Twisted Lies 2 (4 page)

“They’re not,” I muttered.

I didn’t feel good about dodging calls from
Nia, the president of the fabric distribution company. Moving
around some of my assets to make the payment would get the bill
paid, but it would also leave me living off of next to nothing
until my collection hit the high-end retail stores. In theory, that
would have worked if they all hadn’t pulled out of their agreements
to carry my line.

“Play this smart, Ms. Michaels. I’ve seen
the newspaper article that touted you as the next big fashion
maven. Don’t let your pride dictate your future.”

With an aggrieved sigh, I pulled out my
notepad. “What’s your email address?”

He reeled off his address. I jotted it down
before saying, “Check your email in five minutes. I’ll send you a
link giving you access to all my online business documents and then
a separate email with the password.” I paused. “Look, I have a
massive five-figure bill for custom fabric I ordered. I’m in a real
jam, and I can’t finish my collection without it. If you could just
handle that first, it would be helpful.”

“All payments have to be approved by Mr.
McKay, so I’d advise you to give him a call,” Kevin stated.

“Why can’t you just deal with it?”

“Because I’m just the accountant. He’s the
boss. So you need to call him.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No thinking. Just do it. Let me give you
his number,” he grumbled.

I rolled my eyes heavenward.

“Sinthia, I’m trying to help.”

“Go.”

Kevin gave me McKay’s number and I took it
down.

“And, Sinthia, stop fucking around. Just
call him.” He hung up.

“It was nice talking to you too, Kevin,” I
replied sarcastically, slamming my cell onto the counter.

***

Hours later, after sketching until my
fingers hurt, I’d had enough of being cooped up in the house. I had
a couple of hours to burn before heading over to my scheduled
appointment at my friend Francisco “Cisco” Rodriguez’s upscale
boutique. It was just enough time to partake in some much-needed
window-shopping.

Stuffing my cell into my pocket, I grabbed
my handbag and stepped out of my townhouse, sighing as the fresh
air caressed my face. I loved this time of year. It was right after
Labor Day, but the air was still sultry with summer temperatures
refusing to quietly go away to make room for fall.

Glancing around my tree-lined neighborhood
only a few steps from Central Park, I ran down the stairs before
skidding to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. I shivered from
the eerie feeling of being watched.

The more I tried to ignore the feeling, the
more creeped out I became. Paranoid, my eyes darted around as I
expected to see my stalker, Jaxon, emerging from the shadows. But
there was nothing, only harried New Yorkers hurrying home after
work.

“I’m totally losing it,” I mumbled.

Deciding to walk instead of taking a cab, I
quickened my steps, pushing my way through the Manhattan foot
traffic. I loved the energy of New York City. I could meander for
hours, but today, I had things to do.

Grabbing a cup of coffee from the coffee
cart, I sipped on it while strolling through the heavy pedestrian
gridlock. Finally, I arrived at one of my favorite upscale
department stores.

I was giddy when I stepped through the
double brass doors, which kept out the hustle of Manhattan, leaving
customers to shop in peace. Like a kid in a candy store, I
practically skipped past the chic cosmetic counters. Some people
would go to yoga class to relax. My vices were grandiose department
stores. I loved to stroll through them, imagining the day my
collection would be prettily featured for women to drool over and
buy. Even though I had clients to see today, I needed this—just a
little me time to dream.

My heart raced with excitement as I wandered
through the store, stopping occasionally to touch a garment that
caught my eye, before heading to my destination—couture heaven.
Riding up the escalator, I arrived at my goal, the prime high
traffic spot on the floor where another trendy designer’s clothing
line was presented like delicious eye candy.

“Someday,” I whispered.

I was so close yet so far. My collection was
almost finished, but with my horrible luck, I would be standing at
the door, looking in with no entry allowed. The only person who had
the power to give me access was Core McKay. One little call—that
was what he wanted. Then my business could resume. He would give me
the rest of the money. It was stupid and illogical not to swallow
my pride and call him, but I knew the call would be a precursor to
a slippery slope.

Core McKay had thrown down the gauntlet. He
was in control, and he wanted me to submit. Just the thought of
rolling over in obedience left a bad taste in my mouth.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the cold
drawl of a woman saying, “Still dreaming, huh?”

I recognized the voice. My body tightened.
It had been years since I heard her hateful icy voice.

Pivoting on my heels, I turned around to see
the one woman I’d never wanted to see again—my narcissistic,
alcoholic mother.

“Hello, Grace.”

As usual, not one strand of Grace’s blond
hair was out of place in her tight bun. Her hourglass figure—large
chest, small waist, slender thighs—was encased in skintight
designer jeans and an expensive-looking silk blouse that showed way
too much cleavage. In essence, she looked like a woman desperately
trying to look young. It was an epic fail.

“Sin,” Grace bit out, wobbling forward.

I scrunched up my nose when I smelled the
alcohol seeping from her pores. Grace was drunk, which was nothing
new. I’d spent my entire childhood suffering under her drunken
tirades and mood swings.

The woman who had given birth to me was
still beautiful on the outside, but from the derisive twisted sneer
of her lips as she looked me up and down with distaste, she was
still a hateful, ugly mess inside.

Grace’s frosty blue eyes zeroed in on my
body. “I see you’re still working on losing those last few stubborn
pounds.” She smiled. “A personal trainer should fix that right
up.”

In other words, Grace thought I looked
fat.

I smiled coolly. I was far from fat. I was
curvy. But from experience, I knew this was Grace’s desperate
attempt to chip away at my self-esteem to feed her insatiable
ego.

That shit wasn’t happening.

When I was a teenager, I would wilt at her
digs about my weight. I would run to the bathroom and purge all my
food, punishing myself for not being a size six like her. But not
anymore. Now I was a confident woman who’d worked years to heal
myself after a lifetime of emotional and mental abuse by Grace.
There was no fucking way she could break me.

I looked back at her with just as much
venom. Then I nodded to the multiple shopping bags she had clutched
in her hands. “And I see you’re still living a life of champagne
dreams on a beer budget,” I said disdainfully.

Grace’s face hardened.

I smirked. I’d heard through the gossip hags
that Grace’s teahouse was nearly bankrupt, and she’d been looking
for husband number two to keep her in the lifestyle she thought she
deserved.

“I’m doing well, you disrespectful wench.
Can’t say the same for you. After all, you’re standing here,
lusting after things you obviously can’t afford.”

I made a face. The woman didn’t know shit
about me.

“Excuse me, ladies,” said a man with a
slightly hoarse-sounding deep voice.

I looked up to see him smiling down at me. I
stared right back with just as much appreciation. Dude was hot as
hell. He wasn’t too manicured or metrosexual. He was well-groomed
with that I’m-not-trying-too-hard look.

Jesus.

“Hello,” he said.

He was looking at me, but it was Grace who
purred, “Hello.” Immediately standing straight while dropping her
bags, she ran her pale fingers over her blond hair.

His eyes skated across her with disinterest
before returning to rest on me with warmth. A nasty frown crossed
Grace’s face. For the first time in my life, I noticed the jealous
gleam in her eyes. She was looking at me all
Silence of the
Lambs
-like, as if she wanted to rip off my skin and wear it
like some fucking fur coat.

He smiled wider. “Sinthia Michaels?”

I turned to face him. “Yes?” I answered.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Nathaniel
Butler,
merchandising manager for women’s
clothing
. Lily Sanchez reports to me.”

I remembered Lily—the energetic buyer from
this Fifth Avenue luxury goods department store—had gushed about
her hot boss. Well, I could see why.

I shook his hand before saying, “Nice to
meet you, Nathaniel. How’s Lily?”

I was distracted when Nathaniel turned our
handshake into a half-handshake and half-caress thing before I had
the wits to pull my hand away. Disgust was clear on Grace’s face as
she absorbed our exchange.

He shook his head. “Hell to work with since
your deal fell through.”

I smiled, knowing Lily’s headstrong
personality. She’d probably staged a one-woman protest. After all,
she was the one who’d pushed for my deal from day one. When Lily
had walked into Cisco’s boutique and instantly fallen in love with
my couture clothing he sold in his store, she’d changed my life
forever. In the blink of an eye, at twenty-three years old, I’d
moved from fledgling darling of the fashion world to having several
luxury goods buyers clamoring to carry my edgy Sin Michaels women’s
wear line in their stores. But when the stores mysteriously backed
away from my deal, Lily had been just as pissed and puzzled as I
was.

“At least I have one person who still
believes in my collection,” I responded.

He smiled. “Two. I wouldn’t have backed her
idea of bringing your collection to our store if I didn’t believe
in you.” He touched my shoulder. “But all of that is water under
the bridge now that your deal is back on the table.”

My mouth fell open. “What?”

Nathaniel continued. “It was unfortunate you
missed the great conference call we had this morning, but your new
business partner, Core McKay, explained you had a meeting
conflict.” He smiled. “He smoothed over all of the management’s
concerns over the viability of carrying your collection in our
store, and he assured us your clothing line will be delivered on
time. It’s a relief to be once again doing business with you,
Sinthia.”

My fists balled up by my sides. “I’m
confused. There was a conference call about my business and my
collection this morning?” I swallowed over the lump in my throat.
“And your store has agreed to carry my collection again?” I was
excited yet pissed about the new predicament.

He looked uncomfortable as he cleared his
throat. “Yes. We’re back onboard with carrying your collection.” He
frowned. “Mr. McKay didn’t inform you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Confusion clouded his gaze before it
disappeared. “Wait, I get it. He did say you’d be dealing strictly
with the creative end of the business and he’d be handling all the
business decisions.”

What in the world is going on?

My mouth compressed into a thin line.
“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. Maybe I misspoke.” He looked at
his watch. “Anyway, I’m late for a meeting. It was nice seeing you,
Ms. Michaels.”

He rushed away, leaving me staring at his
back.

Grace leaned in with a spiteful mask. “So…
having business problems? I’m hiring a hostess at my teahouse. You
could always apply.”

Her tone ignited my temper.

“You can’t afford me,” I delivered between
drawn together teeth. “However, I heard your teahouse is about to
be shut down, so you should worry about your own damn self.” I
smiled coldly. “I think management is taking applications for
clerks upstairs. Run along now and apply.”

I flipped my hair and walked away with a
smile on my face, swaying my hips even though anger was burning in
the pit of my stomach.

How dare McKay just take over my business as
if he owned it!

I couldn’t even see past the rage to the
rational side of what he’d done. He’d smoothed things over with at
least one retailer. All I could focus on was he hadn’t had the
respect to tell me about the conference call and his high-handed
move of telling the retailer that he was now the decision-maker.
This would not do.

I stepped out of the store and ran smack
into the middle of a throng of pushy New Yorkers when my cell rang.
I dug it out of my pocket and immediately recognized the
number.

“Hi, Nia,” I greeted while navigating my way
to Cisco’s boutique.

“Hi, Sin,” Nia responded. “I’ve been trying
to reach you for days. It’s about the shipment of the custom fabric
you ordered.”

“I apologize, but things have been hectic
lately.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. Any delay in shipment of
the expensive custom prints I’d ordered from Nia’s factory in Asia
meant the fabric wouldn’t arrive in time, halting my whole
collection. “I’ll get the money by the end of the week. Look,
I—”

Nia cut me off. “Sin, what are you talking
about? The bill was just paid by your partner, Core McKay. Since
it’s such a big order, I just wanted to confirm the delivery date
so you’d be available to receive it.”

I skidded to a stop. A man bumped into me
from behind, and he shot me an annoyed glare while grumbling for me
to move the hell out of the way. I shot him the bird before walking
over to the edge of the sidewalk near a parking meter.

“What the hell are you talking about,
Nia?”

Nia cleared her throat. “I spoke to Mr.
McKay personally, and he made the payment on your order.”

I paused to calm my wildly racing heart.
“Please schedule the delivery for Tuesday. Thank you.” I hung up,
swearing under my breath.