Jessica Lemmon

One Night, White Lies


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Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Nineteen

       Twenty

       Twenty-One

       Twenty-Two

       Twenty-Three

       Twenty-Four

       Twenty-Five

       Twenty-Six

       About the Publisher

       One

      London-born Reid Singleton didn’t know a damn thing about women’s shoes. So when he became transfixed by a pair on the dance floor, fashion wasn’t his dominating thought.

      They were pink, but somehow also metallic, with long Grecian-style straps crisscrossing delicate, gorgeous ankles. He curled his scotch to his chest and backed into the shadows, content to watch the woman who owned those ankles for a bit.

      Reid might not know women’s brands or styles, but he knew women. He’d seen quite a lot of women in high heels and short skirts, but he couldn’t recall one who’d snagged his attention this thoroughly.

      From those pinkish metallic spikes, the picture only improved. He followed the straps to perfectly rounded calves and the outline of tantalizing thighs lost in a skirt that moved when she did. The cream-colored skirt led to a sparkling gold top. Her shoulders were slight, the swells of her breasts snagging his attention for a beat, and her hair fell in curls over those small shoulders. Dark hair with a touch of mahogany, or maybe rich cherry. Not quite red, but with a notable amount of warmth, the way a tree ended its journey from burnished gold to deep russet in the fall.

      He sipped from his glass, again taking in the skirt, both flirty and fun in equal measures. A guy could get lost in there. Get lost in her.

      An inviting thought, indeed.

      When the opportunity to attend a technology trade show in San Diego, California, arose, Reid leaped at the chance. He’d been on high alert for the past two years, ever since his best friend, Flynn, survived a divorce, his dad’s death and elevation to president of his company all within a relatively short period of time. Reid worked at said company, liked his job, respected the hell out of Flynn and wasn’t willing to step away until the situation was sorted.

      This trip to California was looked upon as a break by Reid and a necessity by Flynn. They’d implemented a lot of changes in the past twelve months, and Reid was intent on making the tech side of the company shine. He was the self-appointed King of Information. Data made sense to him.

      So did women.

      The brunette spun around, her skirt swirling, her smile a seemingly permanent feature. She was lively and vivid, and even in her muted gold-and-cream ensemble, somehow the brightest color in the room. A man approached her, and Reid promptly lost his smile, a strange feeling of propriety rolling over him and causing him to bristle.

      The suited man was average height with a receding hairline. He was on the skinny side, but the vision in gold simply smiled up at him, dazzling the man like he’d cast a spell. When she shook her head in dismissal and the man ducked his head and moved on, relief swamped Reid, but he still didn’t approach her.

      Careful was the only way to proceed, or so instinct told him. She was open but somehow skittish, in an outfit he couldn’t take his eyes from. And he wasn’t the only one looking. Upon a second glance around, he saw that there were, in fact, many men looking at her.

      Most were in clusters with one another, clinging to their own. The company Reid worked for had sent him alone, atypical since he worked closely with his best friends from college, but he didn’t mind flying solo. He was a Singleton, after all.

      At Monarch Consulting, they shared the goal of helping other businesses grow and perform better. Flynn Parker—the aforementioned inheritor of the firm—was in charge and, while a bit straight-edged, definitely the best man for the job. Gage Fleming was in charge of sales, a good fit since he leaked charm like a noxious gas. Reid fancied himself a blend of both men, which was why they got on so well. The fourth musketeer, Sabrina Douglas, had been the bestie and plucky sidekick for years but recently became Flynn’s wife-to-be. A kick in the nuts since Flynn was the one who initiated a pact with Gage and Reid never to wed in the first place.

      But Reid couldn’t deny that Sabrina and Flynn were meant to be together. It was obvious that they were in love, even to a cynic like Reid. Gage had agreed and they’d released Flynn from the pact, leaving Reid and Gage to hold strong.

      Until Gage met Andrea Payne, a consultant superhero with strawberry-blond locks and a cunning smile. They were quite the dynamo couple, Andy and Gage. Their wedding was scheduled for next June. Flynn and Sabrina hadn’t set an official date, but Reid guessed that announcement was forthcoming.

       Weddings, weddings everywhere.

      No matter. The breaking of the pact by both Flynn and Gage wasn’t something Reid took personally. He’d decided a long time ago never to be married for a mountain of reasons he wasn’t going to turn over in his head now. Gage’s and Flynn’s saying “I do” weren’t going to change his mind.

      Another swish of the brunette’s skirt paired with her stepping from the dance floor. She aimed those tall shoes right for him. Reid reached up to straighten his tie, forgetting he’d tossed it on the bed in his hotel room along with his jacket. He settled for tugging his collar instead.

      In his beige slacks, pale blue shirt, brown belt and brown leather shoes, he resembled every other man in the room save for a few slight differences.

      Reid was thirty-one, not in his forties or fifties. He had a head full of wavy dark hair, no signs of male pattern baldness whatsoever. He also had a face that was perplexingly handsome,