your time off.” He winks at me, brown eyes warm. “And while you're at it, maybe tell Andrew I said hi.”

I backpedal with a smirk, giving Kev the address to the Connecticut estate in case any emergencies arise. I hightail it0 out of the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do here, Kev. I’ll back be back in a day or so.”

He raises a hand. “Guid cheerio the nou!”

I spin on my heel, heading for the sidewalk, the martini and the excitement and the day doing nothing but drawing me closer to the man I've chosen…and the life that comes with it.

I push out of the front double doors, the cool late February air hitting me while a person on the street does, slamming into me as they head in my direction.

I nearly topple to the ground, the drink in my system doing nothing to help my balance as I tumble over my own feet.

I reach out to catch my balance, but I'm not fast enough.

I'm going down.

I'm going down hard.

It's a blur, but I see the police officer reach out, his fingers brushing mine as I go down. I see his face, stunned and concerned. I see the disgusted expression on the face of the man who hit me as he sidesteps me, his overcoat cuff brushing me as he passes.

“Are you okay?” the officer asks, his voice deep and soothing.

I nod. “I'm fine. I'm fine. Thanks.” I stand up, dusting off my knees. “I'm so sorry,” I say to the stranger in the overcoat. I know I'm slurring my words. I can feel it. “I should be watching where I'm going. I'm really sorry.”

The stranger nods, his face solemn. “No worries.” He reaches out, touching my arm, and I can smell his over-applied cologne. “I'm sorry about that. Unfortunately, I've had this happen a few times.”

He shakes a hand, as if to wipe the incident away. “Glad I could help…”

I have no idea who this overcoat guy is. But it's been a long day, so I brush it off.

“Then again, I suppose that's not much of a consolation, is it?” he says, his voice low and tight.

I look at him.

He looks at me.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I apologize again, my face burning. “I'm really sorry. I'm fine, actually. I should be more careful, though.”

“No worries,” overcoat asshole says, and tilts his head to the side. “But I think you should watch where you're going,” he says, his tone suddenly stern and hard and distant.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the man says. He isn't the tallest man in the world, and his hair is dark and his face pinched and pale.

And out of nowhere, I feel a deep dislike for him, not knowing why. Perhaps it's his voice, low and tight like a stretched rubber band.

He stands there, staring at me like he doesn't know what I'm doing there.

I clear my throat.

I ignore my aching knee. “Excuse me… Do you need me to help you with something?”

His stare rakes over me. “No, I don't think so. This has to do with the bar.”

“This? What 'this'?”

He blinks. “I'm sorry. Who are you?”

I glare. “I'm Anne Anderson. I'm the co-owner of The Alchemist. And you are?”

His eyes widen. “Ahhhh, so you're the Nancy that Lincoln mentioned. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Frank Levins.”

Ice runs down my arms as I stand there, wobbly, staring at him. “You know Andrew?”

“I do actually,” he says, his tone still stern. “I'm here to inform you that, as of right now, The Alchemist is officially closed. You have until the end of the day to vacate the premises.”

I stare at him, the ice crawling into my blood stream.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” I ask him. My mouth dry. I’m confused.

He blinks. “It means that the city has determined that The Alchemist is a public nuisance. Therefore, the city can ban you from opening the business up again. This is what they do when they find businesses that are misbehaving, you know.”

I frown. “How can they do that? The city has no right. I haven't broken any laws.”

He continues walking closer to the double doors, holding up a piece of paper I hadn't seen until now. “Take it up with the judge. Or Andrew… He'll be able to explain what's going on.”

I lose my voice, unable to utter a word.

The Alchemist…

No more?

Is that what this guy is saying?

That The Alchemist—one of those rare businesses that was truly built on good feeling, where people came because they liked it here, where people came because they loved the atmosphere was…what?

Closing?

A place where the food is tasty and the service is friendly, but the employees make it so special?

A place that offered everything from the earthy-but-modern atmosphere to the friendly faces and the soft music?

The thought is enough to make me sick.

It's one thing to sell out my half of the bar.

But to have it taken from me?

Closed. Barred. Banned.

I drop to my knees, nausea rumbling inside my stomach and taking root.

Andrew…

Goddammit.

Had I made the wrong decision after all?

I look at Frank Levins who is still taping the closure notice to my door, the sympathetic police officer at his side, thinking that I might have, after all…

Chapter 22

ANDREW

The dashboard of Sabrina’s Mercedes Benz read dangerously close to the red zone. I held onto the wheel with two hands, clenching my teeth and trying not to think about how fast I was going. Unfortunately, any time I counted the seconds, I would invariably get to sixty and have to start again. By the time I