The Little Lie of Mine

Maya’s POV 

“I’ve assigned you as the lead consultant on the case, Jenna.”

James pushes his glasses higher on his nose, his fingers tapping anxiously against the desk as he looks up at me.

“You’re the best fit we have, and the project’s guaranteed to bring us the kind of clients we desperately need.” He leans back in his chair with a pointed, impatient sigh. “It’s also from the government. So it’s not like we can say no to them.”

If he’d asked me before he made the decision…

But he didn’t.

I inhale slowly, folding my hands in my lap, pressing my thumbs together to keep from snapping. “I’m not saying you should turn it down,” I say carefully. “But I’m sure someone else on the team can take over as lead. I can coordinate everything from here—handle the framework, delegate the reports.”

James raises an eyebrow. The polite part of the conversation is over.

He folds his arms, and I know that look. I’ve seen it during every client pitch, every quarterly review, every time someone even suggests challenging him.

I’m about to be on the receiving end of one of his infamous lectures.

“Jenna,” he starts, voice clipped, “you’ve been with this company for three years. You’ve built half the systems we’re using on that project, and no one—and I mean no one—can read risk like you. This contract is top-tier, backed by a government directive, and flagged as sensitive. That means they want the best.”

He leans forward, tone softening—but only slightly.

“This is it. The contract that could take us from surviving to thriving. And you’re worried about fieldwork?”

I don’t respond right away. Because it’s not fieldwork I’m worried about. It’s the scale of the contract. The name of the group I’ll be auditing. 

Moretti Group. 

It’s the fact that it reminds me of the one man I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try. Lucien Moretti. 

He might still be behind bars, but I’m not stupid enough to conclude that he can’t reach me from afar. 

I’ve worked hard to remain under the radar that I’m not willing to risk exposure, even for the government. I had to change my name to Jenna Carr, move cities and abandon my job at the CIA. 

I was willing to do anything it took to keep him from coming after me. From coming after my daughter. 

Taking a job as a security consultant was the closest way to keep tabs on him…and anybody else he might send after me. So far, I’ve learnt that Lucien Moretti operated alone and had many enemies.  

It doesn’t mean I’m completely safe, though.  

“Miss Carr,” he uses my last name, briskly. “I’m willing to assign you an assistant, but you’ll have to make an appearance at the Moretti headquarters. After that,” he flicks his wrist, “you can relegate your duties to whoever. I need Internal Affairs to know that I have my best man on the job.”

One meeting. I can handle that. 

It’s not like they’ll be looking into me specifically—as a target. If anything, it’s James’s head on the table, because he’s the CEO and founder of the company.”

My head dips slightly. “Okay.”

“Now,” he clicks his tongue. “I have other things to do, so…”

I’m being dismissed. I turn, taking his cue, and make a beeline for the door. I have one foot out the threshold when he adds; “Oh, did I say the meeting is today? By three pm?”

My eyebrows jump as my neck snaps to the side. “Today?” My voice sounds like a restrained shriek. 

He nods, unbothered by the last minute info-dump. “Yes. Today. I’m sure you’ll do a good job. Take Andrew with you.”

Then he turns away, putting me out of sight. I groan, mumbling every retort I would’ve given him, under my breath as I storm through the hallway. 

Today?  

James isn’t the most put-together person I know. Heck, my four-year old could draw up a schedule and stick to it better than he could. 

But he’s not the worst, either. His disorganized attitude has helped me work around several events that would’ve pushed me into the public’s eye, including giving credit for projects to my colleagues. 

I didn’t think it’d bite me in the ass. 

“Fuck.” I run my fingers through my hair as I stand in front of the elevator, watching the numbers rise. 

“Who spat in your bean curd?” I spare the person beside me a brief glance because I already know who it is. “It’s a reference from Mulan,” he explains. “1998.”

“I know, Andrew,” I reply dryly, pressing the open button. “I watch it with my daughter every Friday night.”

The doors open with a ping and a woman steps out. I walk in and Andrew does the same, hitting the button for our floor. I lean against the door with a quiet, shoulder-drooping sigh. “What’s wrong?” He asks. 

“Nothing,” I mutter. Everything.  

“Is it the project?” He nudges. “I know the Morettis have quite the reputation, but I’m sure most of it is all smoke and mirrors. I mean, who makes it obvious that they’re the mafia nowadays? Ten years ago, I would’ve believed it. But the CIA and the FBI have taken down most of them and the others have gone underground.”

He offers a reassuring smile, but all I see are two rows of very white teeth and a cocky attitude. “I’m sure they’re behind the rumors—trying to scare us off. But don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you. Your knight in shining armor.”

I snort quietly. 

Rumors? 

Lucien Moretti wasn’t a rumor. I thought I knew enough about him from the files I read, until I faced him that night in Barcelona. Until I walked into his villa, into his arms…into his bed. 

The worst mistake of my life. 

Yet the memories have clung to my thoughts, drifting past my senses every now and then, like sandalwood and sweat on our naked bodies. 

Like the words he murmured in my ear as my fingers raked down his back and his tongue did things to me that shattered every boundary I thought I had. Things that wrecked me from the inside out Desire coils hot in my belly, spreading like fire beneath my skin.

An involuntary, breathless gasp slips past my lips as the fire builds like a slow, intoxicating ache. It slides lower…then clenches. Desperately.

“Jenna?”

“Mm?” 

“Aren’t you getting out?”

I blink quickly, snapping out of my reverie. My legs tremble when I take a hasty step forward, desperate to escape my own mind. I stumble, reaching out blindly to find balance and twisting an ankle in the process. 

“Steady now.” Andrew takes my hand. “We don’t want you showing up to the Moretti’s with a broken ankle. We’re supposed to intimidate them.”

Then I should’ve broken my ankle. 

Why couldn’t I have broken my ankle? I moan. 

Because it would’ve been another reminder that Lucien was right when he said I wouldn’t forget him, as long as I lived. 

I yank my hand from Andrew, straightening as I clear my throat. “I’m fine,” I say tightly. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?” He asks. But I’m already hobbling away to my office, forcing my better foot to do the work. I slam the door to my office shut and make the short distance to my chair, sinking on it. 

“I’m fine,” I murmur as I press my palm against my forehead. “I’m okay.” My hands are clammy and my vision is slowly turning faint, but I swallow hard, taking deep, steadying breaths. 

I’m fine. 

It’s just one meeting. Andrew loves the spotlight, which means I can push everything on to him. I’ve perfected the act of blending in—wearing clothes with neutral shades, keeping my head low but not too bent and how to keep my smile between polite and friendly. 

If something should go wrong, I have an emergency bag. 

Fake passports. New identities for Arianna and me. We’ll be halfway through the Pacific Ocean before anyone thinks to look for us. 

“But it’s not going to come to that,” I tell myself as I brace my hands on the desk, staring fondly at the only personal effect I allowed myself to keep in my office—Arianna’s picture. “It’ll be a walk in the park and life will continue as normal.”