The Lie by Natalie Wrye (primary phonics books .txt) 📕

New name (or, rather, an old one): Lincoln Andrew Fletcher.

New title: Master of the Universe.

New status: Probably pissing his pants in a tuxedo that costs more than most people’s cars.

Fucking lovely.

I decide to grab every item still left in my employee locker—everything I can take because in forty-eight hours, I’ll have to be in the fifth circle of Hell.

Connecticut.

My grandmother’s estate—a place I’d walked out of seven years ago, vowing never to go the fuck back.

My grandfather, long dead, was probably laughing at me from the grave. The only way the old miser wouldn’t be laughing is if he knew my thoughts right now, knew that since the moment his old company’s general counsel called me into his oversized office, I’d seriously been considering actually taking the lawyer up on his ridiculous plan.

A plan the vengeful side of me can actually see myself going through with.

In The Alchemist’s employee area, just out of sight of the extra service people moving in and out for tonight’s event, I march around a corner, heading to my rusted employee locker.

Twisting the combination, I’m almost in the elongated box when a pair of hands circle at my side.

I whip around, instinct making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, my eyes quickly adjusting to the dark.

I notice the red hair first.

Sighing, I shake my head, grateful I didn’t go into full Krav Maga mode on Sheena, the newest server at The Alchemist. I drop my hands to my sides.

“Sheena. Fuck. You scared me half to death.”

“Whoops.” She giggles, that red mouth of hers bright and loud even in the dark. “Didn’t mean to. Just wanted to get your attention.” She lowers her hands to her hips, gazing at me. “What are you doing here?”

I turn back to my locker, going back to work on the combination.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I work here, Sheena… Remember?”

“Well, duh, I know that.” She directs at my back. “But you’re here early. During setup. Regular employees aren’t supposed to be here for another hour.”

I pop the lock, setting it in my pocket. I reach inside the locker.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask.

She smacks her lips. “I got the time wrong.”

I want to tell her that I don’t know how she ever got the time right in the first place. The Alchemist’s new employee seemed like she skipped that episode of Sesame Street, like she couldn’t tell the little hand from the big hand on the clock, if asked.

“Well, gee. Sure wish I could help you with that. But as you can see, I’m kiiiinda in the middle of something.”

I push my uniformed collared shirt aside, finding the pocket knife I’d hidden in the back. I lean down, slipping it in my shoe before Sheena’s voice can ring out again.

“What are you doing in there?”

I exhale, long and slow before turning, realizing I’ll have to do something about Sheena to get her out of here. Out of my hair.

Before she gets me caught.

“I’m getting my stuff together so I can get dressed before shift. Can never be too prepared, can you?”

She licks her lips, the busty bright haired ginger, reaching her hands for my waist. She settles them there.

“No, you can’t be.”

I grab her fingers. “I gotta get ready, Sheena. We’re not even supposed to be here. Alone. Employee fraternization is against Nancy’s policy, you know that.”

She grins, a relatively sly expression for someone with only two neurons firing in that pretty head of hers. She moves even closer.

“Hasn’t stopped us before, has it?”

She smells of bubblegum and cotton, a surprisingly off-putting smell that I hadn’t realized was so sickeningly sweet until now.

But I get the feeling if I don’t give in to her not-so-subtle demands that Sheena can make getting in and out a lot more difficult than I thought.

I only wanted to get my shit and go.

Go before Nancy rips me another asshole.

Guess making it out with only the one is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

I force a smile at Sheena.

“What exactly did you have in mind? I don’t really have a lot of time.”

—

NANCY

Fuck. Where is it?

I’ve searched the bar top to bottom and still nothing. No sign of the little black squares that might complete the look of tonight’s fundraiser and, magically, might change my life.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself since I’m too terrified to talk to the people who might be attending tonight.

Perception is everything. And this may very well be my last chance to show The Alchemist as something worth investing in. Something worth saving.

The fifty-thousand-dollar price-tag over my head is looming, and with little fancy decorations or accoutrements to turn the rustic bar into a sophisticated scene, the employee area closet is my last chance, and I scour the gigantic expanse, a space nearly bigger than my own apartment, with careful eyes, my tiny flashlight bouncing off the wooden shelves and walls.

Opening another set of boxes in search of tablecloths for tonight, I start sifting, my fingers sorting over the soft Italian fabric until I hear a sound that makes my blood run cold.

A sound that seems eerily close to someone entering the employee room.

Shit. I’d know that sound anywhere.

Habit forces me into action and without thinking, I flip the switch to my pocket-sized flashlight, stowing it away. With soft footfalls, I scramble towards the closet’s massive double doors, double-checking that they’re closed and before the sounds of shuffling footsteps come inside, I’m already crouching by the floor, my eyes upturned towards the thin sliver of the gold overhead light affording me a view.

Through the crack, I watch a locker door fling closed, and, through my vision, fumbles two people who—from the looks of things—are scuffling their way farther inside.

Beneath the sound of my own heart hammering, I hear their pants and huffs and groans and wonder what the hell I’m looking at…that is, until I hear