A Beautiful Lie (Unlocked #1) Page 6

  When she left, I closed the door and listened to the sound of her heels as she made her way down to the elevator bank. As the distance between us increased, my heartbeat slowed until it finally returned to a normal pace. I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d been able to achieve what I set out to achieve that evening. Nina had the information and now it was up to her what she did with it.

  6

  Nina

  I couldn’t escape Luke’s apartment fast enough. I wanted nothing to do with whatever little moment had transpired between us back there. The perfect stubble on his chin combined with the sincerity in his eyes had left me momentarily intoxicated. For a brief moment, I’d forgotten all about Tomas.

  Tomas. It was late and I was exhausted, but it was too risky to just show up at the loft given the way he’d exploded on me that afternoon. As a precaution, I texted Eden.

  GIGI: Is it okay for me to come home?

  EDEN: Not tonight. I’ll send you money for a hotel.

  As promised, she transferred a few hundred dollars into my account. This time was worse than usual. Usually he cooled off after a day. I hated not having a home that I could come and go from freely. As much as New Jersey had felt like a prison, living in Brooklyn was no different. I was at the mercy of other people.

  I couldn’t stand to be around Luke anymore, hearing him relay the alleged details of my life. Even if what he said was true, it wasn’t fair that someone else got to know more about my past than me. Sure, Tomas had his moments, but Luke seemed to enjoy having the upper hand on me. At least Tomas was always straightforward with me. Luke dangled one piece of information to the next, waiting to see if I’d take the bait.

  So I stood outside of Luke’s apartment building, numb to the bitter January air, and could only think of one place to go. It was a bad idea, maybe the worst I had ever had. The building drew me to it like a magnet. My turbulent emotions consumed me as I walked to the nearest subway station and hopped on the next train to Midtown. The entire way, I gripped the book Luke had given me.

  Fifteen minutes later I stood in front of the Jasper Hotel. I hadn’t come to find answers to verify Luke’s claims. I didn’t know why I’d come. My alleged father owned the building and I had to see it for myself. I gripped the book even tighter as I ascended the stairs. Each step I took made me burst with unexpected sensation.

  Fear.

  Anxiety.

  Hope.

  Sadness.

  Anger.

  Desperation.

  The lobby was moody and its darkness was only interrupted by the occasional splash of color. Rich jewel tones made up the surfaces of couches and paintings. It was a warm retreat from the blistering winds between the buildings outside. Unrushed, I walked around the ornate lobby and surveyed every inch of it. Nothing looked like it came from anywhere near New York City. The fabrics and colors were unusual, the furniture like none I’d ever seen. As I allowed my mind to wander to the distant lands everything had been imported from, a smile crept across my face.

  I stopped in front of a giant sculpture of a tree, the centerpiece of the lobby. It was carved entirely of a burnt orange jasper, with flecks of black and green woven into the design. The smooth branches reached far out, hanging over a purple velvet couch.

  A few men sat at the lobby bar, and two young girls joked with each other at the front desk. I approached the desk. The girls were striking; one blonde and one brunette. They couldn’t be much older than twenty.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “How can I help you?” the blonde one asked. Her name tag read Elise and the brunette was Dani.

  “Do you have a room for the night? My flight just got in and I’m kind of in a scramble,” I lied, so as not to sound desperate.

  “Just need a credit card and we’ll get you checked in,” she smiled, still giggling about something between her and the brunette. I handed over my card, silently praying that Eden had transferred enough to get me a room in this place.

  “All set.” The blonde flashed a bright white smile and handed me my key card.

  I stopped into the lobby bar for a drink. The bar would close soon, but I wasn’t ready to leave the atmosphere of the lobby behind. I was in my father’s hotel. It occurred to me that I used the label of ‘father’ too loosely. There was no definitive proof that Luke was telling the truth. Beyond his wild, though compelling research, I had to find out for myself.

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

  “Vodka soda please. With a lime.”

  I pulled out the book, The Autobiography of Patrick Blake, a.k.a. Dad, and turned it over to read the back cover.

  “Really?” The bartender laughed, gesturing to my book and setting my drink down. He looked like every other hipster guy in New York City. Dark, slicked back hair and full sleeves tattooed down each arm. “How meta.”

  “Have you met him?”

  “Of course, Blake personally meets with every single one of his employees, from upper management to the bar backs. If you read the book, you’d know that’s one of his secrets to success.”

  A spark deep inside of me warmed at hearing this. Even if the notion that I was sitting at the bar in my long-lost father’s hotel was a little bit insane, it was nice to know that he was a decent person. “What do you think? Is he a good boss?”

  He shrugged. “As good as a bartender in this city will ever get.”

  I flipped open the book to chapter eight, where Luke had pointed me to, titled Losing Everything. The everything that was lost, I discovered, was his unborn child. Blake recounted the surprise and joy he’d experienced when a close friend of his revealed that she was pregnant with his child. He was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the baby when, at four months pregnant, his friend disappeared. Despite his best efforts, he was never able to track her or the baby down.

  Feelings of sadness and compassion for him filled me. Only after reading for fifteen minutes did it occur to me that the chapter was potentially written about me. I gulped my drink, continuing to devour the story of how Patrick Blake had never given up hope of reuniting with his child.

  Then the bartender returned, interrupting my reading. “Another?”

  I looked up, trying to shake myself out of the daze. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment at how little it had taken to get my hopes up. One testimonial from one employee and a few paragraphs in a stupid book had gotten me believing that my alleged father was some sort of saint.

  “Please.” I wanted all of this to go away. I slammed the book shut and spent the last twenty minutes before closing trying to erase all of it from my head. More than anything I ached to be back in the loft with Tomas. I ached to be in his good graces again, to feel his skin against mine, to study the familiar way he looked at me when he was painting me. But that wasn’t an option.

  I closed out at the bar and rode the elevator to the seventh floor, where my room was. Everything about this place bled luxe eccentricity. The centerpiece of the room was a king-size bed with an ornate gold headboard. I collapsed onto it, allowing myself to sink into the soft luxury of the comforter.

  With what little energy I had left, I crawled beneath the covers, curling up in the warmth. As my eyes closed, the last thing I saw before drifting off to sleep was the image of Luke’s face when he promised that he would never lie to me and the feeling I got that I could believe him.

  I woke up the following morning to a single text message.

  TOMAS: I need you home.

  One simple sentence from him was enough to make me jump out of bed and check out of the Jasper before the sun had even finished rising. Even though I’d only had two drinks, my body felt sour with a hangover. Still, when I emerged onto the pavement, I moved quickly. With each step toward the subway, my heart soared knowing that Tomas needed me. It seemed like too much time had passed since he last held me, since I last got to inhale him.

  On the ride to Brooklyn, I determined to be better for him. I’d be whatever he wanted me to be as long
it meant I could be near to him. Only he could soothe me after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. I decided it would be better not to mention it to him though, at least for the time being.

  Once I reached my stop, I couldn’t leap up the stairs quickly enough. The blocks between there and the loft felt like miles trudging through sand. Finally, the building came in sight. I rushed through the front door, only to be greeted by silence. I walked through the gallery and into the living room, where Eden was passed out on the couch. The entire loft was a mess, littered with champagne bottles and cocaine.

  What the hell?

  “There you are, my love.” My love? Tomas wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Where were you all night? We had so much to celebrate.” He kissed my cheek, and then my neck. For the first time in weeks, he was clean-shaven and dressed for business.

  “What do you mean?” I glanced at Eden, wondering why she’d told me to stay away.

  “It’s finished,” he whispered. “The collection is done.”

  I turned to face him, only to be unraveled by the way he looked at me. His hands were scaling up and down the side of my body, luring me into him.

  “Done?” I whispered.

  He nodded, continuing to pepper me with kisses. “My manager is finalizing details for the launch. She says I need to push this out there fast.”

  I stopped to catch my breath. This was the day that I’d been waiting for since the first time Tomas looked at me at NYU.

  “Oh, we need to get you a new dress for the unveiling,” he purred, twirling me around. “I’ll have Angelina take care of everything. Everyone is going to adore you.”

  “Can I see it?” The question barely escaped my lungs. I had no capacity to breathe.

  “I want you to be surprised, my love.”

  In my last seven months living at the loft, Tomas had never spoken to me this way. Pet names were reserved only for Eden. He referred to her as ‘Bunny’ or ‘Kitty’, never ‘my love.’ In the back of my mind, I wondered if his change in behavior had anything to do with her instruction for me to stay away.

  He pulled me close into his chest, leading me in a dance that was set to no music. “You are my best yet,” he whispered. “My masterpiece.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” I sighed, not noticing the tears that fell from my eyes until they were hot on my cheeks, shattering me into a million pieces.

  “Your entire life is about to change.”

  “Because of you. Tomas, you’ve given me everything when I deserved nothing.”

  “You deserve the universe.” He pressed his lips gently onto mine, but I wanted to be devoured by him. Even though Eden was passed out less than ten feet from where we stood, I wanted him in any way that he would give himself. “I’m so sorry if I ever hurt you. I can’t explain it, it’s just how I work.”

  “Every flicker of pain that I felt was worth it to get here.” I laid my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked my hair. I didn’t even care what had taken place the night before, or why there were drugs scattered throughout the loft. I didn’t care that Eden was passed out on the couch instead of in the bed she shared with him.

  “I have to go away for a few days.” His voice dripped with apology. “We’re completely redesigning the gallery for the unveiling and we’re sourcing some stone benches from an artist out west. I don’t trust anyone but myself to oversee the selection.”

  “Let me come with you,” I begged. “It will be a fun trip, just you and me.”

  “Oh, my love.” He took my face into his hands and searched my eyes. “I can’t this time. You have too much to do here to get ready. I promise we will take a trip to anywhere you want after all of this.”

  I was disappointed, but the promise of future plans was enough to satisfy me. Despite everyone’s warnings, Tomas wanted me.

  “I have to get going.” He smoothed his perfectly pressed shirt with is hands. “My flight leaves at eleven, which means I’m running late. How do I look?”

  It was a question he didn’t even need to ask. “Like a masterpiece.”

  7

  Luke

  “What do you mean when you say that you’re incapable of love?” Dr. Knutson looked at me over the thick black frames that had slid down her long nose.

  It drove me crazy when she turned my statements into questions. It had taken me eight-and-a-half sessions to come to that conclusion, and now she expected me to go deeper.

  “Every relationship I have is fine until we have sex,” my throat constricted at this admission. Even though it had been a problem since the first girl I’d slept with in college, I’d never admitted it out loud. No matter how much she prodded at the subject, I wouldn’t go any deeper than that. I couldn’t go any deeper than that.

  “What is it about crossing that line that changes things?” Psychotherapy sure was a hell of a gig. I paid a doctor two hundred dollars to ask these open-ended questions. Still, I guess the joke was on me because I continued to show up each week.

  “I can’t stand to be near a woman after I’ve slept with her. And before you say anything in response, I know you’re going to ask me why, and I can’t answer that. The only thing I know is that I feel hatred towards her afterwards. Any of my built-up self-control goes out the window.” Dr. Knutson was no longer looking at my face. Her glance had fallen to my hands which were now balled into fists, resting on my knees.

  “What do you do then, Luke?” Her voice was gentle now, coaxing me to continue.

  “Cocaine. I mean that’s what I used to do. Now that I’m here in New York with this second chance, I can’t go down that road again.”

  If she asked me one more fucking question I was going to explode. Instead, she continued to stare at me, letting my emotions ruminate in the silence.

  Finally, after what seemed like twenty minutes, she spoke. “Your compulsive work to protect children from sexual predators drove you toward the same behavior back in Chicago,” she said, recalling that detail from an earlier session. “What do you think that experience has in common with this one?”

  Dr. Knutson was making the connections I’d been too terrified to make myself. All the memories I had ignored for so long, or at least had attempted to dull with any substance I could find, rushed to the surface, forcing me to acknowledge their existence. I wanted nothing more than to end the session and get the hell away from my thoughts. The familiar itch to use was gnawing at me from the inside out, overpowering whatever perspective I’d gained in the months I’d spent working with her.

  “Sometimes our subconscious protects us by trying to control our pain externally,” she said, leaning forward in her chair, trying to get my focus back on her. “When we’re not ready to acknowledge the underlying issue.”

  Dr. Knutson was challenging me to go even deeper. To go to the places in my past that I’d refused to visit for so long. The staring thing she did again made the quiet even heavier. In that moment, I knew I had two options; either walk out of the office and fall back into old habits, or sit on her couch until I could will myself to say it.

  “I was six,” I said. “The first time he did it to me, I was six.”

  “When are you going to come back down to the Center?” Joanna interrupted my thoughts, as she set a cup of coffee on my desk the following morning. “Everyone there misses you.”

  As far as ex-girlfriends went, Joanna Taylor was as good as they came. She’d been my first real attempt at dating after Chicago. Our ill-fated relationship began shortly after I started at Watchtower and nosedived after only two weeks of dating when I relapsed and went on a twelve-hour coke binge. Leave it to me to find an accomplished, normal woman willing to take a chance on me, and still screw things up.

  On a night we had a scheduled date, she’d walked in on me hunched over the kitchen counter, mid-snort, just as my nasal passage began to go numb. After flushing what remained of my small stash down the toilet, Joanna scribbled Dr. Kn
utson’s information on a piece of paper and put it on the fridge before she left for good. Forgiveness had taken a great deal of time, but now I was lucky to count her as a friend.

  “Sorry, Jo, things have been a little crazy.”

  “Ah yes, with the secret mission Alicia has you on.” She raised her eyebrows. Ever since Adam’s case had picked up heat, I’d neglected visiting the Hope Center even though it was only a few blocks from headquarters. As the Center’s director, Joanna made every effort to get all Watchtower employees to volunteer on a regular basis. I’d been neglecting my promise to her that I’d stay involved.

  It was the shining accomplishment of Watchtower, a place where missing people could go after being recovered, or escaping whatever prison they were in, to reintegrate into the world. At the Center, they could receive support, healthcare, education, and a place to stay if they needed it. Adam had put Joanna in charge of the entire operation. I still sensed a degree of unresolved tension between us, but it only surfaced randomly.

  “What do you know about it? Have people around the office been talking?”

  “People around here always talk.” She rolled her eyes and flashed a smile. “Especially since Adam has been gone. The rumor is that Alicia is having you open an investigation into his whereabouts.”

  “That’s absurd,” I said. My tone came off with more of a bite than I had intended. The mere suggestion that anyone would probe into Adam’s private life was unheard of. “Look, if Adam isn’t here, it’s because he intends it to be that way.”

  Joanna raised her hands in surrender. “I’m just relaying what the word is in the break room. But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s important. As long as you’re…doing alright.” Ever since I ended things, Joanna had made it a point to check in on me periodically. It was in her nature to make sure I wasn’t fucking up my life. In a lot of ways, she was the only family that I had.