Beautiful Lies Read online

  “Well, that brings up another question. Will you be faithful to the firm, or will you backstab us to, as you say, reap maximal benefit? Loyalty to the firm is paramount, Mr. Sterling, and is the only way to a partnership.”

  I was not a joiner by nature, but I was not about to let them know that. I told Mr. Wotherspoon what he wanted to hear. “I do not have a heart. And I lost my soul a long time ago. I don’t mind getting dirty. My dedication to Wotherspoon and its purpose knows no bounds.”

  The partners contained their delirium at my answer. But I could tell that they were practically skeeting in their pants. However, Xander and I locked eyes once again. I knew he saw through my bullshit and had just waged a silent war on me. That was cool. I had my battle gear on and was ready to rock. It was definitely on.

  Mr. Wotherspoon leaned in. “Now that you are in the fold, we’d like to bring you in on a unique case. Our client is an extremely famous and wealthy man who is being extorted for money.”

  “Who is the extortionist, and what is the basis for the extortion?” I asked.

  “Because of the extreme sensitivity of the case and because you are new to the fold, you will only know the extortionist by the code name Z. As far as the basis for the scheme, that will be kept among the partners. You will only be handling some of the lighter aspects of the financials. Securing property assets and shuffling monies to offshore accounts.”

  “Why go through all this trouble? Why not involve law enforcement? Blackmail is illegal.”

  “Mr. Sterling, Wotherspoon and Associates does have an extensive network of, shall we say, insiders and helpers in the police department. However, there are many who are not on our side. Unfortunately, the allegations about our client are true, and he would rather not touch Z or…”

  Mr. Wotherspoon looked at Xander then continued, “…or have Z silenced in any way. Our client is covering his behind, though.”

  Mr. Slezak gave his two cents. “The firm’s retainer is in the high seven figures. The client is serious about making sure Z does not go public because it would destroy him, and even our law firm, if the accusations ever came out. But Z’s demands are becoming excessive.”

  I knew that this client was just a test to see whether or not my moral compass was broken beyond repair. And indeed it was.

  “When do I start?” I said.

  “Tonight. There is a gala, and you will be in attendance.” Mr. Wotherspoon waved a ticket and passed it down through the line of partners to me. “You will be formally introduced to the client there.”

  I hated parties, but I hated my for-shit office even more. I read the ticket and recognized the name of the client straightaway—Sig Krok. Fuck. What the hell did he do to warrant all this subterfuge? Not that it mattered. If Mr. Krok fucked up then it was my right to profit from his mistake. I was going to work my ass off on Siggy’s case and get that corner office—no matter what. Even if I had to wear a monkey suit and parade around a room full of asses to get it.

  Then one of the demon extras from Hellraiser—affectionately known as Linda—came in with a magnum of champagne.

  As I made small talk with the partners, she dutifully retrieved long-stemmed flutes and poured copious amounts of libation for all, even for herself. Everyone raised their glasses as a welcoming gesture toward me.

  Shit, yeah, I am so fucking in there.

  Chapter Four

  I had taken too many antidepressants that day, trying desperately to drown out the voice that had been running through my head: Tonight they are going to figure you out. That you are nothing but a fake. A piece of shit.

  The gala was being held at the famed Demeure de Rêve Hotel. I insisted that Sig book the presidential suite to avoid us having to arrive by limousine. I had too many close calls where I nearly tripped trying to step out of limos in front of a plethora of reporters and photographers. No way was I risking that tonight.

  Before the nearly two hundred guests arrived, I went down to survey the ballroom. Frantic decorators, sound people, and caterers scrambled about, putting on the finishing touches.

  The ballroom was a perfect analogy of me. It was basically a blank and hollow cavern that only came to life when someone else’s vision filled it. As it was fluffed and prepped, the ballroom was transforming into a mirage. That mirage would bring people to it and fool them into thinking it was something that it was not. At the end of the night, after all the guests had gone home, the adornments would be removed. And the ballroom would once again be downgraded to nothingness. Then it would wait, wait, and wait some more until it needed to “become” again.

  I looked over at the staircase that I was to descend later that night. To someone else, this whole spectacle would have been perceived as an honor. However, I was terrified that I was going to fumble in front of all those people. I envisioned toilet paper on my shoe, a sneaky booger hanging out of my nose, or an accidental slippage of noxious gas from the bean burrito I had for lunch.

  But even worse was contemplating the fact that in a few short hours I would be standing in front of a roomful of critical silhouettes, staring at me with expectations of perfection that no mere human could live up to. They wanted a goddess, and that desire was my fault really. I had manufactured a brilliant lie. The caricature that these people knew, I created with an airy template of illusion. Then Sig came along and grew it to epic proportions. He smelted me like lead in a blast of fire.

  The denizens of the glossy world I occupied had everything money could obtain. Yet they still needed something to aspire to and help them forget the emptiness they had inside of them. Like I had inside of me. That’s why I was adored by them. They lived vicariously through me, feeding off the illusion that they thought was my life. Their insatiable hunger to consume every part of my existence gave them purpose. Otherwise they had nothing else. There is only so much shopping and yacht hopping you can do before it becomes tedious. After you have bought and seen everything, what else is there? The only thing left is to cannibalize another’s life. A life that seems to have the one thing they do not: happiness.

  They did not want me, not really. The real me, that dirt-poor girl who had terrible things happen to her. The girl that was running from the shadows of her past. The girl who was just trying to forget the violation brought upon her. That girl… they would have kicked her in the teeth.

  My problem was that even though I knew their love was false, I fed off of them as much as they fed off me. I liked the rush I received from their superficial compliments and jealous stares. It was sick, I know. But I was addicted to it.

  So tonight I would once again put on my costume of the glamorous, deliriously happy girlfriend of one of the most powerful men in the world. In return, I would be energized by the crowd falling at my feet. And for a little while, I could forget everything.

  The antidepressants started kicking in. Like an actress getting into character, I succumbed to my alter ego. As my body became possessed by her, it felt like she was falling rain, drenching me. I found myself smiling and seducing invisible people. I stood a little taller, my head raised high, and started to walk like Jean-Paul, my Pilates instructor. I was no longer that pathetic girl from Santee, California. I was now the goddess.

  Despite that feeling, I still counted the steps on the staircase to make sure I did not trip on my way down. I was not about to be ass out on Page Six.

  This is some motherfucking bullshit. If I didn’t have such a hard-on to make partner, I would not have been caught dead in a wackadoo place like this.

  As soon as I stepped into the ballroom, a wave of techno funk assaulted my ears. At three thousand dollars a ticket, you would think they would have had better music. Flashy projected images splashed over every available surface in the chasmal hall. As I went deeper into hell, I was engulfed by purple-hazed celebrities, sugar babies showing off the breast implants sugar daddies had purchased, Andy Warhol wannabes, and gay men decked out in the latest Klå low-rise skinny jeans. Male performance artists h
ung from the rafters like trapeze artists, wearing only body paint. And I sure as shit wasn’t down for that.

  Mind you, I knew fashion types were quirky, but this dung was ridiculous. My basic tuxedo made me stand out like Einstein at a monster truck rally.

  The light was low, and I could barely see. Plus I had no clue where to go in this madness. I saw none of “my kind” anywhere in the room. I steeled myself and braved the gauntlet through the throbbing crowd, hoping to run into a partner and not giving a damn about who I bumped into along the way. Fuck, I would have been glad to see Stonehenge Linda at that point. But with no partners in sight, all I could think to do was get to the bar.

  I’m missing a champion MMA fight for this ridiculousness. Damn it, I sure as hell better make partner for having to endure this.

  The crowd definitely had the appearance of eccentricity. But it was not genuine. They were all a bunch of rich bitches who feigned eccentricity because it was en vogue. I had no respect for these poseurs and their obnoxious display of wealth. I was a blue-collar boy and never lost sight of the fact that I had to work harder than everyone else, especially these trust-fund babies.

  I finally made it to the bar and plopped down on the stool, which was in the shape of a giant hand with the middle finger sticking up that curled between the legs, grazing my cock.

  Really? No, seriously. Really? I thought as I face palmed and shook my head.

  “What would you like, sir?” the flirty, tranny barkeep asked. He kept winking at me like he had a tic.

  Dude, you are so barking up the wrong tree.

  “Orange juice. Two cubes of ice,” I said as I looked back at the retarded extravaganza of flesh behind me. Suddenly the music stopped and “ahhhs” filled the room. All eyes were trained on the staircase. The DJ put on some hip but more sophisticated music.

  Sig descended the stairs. He was dressed in all white, which did nothing to flatter his cyanic skin. His face contorted as he forced himself to put on what he considered to be a smile. He looked more constipated than anything. However, he was holding the hand of a radiant creature. She practically glowed with the ethereal haze of a soft-focus lens.

  The crowd moved in front of me, blocking my view of the enchanting creature that had mesmerized everyone in the room. I stretched my neck to get a better look. The drag queen announcer chimed in over the microphone. “Please, everyone, give a raucous round of applause to Sig Krok and his lovely girlfriend, Lilly Amsel!”

  Lilly? Nah, it couldn’t be the same woman from the gym.

  My eardrums nearly popped from the astounding volume of claps and cheers. Mind you, I have never behaved like a groupie. But for some reason I, too, was drawn to the mystery woman named Lilly, even though I could not make out the details of her face. In the nebulous light, I could make out long ringlets as they cascaded down her small, bare shoulders and her full, rouge lips that she swiped with her tongue, tantalizing the swooning crowd. She swung her hips like a water snake swimming in a pond as the long train of her dress slithered behind her.

  Sig and Lilly stopped near the bottom of the staircase as the spotlight’s orb encompassed them. As her face illuminated, I realized it was the same Lilly. She was so shatteringly gorgeous that I almost had to divert my eyes, like I was looking directly into the sun. I was so affected that I had not even noticed that I let my hand fall to my side, and my watered-down juice had spilled onto the floor. Then I heard a finger snap in my head: Fucker, wake up! You have never been giddified over any woman in your entire life. Don’t start that whack shit now.

  I shook my head, trying my damnedest to shake off my spontaneous crush. But I had to admit that it was one hell of a coincidence seeing Lilly there. The mind chatter was relentless: Is this what kismet means? No way. Cam, just nix that crazy thought. There is no possibility of this moment being fated. It is just mere chance.

  That’s what I told myself. But why did it feel like my stomach was collapsing to the ground at the very sight of this woman? I tried to fight it, but my body turned itself and forced my eyes to follow her around the room.

  I watched her flit from guest to guest, lilting fake laughs. She was so pretentious. She made sure she touched every shoulder as if she were implanting the guests with the idea of worshipping her. She made her way to the stage area, where two large thrones awaited her and Sig. She had an assistant swoop her train out of the way as she propped herself on the throne, where she would oversee her subjects.

  Oh, yeah. Now I remember why I didn’t like that girl.

  Lilly was just like all the rest of these phonies. I turned to the barkeep. “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.”

  “What kind of rocks would you prefer?”

  “Just give me the damn drink.”

  I was contemplating leaving when I heard a loud clang behind me. Apparently the hapless waitress dropped her tray and splattered the floor with hors d’oeuvre and canapés. By this time Sig had taken the throne next to Lilly and was glaring down at the waitress, seething. I was waiting for sparks to fly out of his eyes. However, Lilly, in all her grandeur, rushed down to the waitress without hesitation. She squatted down and helped the profusely apologetic woman.

  Well, I’ll be damned. I would have never pegged Lilly as, dare I say, a caring person.

  Then I looked at Sig again. Though he was trying to save face, any discerning person could pick up that he was livid.

  How dare his girlfriend, as a reflection of him, downgrade herself to the level of a servant? Sig yanked her up by one arm, all while maintaining his smiling social front. He was not about to let the guests see him lose his cool.

  Sig straightened up Lilly’s mussed dressed and proceeded to parade her around the room like his pet, asserting his dominance over her. There was so much coldness between them that I caught a case of frostbite just watching.

  I saw an invasive television crew materialize out of the crowd. The aggressive reporter first put the microphone near Sig’s mouth as the partygoers surrounded the couple. Sig gave the female reporter a feral snarl. The reporter quickly backed down and went after the less threatening target. She put the microphone so close to Lilly’s mouth it looked like she was about to give it some head. Lilly remained classy, though. As the reporter still held the microphone, Lilly smoothly grasped it and slyly moved it to a more appropriate position.

  “Ms. Amsel, you were nothing when you met Mr. Krok. Just a fledging model with a stagnant career. Why do you think a phenomenon like Sig Krok would take on a woman like you?”

  As a man, if Lilly were my woman, I would have cursed that reporter bitch out. But Sig was not me. In fact he appeared to relish the reporter’s degrading question. I could tell he enjoyed bringing Lilly down. Fortunately for Lilly, an eager autograph seeker—who was refused by Sig—got her off the hook. As she signed the autograph book, Lilly was thinking. She came back at the photographer and said, “I may have felt like you did when you were caught sucking your married boss’s dick. Remember the scandal? I do. And look at you now, promoted from the mail room to primetime reporter. Begging me for an interview.”

  I felt like I needed a bowl of popcorn as I watched the volley. The reporter raised her sliver of an eyebrow and went back to Sig. Sig was more receptive this time as he was more on the reporter’s side than Lilly’s.

  “So, Mr. Krok, you are now looking for the new spokesmodel for Klå. It seems obvious to use Lilly,” the reporter said as she looked Lilly up and down. “But youth is so valued in the industry, and Lilly is quickly approaching her peak. Are you looking for something new? Or will nepotism win out?”

  Lilly and the party guests anxiously waited for Sig’s response. He looked at the crowd and gave a teasing, sinister grin that he believed was charming.

  The reporter pressed on. “What about Jacob Boyd?”

  Even from where I was standing, I could see Lilly’s countenance drop at the mere mention of the name. Jacob was a tow-haired, cornpone model from Idaho. Only seventeen, the young man was
as ruthless and ambitious as I was. He was Lilly’s nightmare, her shadow. He was young and tender, while she was becoming an artifact in the modeling world. He worked his way to his current position having been a model since the age of three. Lilly never earned anything; she only slept her way to the top. He was brimming with hubris. She was simply a wreck.

  I watched Jacob as he watched Lilly. He had that look. A look I recognized from my own face. The look of a professional chess player contemplating the board for his next move. Jacob was raving with the idea of usurping Lilly’s position. There was nothing he would not do to bring her down. That is how I operated daily in my own career.

  Just when the theatrics were getting good, my posse from Wotherspoon showed up…fashionably late, of course. I waved my hand in the air so they could locate me.

  “Cam, I was hoping I’d see you mixing with the crowd,” Mr. Wotherspoon said, somewhat miffed.

  “I was just finishing my drink.”

  He directed me to put my glass down. “No, it is time for business.”

  I was not about to be punked. I said, “We would not want good scotch to go to waste, now would we?” I finished my drink like a boss.

  From that moment on, Mr. Wotherspoon had two thoughts about me. One, I was someone he needed because of my obvious pomposity and proven skill. Two, he would have to watch me carefully because I was not a whipping boy. I knew I had to tread lightly, though. I had no love for Mr. Wotherspoon or the partners, but I needed them to achieve my goal. Wotherspoon and Associates was considered one of the top law firms in New York. If you made it there, you practically had the key to heaven. I had already invested time and was not going to let that hard work go to waste. But there was one other thing. The partners at Wotherspoon were dangerous, and I did not want to be on the receiving end of one of their plots.