Deceptive Innocence, Part Two Page 5

  “What?” Travis snaps. “You had already slept with him by then?”

  I don’t answer right away. Travis still has his back to me as he glares down at the lesser skyscrapers beneath us.

  “He—he . . .” I stutter. “He told me you would be okay with it. He promised me that this wasn’t the kind of thing that would upset you at all. He said I should just let him handle it and it would all be fine. He . . . he promised me, Mr. Gable.” Travis turns just as I dramatically slump into a chair. “Please, Mr. Gable, I honestly didn’t mean to keep anything from you. I . . . Oh, God, I can’t believe how badly I screwed this whole thing up. I mean, on the one hand I promised him I would let him tell you—and I’m so good at keeping confidences, I swear I am—but if I had known that he was going to keep it from you for this long . . . I mean we’ve seen each other three times in four days . . . I thought for sure . . . And if I had suspected for a moment that he wasn’t going to tell you, then I would have not only let you know but I would have also broken it off with him! I mean, I’ve only been seeing him for about a week now and you’re my employer! Obviously my loyalty lies with you!”

  I’m rambling . . . by design. Let him think I’m flustered.

  Let him think he can manipulate me.

  Let him think that his brother already has.

  “I. Don’t. Understand.” Travis pronounces each word separately, as if they aren’t connected in a sentence. Almost as if he’s creating one of Lander’s anagrams. “Why would he keep this from me?”

  I shake my head, dab my eyes with my sleeve.

  “What do you two talk about?” he asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  Travis just looks at me, refusing to repeat the question. I shrink back into the chair and shake my head.

  “We talk about all sorts of things,” I say. “Politics, food, history, and pop culture . . . And work, of course. He’s had a lot of questions about my work for you and Jessica, but I suppose that’s to be expected.”

  “You’ve only worked a day and a half for us.”

  “True . . . He wanted to know all about the interview. He had lots of questions about my first day with Jessica. He was really interested to find out what my first day would be like working with you, asking if I would be helping you with bank-related business, or if you would be meeting with any clients or investors during the day, and if you would meet with them on-site or not. He was just intensely curious. Of course I certainly won’t tell him any of that and I absolutely won’t tell him about today’s errand. I doubt he’d believe it anyway,” I say with a nervous laugh.

  “No,” Travis says, his voice completely cold. “You won’t tell him about that.” He then shakes his head, absorbing. “I knew something was up with him. He’s been too nice of late. Too accommodating.”

  “Well . . . he is your brother. Is it really so strange that he would want to accommodate you?”

  “You don’t know Lander,” he snaps. “You may know who he is in the bedroom, but there’s not a soul on earth who knows what’s going on inside his head. Although I’m beginning to suspect . . .”

  His voice trails off, and his eyes glaze over as his thoughts move outside the room to wherever Lander is.

  “Suspect what?” I ask softly, wanting to share in his mental journey.

  “I want you to keep seeing him.”

  I don’t say a word.

  “Yes,” Travis continues, “don’t let him know there’s a problem at all—”

  “You ask too much.”

  Travis stops short and stares at me with dawning surprise.

  “I bought what I thought were drugs for you. I even tasted them, although I didn’t want to. It’s not for me to judge what your recreational activities are. And if you want me to stop seeing your brother I’d understand. I can see why that might interfere with our professional relationship. But you can’t tell me who I should sleep with, or continue to sleep with. I choose my lovers; no one chooses them for me.” I take a deep breath before adding, rather dramatically, “I’m a lot of things, Mr. Gable, but I’m not a whore.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “It was implied.”

  Travis studies me, trying to find a way to cajole me to do the very thing I already have every intention of doing. But he doesn’t know that. It’s essential that this always feels like the setup is completely his idea.

  “Lander told me that he was going to talk to you,” I continue. “He misled me at best and lied to me at worst. Why would I want to continue to see someone like that? I’ve only gone out with him a few times. He’s a passing fancy . . . it’s not like it’s love.”

  “There is no such thing as love,” Travis mutters, almost more to himself than to me.

  “I think . . . I think you might be right about that,” I say, and they’re the first honest words I’ve ever uttered to Travis. We sit quietly for a minute or two, both of us thinking about all the things that have brought us to that conclusion. It’s disconcerting to realize that perhaps Travis has been hardened and molded by circumstance rather than by nature. If so . . . What if this is the brother I have the most in common with? Was Travis ever kind? Hopeful? Is there a part of him underneath all that darkness that’s good?

  Ah well, it doesn’t matter now. I don’t have time to analyze the thoughts and feelings of the enemy soldier.

  “If you and I—” I break off, immediately regretting the initial framing of my argument. With an embarrassed smile I start again. “If it’s true that there is no such thing as true love, then that’s just all the more reason not to keep around a man who would be dishonest with me. There are other men who are just as pretty as he is. Men who won’t complicate my professional life.”

  It almost makes me laugh to listen to myself. I’m talking about my “professional life” as if I’m a surgeon or a partner in a law firm, not a personal assistant to a drug addict and her Tylenol-snorting husband. But I do like the way Travis listens to me when I talk about my job this way.

  Travis grabs a chair that’s against the wall and drags it next to mine, taking a seat beside me. “There’s a reason you’ve spent so much time with Lander over the last few days,” he says. “I grew up with the man, I know how fun he can be. I know he can be clever, and his dry sense of humor always keeps everyone laughing at dinner parties. He’s a tennis player, but I always thought he should give golf a go. Not because he’d be good at it but because so many people would be eager to hang out with him on the course.”

  “He is a charmer,” I say with a little smile.

  “He used that against you.” Travis’s eyes slide past me as he stares off into space. “He does that sometimes.”

  “Most men do.”

  Travis smiles—it’s the smile of a fox. “You’re a smart woman, Bell. I can see that. You see Lander for what he is. A charmer, a deceiver . . . a typical man. So if you’re going to be with a man, why not be with him for a while? And why not give back a little of what he’s given?”

  “You’re talking about revenge,” I say calmly. “But he hasn’t hurt me . . . not unless you fire me for this.”

  “It’s not revenge, it’s survival,” Travis reasons. “Survival is finding ways to use the people who would use you.”

  “Ah.” I smile to myself. I’m fairly sure that Travis thinks everyone on this earth is trying to use him, in which case we’re all fair game.

  “Enjoy him, Bell. Use him. It’s what he planned to do to you, so there’s nothing to feel guilty about. You don’t have to give anything up and you can gain so much.”

  “What can I gain?”

  Travis smiles, shrugs. “That depends on what secrets you can pry from him.” He reaches over and puts his hand on my knee. His touch makes my skin crawl.

  “It’s just a little game of espionage,” he continues. “We could have fun with it.”

  “A game of espionage,” I repeat. “Or, if we employ your philosophy, this would be a bit like the game of survival.”


  “Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

  I nod calmly as I feel the spark of excitement. Thanks to Travis’s bizarre and rather extreme litmus test, I have already proved my loyalty to him. Now I can prove my usefulness.

  It’s funny, though, his thinking that I would seek revenge for something so petty as a simple deception. I would never do that. I have a much higher bar.

  My phone beeps and I pull it out of my bag to find a text from Lander.

  “He knows I’m here,” I say out loud to Travis, the surprise in my voice genuine. “He wants me to meet him on the fifth floor, room 552.”

  “It’s a conference room. It should be empty about now.” Travis stands up, offers me his hand to help pull me to my feet. “Meet him. See what he wants and call me afterward.” Again he smiles . . . such a wide grin doesn’t fit well on his face. It’s false, and a little grotesque. “Like I said, we’re going to have fun with this, Bell.”

  “Yes,” I say, grinning back, matching him tooth for tooth. “I actually think we will have a lot of fun.”

  chapter five

  Lander is exactly where he said he’d be, room 552. He’s leaning against a long table, his arms crossed, his foot tapping impatiently. Yet even in his impatience there’s something . . . kind. Yes, there’s something kind about him.

  Minutes ago I betrayed this man’s trust . . .

  . . . but then can you betray the trust of a man who doesn’t trust you?

  “You didn’t tell me you were coming here today,” he says as I enter the room, quickly closing the door and locking it behind me.

  “Travis called me in at the last minute,” I explain.

  How would Lander react if he knew that I had just made sure that his own brother didn’t trust him at all? Would he lash out at me? Would he reach out to Travis in solidarity?

  Would he hate me?

  “And what did you do for him?” he asks, his voice dripping with the assumption that whatever I did, it wasn’t platonic.

  “I told you, it’s not like that. I work for him, that’s all.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “That’s because you didn’t really ask me a question. It was more of an accusation.”

  He looks away, muttering something under his breath.

  I study his profile. Was there ever a woman who looked at this man who didn’t also want to touch him? How unfortunate for him that he gave that permission to me.

  If I needed to justify my recent actions beyond the parameters of revenge, I could point to the fact that Travis really shouldn’t trust Lander any more than Lander should trust him. All I’m doing is pulling on a string that has already begun to unravel.

  When Justice calls the brothers’ names and their lies are laid bare for all to see, they’ll have no one to blame but themselves.

  So why do I feel guilty?

  “How did you know I was here?” I ask quietly.

  “I was told that Travis was meeting with his personal assistant,” he says, before adding with a bit more acidity, “a meeting that ‘couldn’t be interrupted.’”

  Funny, I think, your father obviously wasn’t given that same message, but I keep that observation to myself.

  “I get why you’re upset,” I continue. “You still don’t know me very well, but you do know your brother and . . . well, I can see why you’re suspicious of his intentions.”

  “What do you mean?” Lander asks sharply.

  I pause for a moment, suddenly a bit off-balance. I had planned this exchange. I had been prepared to lie to him by telling him that his brother was lecherous and generally up to no good. But the thing is, Travis has made lying unnecessary. Not only is he awful, manipulative, and sexually aggressive, but he’s also crazy. Any man who would send me out to buy Tylenol disguised as cocaine has to be seriously whacked in the head.

  So Travis has turned my lies into facts . . . now I just have to decide which facts are the most useful.

  “Your brother is . . . a bit aggressive,” I say slowly. “He’s made it pretty clear that he wants me. Lots of innuendo and all that. But I told him . . . I told him that while I wanted to work for him, I wouldn’t be his whore.”

  Lander’s jaw tightens, making him look all the more like his brother. “What did he do?”

  “Like I said, it was just some innuendo, a few accidental brushes of his hand.” I use my fingers to make quotation marks around the word accidental. “But he heard me, Lander. It’s been dealt with.”

  “It’s sexual harassment and it’s illegal.”

  “What—shall I report him?” I ask with a bemused smile. “Do you think the district attorney of New York City will drop everything if a personal assistant reports that her boss leered at her? Or maybe you’d like me to go to the media? Do you think this is a story for the New York Times?”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Last night you practically called me a whore, and now you’re offended that some guy thought he had the right to leer at me. I’m sorry, Lander, but yeah, I do think that’s kinda funny.”

  “I didn’t call you a whore, I called you—”

  “A courtesan,” I interrupt with a smile “You’re right, I’ve misquoted you.”

  “Did you?”

  I shake my head and slip my hands around his waist. “Your brother doesn’t respect women. Having that so clearly out in the open actually makes things easier. With him I know where I stand and what I have to deal with.”

  Lander pulls away. “You don’t have a problem with being disrespected?”

  “If he treated me with respect, I might resent you for asking me to spy on him. As it is, I don’t really mind.”

  Lander doesn’t answer. Instead he moves away from me, his eyes on a promotional poster explaining how HGVB’s customers should always be treated like family. I can’t imagine handing over my money to someone who would cause me as much pain and grief as my family has, with my disappearing father and a mother who consistently partnered up with men who hurt her and all that, but perhaps whoever conceived of the poster had a different life experience.

  “As flawed as he is, I want . . .” His voice trails off for a moment as he studies the poster. “I want my brother to be successful and happy. If he’s doing anything that might stand in the way of that, I want to be in the position to help him . . . redirect.”

  I smile, impressed with the skill with which he delivered that fabricated sentiment.

  I move up behind him; lifting myself up on my tiptoes I manage to rest my chin on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I say lightly, “but what you’re asking of me? It’s not a request inspired by brotherly love.”

  Lander chuckles. It’s the soft sound of acknowledgment. “Why are you doing this? I told you I could get you another job . . .”

  “But you don’t really want me to take you up on that now.” I gently turn him around and lay my hand on his cheek. “Do you?”

  Again he doesn’t answer.

  I move in a little closer. “He’s hiding something from you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got a glimpse of an email he was sending to his father—”

  “Our father.”

  “Of course,” I say with a placating smile. “Like I said, I only got a glimpse, but it was something about some HGVB client. And your father had written that he agreed it was ‘unwise to bring Lander into the loop.’”

  Lander gives me a skeptical look.

  I shrug and pretend to think about what I read. “Does the name Talebi mean anything to you?”

  It’s a name I found in the sketchbook Lander uses as a diary. It could be nothing . . . but it’s worth testing.

  “Talebi,” Lander repeats slowly.

  Again I shrug. “I could have gotten that wrong . . . but the client’s name . . . it was something like that. I really didn’t get anything else.”

  “That’s useful,” Lander says, his eyes moving past me as new thoughts and ideas flicker through his mind.

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nbsp; “Just promise me you won’t let Travis know I gave you that information,” I say, taking his hand. “Protect me, Lander.”

  Lander laughs lightly. “It’s like being asked to protect a great white shark.”

  I give him a wry smile. “Well, we are listed as a vulnerable species.”

  “Yes, vulnerable.” Lander glances toward the door as we hear the passing voices of people walking through the hall. “Vulnerable and so misunderstood.” His eyes move back to me. “I compared you to Mata Hari.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “But that’s not who you are, is it?”

  I shake my head, bite my lip. “What finally clued you in?”

  “Mata Hari was working for the Germans. But that’s not you. You’re much more like me.”

  “Mmm, how so?”

  “You’re like me in that you’re only working for yourself. I don’t know why you’re spying on Travis for me, but I have a feeling it has more to do with your anger than it does with some desire to please me.”

  I feel my heart sink into my stomach as I release him and take two steps back.

  But his expression is gentle as he reaches out and gently holds my chin, guiding my face toward his. “Does your anger spring from fear? You’re scared . . . of what? Are you scared that if you let people get too close they’ll hurt you? Or is it that you think you’ll hurt them? Tell me, Bell. Have you ever hurt someone you care for? Maybe even someone you love?”

  “Stop.” The word shoots out of my mouth before I can suppress it. This isn’t a turn I want the conversation to take.

  His fingers lace through my hair, running through the waves of black. “I suspect you believe that all men are enemies in one way or another.” His gaze moves from my eyes to my lips. “That’s all right,” he says softly. “I’ll change your thinking. That’s already starting.”