The Man I Lied To (Arete Resort #1)

Rowan

It was ridiculous.

Coming here had been a stupid idea, and following through on a plan I had zero confidence in was even more stupid.

Checking the time, I grimaced and realized that if I was going to show a shred of sense, I needed to stop before it was too late.

I needed to get up, step outside, and get a ride to the airport. From there I could go home and—

My phone rang, and I frowned at the name on the screen.

“Hello, dear sister,” I said, voice as tight as the expression on my face. “What can I do for you?”

“Sit back down,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, but I could tell from her tone she wasn’t in the mood for opposition.

“I’ve been left sitting here, waiting,” I told her dryly as I looked at the seat I’d just vacated.

“No, your ride is due to show up in the next twenty minutes. Which means you’re staring down the barrel and finally doing this, which also means you’ve riled yourself up enough to get up and leave.

It’s about the right time for you to get up and go,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I bet you were ready to head toward the door or talking yourself into it.”

“I’m more ready to believe you had someone watching me than you know me that well,” I grumbled.

“But I do know you that well,” she said brightly.

“I hate when you’re in a good mood.”

“You hate when anyone is in a good mood.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but neither was it false.

I didn’t dislike it when someone was in a good mood, but I didn’t seek to put them there, either.

People’s moods were tricky, mercurial, too unreliable to devote time to trying to change.

My own moods were irritating enough; I didn’t want to take on the extra effort of someone else's.

Hannah’s good mood came from knowing she was getting the better of me.

She could be one of the most serious, business-minded, level-headed people I knew, but she took too much delight in getting under my skin.

On the job, she was one of the most effective and, at times, ruthless corporate lawyers in existence.

Those who hired her were confident they would get what they wanted, and those on the other side of the battlefield knew they were in for a brutal fight.

Off the job, she was just Hannah, technically my baby sister, and perhaps the biggest bully in my life. She claimed to have my best interests at heart, and that I needed someone to lighten things up, but personally, I thought I could do with a lot less lightening up, especially her kind.

“You can’t stop me leaving,” I pointed out as I sat back down and scowled out the window.

It wasn’t a bad view; the Rocky Mountains were beautiful even from the airport.

But here, a few hours away in a small bus station, with the mountains so close you’d swear you could touch them, the view was breathtaking, and even I had to admit, despite my foul mood, that the snow-touched peaks and clouds dancing around them were beautiful against the placid blue backdrop of the sky. “I’ll leave now.”

She laughed. “You definitely thought about it, but now I’ve caught you in the act, I bet you’re sitting there looking at everything like it’s to blame.”

“No,” I lied, watching as birds flew by the window.

“I want to point out that you agreed to this.”

“Against my better judgment.”

“Mmm, that’s not a compelling argument. Making judgments that aren’t your best doesn’t work in court and is not going to work here either.”

I sighed. “I stand by what I said. This seems like a terrible idea, and it won’t end well.”

“You volunteered to do more...personal audits,” she said, choosing her words carefully, which made sense for a lawyer, but not for my sister.

That told me she wasn’t alone, or at least, someone was near enough that she had to be careful not to give away too much.

That meant there might be family or people who worked for our family around.

The Moores were many things, but upfront and honest?

Not so much. That wasn’t to say my family were coldhearted money-grubbers, well, not just coldhearted money-grubbers; some of us didn’t see the point in snatching every dime.

We were, however, careful in our dealings and ensured that each transaction, relationship, and contract didn’t reflect poorly on us.

That was important when the family existed at the periphery of public attention, something we preferred.

We had holdings all over the world, fingers in dozens of pies, and we avoided scrutiny because the more prominent the target, the easier it was to knock down.

“Better to be the power behind the power of the throne,” my mother had warned me sternly before winking and sliding me an extra piece of cake out of sight of my grandmother.

That might as well have been the family motto because it nicely captured our barely concealed designs for power and dislike of being center stage.

That we even had a motto said how long we’d been around.

It wasn’t a love of secrecy so much as something we maintained for safety and survival.

My family had existed for generations and thrived quietly, specifically because we had kept our heads down.

Other families could rise or fall because their names were too well known, and when something went wrong, the family crumbled.

Secrecy was as much our protection as it was our weapon.

Which was why I was a few hours’ drive north of Denver, Colorado, looking into a potential investment.

More specifically, a group we had already invested in through a larger company—a common tactic for the Moores.

Now and then, a new investment needed to be investigated, or a current one audited.

That could be done through the proper channels, but again, my family liked to do things more quietly.

Sometimes, to check whether an investment would bring in returns, or, more likely, to make sure it wasn’t about to bring unwanted backlash.

“When I volunteered, I wasn’t aware I would need to pull out my non-existent acting experience,” I said, adjusting the seam of my pants and huffing.

“Look,” she said, speaking quietly. “I called to remind you that you can do this, and it’s not going to require anything you haven’t done before.

The only difference is that your last name is fake, so nosy people don’t find what they shouldn’t, and you don’t show everyone why you’re there—standard protocol.

There’s no reason to do any acting, just be your normal, we’ll say charming, self.

” The last was probably said with her trademark smirk.

“Thank you for the reminder,” I said. “As always, you are inordinately skilled at making me feel worse.”

“Oh, do yourself a favor; check you don’t look a mess, because we both know how you feel about looking messy when meeting new people.”

“I don’t think mockery is necessary at this point.”

“I’m serious, get up and check yourself, like right now.”

Sighing, I walked over to where a tall mirror rested just above the floor, making it fine for anyone who didn’t tower over it.

Which meant I had to bend down. I made sure my suit jacket was okay, pulling at it to cover my broad shoulders.

Hunching, my dark features came into view: olive-toned skin and dark eyes, from my mother.

My thick, black hair was from my father, along with a broad jaw and chin.

I was doomed to have thick brows that I worked to keep from getting bushy, as both my parents had them, though my mother had kept hers trimmed for as long as I could remember.

My father always teased me that it was unfortunate my face was made for scowling, and Hannah was quick to point out that, for me, that was fortuitous.

“After all,” she’d add with a grin, “imagine if he had a face for smiling? It would be wasted.”

My dear sister, always able to find the bright side.

“I am presentable,” I said with a sigh, straightening. “Are you happy?”

“I’d ask you the same, but we both know any happiness you feel is fleeting and prone to being buried lest you risk enjoying life.” Credit to her, she sounded fond when she said it. “Feel better?”

“Not particularly,” I muttered, but I suppose I did.

Not because of vanity, though I knew I had a handsome enough face to make up for my dour expression.

Mostly, it was because the idea of showing up somewhere new, where people were expected to heal, looking a mess, was intolerable.

Bad enough that I had to go to some retreat for healing and recovery, even worse if I showed up looking like I desperately needed either.

It was a job, and nothing else.

A car pulled up to the curb. “I believe this is my ride. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Good luck, Mr. Rowan Thompson. I hope your time at the Arete Resort is as fulfilling as it is healing.” She ended the call before I could tell her what I thought.

Sighing, I grabbed my suitcase and made for the station’s doors. The car idling at the curb wasn’t marked, but the driver asked my name when I approached, and once I’d confirmed I wasn’t about to be kidnapped, I let him slide my suitcase into the trunk before getting into the back seat.

“All set?” he asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Yes,” I said curtly as my back seized from long hours sitting still, and I leaned forward slightly as the muscles tried to wage war with each other.

“Alrighty,” he said, just shy of being too perky, but if he was bothered by my short reply, he gave zero indication as he pulled away from the curb, flipping on some music at a reasonable volume.