Mendacious Read online

  Mendacious

  By Beth Ashworth

  Mendacious

  Copyright © 2014 Beth Ashworth

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Editing by Nichole Strauss of Perfectly Publishable

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organisations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. With the exception of the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Mendacious

  men|da¦cious

  1. Not telling the truth; lying.

  2. Based on lies.

  3. False.

  men·da·cious·ly adverb

  men·da·cious·ness noun

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  BETH ASHWORTH

  PROLOGUE

  Surprises always happen in life. I mean, just when you think things are ticking along and you’ve got your head screwed on, it comes like a car crash to ruin your life.

  Now I guess I should have been prepared, right?

  Things had been improving marginally with my shitty job, and I’d managed to secure a roof over our heads. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury we were living in, but it was ours, and we were doing great. Or so I thought.

  But it turns out I was completely wrong about a lot of things and a lot of people, which I guess is why I’m sitting in our poky terraced house, and I’m alone.

  I’ve been staring at the thick, cream-coloured envelope in my hand—the one I’ve refused to open for the last hour—hoping to God what’s inside isn’t real.

  My chest really hurts right now and I’m not sure I even know what to do. I look down at my quivering hands, trying to calculate my next move, but I feel like a complete and utter failure.

  Was I completely oblivious to all of the problems? I honestly don’t know. I thought everything was fine and fucking dandy between us now that she’d had the chance to calm down.

  The envelope crumples under my fingers and I throw it across the room. I’m not opening it. I know what’s inside.

  Call it denial or whatever you want, but I didn’t expect to come home and find my wife leaving me. It feels completely out of the blue.

  And her excuses are a load of shit as well.

  Apparently, I’m not Hugh fucking Hefner and I don’t have a big enough bank account to satisfy the dreams in her head. Her plans don’t involve me working my arse off for minimum wage while I try and carve out a career. She wants to follow her own path and doesn’t want me holding her back.

  But whatever, hey?

  Maybe twenty was too young for us to get married. I thought I’d found my soul-mate, but I guess she didn’t feel the same. What a waste of three years.

  I tap my fingers against the flimsy pine dining table where I’ve parked my sorry arse with a bottle of cheap whiskey from the corner shop.

  “What the hell happened to us?” I grunt, putting the bottle to my lips and knocking back the fiery liquid, allowing the alcohol to burn a path to the pit of my stomach.

  Fuck it. I don’t want to feel anymore.

  ONE

  Seven years later…

  They have royally screwed up this time. Not only have they fucked up the deal, but they’ve lost me a shit load of money as well. And I don’t like to lose money—ever.

  Throwing the report down, I bridge my fingers together and place my elbows on the table. They know what’s coming and I don’t give a toss. My employees know me well enough to know I won’t let something this big slip by.

  “So, who’s responsible?” My eyes flick around the boardroom, hoping to catch a nervous gulp or a worried glance in the wrong direction.

  I’m out for blood.

  “A-Alex, we admit it was a complete oversight on—”

  I raise my hand. “I don’t want to hear excuses, Jack. I want to know who’s responsible for screwing up one of my biggest deals of the year.”

  I’m pissed, but I think I have every God damn right to be. The people sitting in this meeting are some of the most highly paid individuals in this industry because of me, which I think some of them might be forgetting.

  They get paid to deliver results. I expect nothing less than perfection from my team at all times, and I’m not afraid to let heads roll if I have to.

  Bullshit and excuses won’t fit into my world. I hire only the best. Everything in life costs money; why should I waste it on substandard employees? I’m not.

  “It was me. I signed off the deal after talking to some of the team about what to do,” a timid voice squeaks from the far side of the table.

  Immediately, I lean back in my chair and cross my leg with a sigh. Of course it was the newbie’s mistake. I shouldn’t have expected any less from her.

  Bloody Ivy.

  The girl is a little mouse in the big world of investment and asset management. She didn’t have much experience under her belt when I met her. Usually this would put me off, but for some reason, I had been taken in by her ambition and drive to succeed. She was focused but shy; I liked it. I had hired her that day on the proviso only one mistake would be allowed. And today looks to be the day.

  She’s managed to royally fuck-up everything we’ve been preparing for. And I don’t just mean by a couple hundred pounds that can be easily discounted. I’m talking serious cash having gone down the drain. Just thinking about it again has moisture pooling on my palms.

  But of course, it wasn’t completely Ivy’s fault the deal had gone tits up, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that. Regardless of the other party getting cold feet, she still didn’t do the usual level of research I require.

  It was supposed to be the deal of the year for us and my client. After plenty of meetings and negotiations, today was supposed to be the day we signed contracts and merged together. But obviously, things didn’t go as planned.

  Instead, some little cocky twat came in with a higher bid and managed to close the deal in forty-eight hours, compared to the two weeks my team spent bending over backwards and busting their balls.

  Rule number one: Do your research. Always.

  “Why didn’t you do your research, Ivy?” I narrow my eyes at her and catch the slight shift in her body language as she tries to cower.

  Silly girl. She has no idea what she’s doing is only riling me further. I love it when they squirm from the open humiliation. It’s a lesson all my employees go through at some stage. Usually within the first few weeks I try and use it as a tool to open their eyes to the level of perfection I strive for.

  My business is my life. I’ve worked hard over the last few years to get where I am and I won’t let anybody jeopardise it. I am who I am because of my reputation.

  My company produces the big results clients look for
and trust. Along with my team we’ve made this a success. We’re a group of like-minded individuals, focused solely on the business and the returns we achieve.

  “M-Mr. Lewis,” Ivy stammers, a blush staining that perfectly pale coloured skin of hers. “I should’ve known about the Oakley bid. I’m sorry, sir. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

  My expression remains passive, although I’m secretly enjoying every minute she’s struggling under pressure. If I could hazard a guess, I’d say the tears will be making their grand appearance any moment.

  Three, two, one ... bingo!

  She breaks down on cue. Silent tears trickle over her cheeks and splash onto the leather desk mat as she tries to hide her face with shame. The other guys around the table are looking at her with sympathy, but they’ve all been in her shoes before. Nobody moves to comfort her because they all know my reasons. The girl needs to grow and learn from her mistake.

  “One chance,” I warn, picking up my solid silver Montblanc pen, pointing it in Ivy’s direction. “I told you I’d give you one chance. This is your blip on my radar. If it happens again then you know what’ll happen.”

  Out the corner of my eye I spot Sean, my right-hand man and best friend, bristling beside me.

  “Alex,” he mutters, casting a wary glance in my direction. “Is this really necessary—”

  “Don’t question me, Sean,” I snap without moving my gaze. Interrupting me like this isn’t cool. He knows better, so I’m curious to know what’s running through his head.

  “I won’t let it happen again, sir.” Ivy wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and fixes me with a forced smile.

  That’s cute.

  She’s trying to change the subject by saying what she thinks I want to hear. It’s a good try, but it doesn’t work. I always have the final say.

  Rule number two: Don’t ever question me. My word is fucking law.

  This makes me remember why I usually employ qualified and well-experienced individuals. This shit is way too draining to deal with on a daily basis, and I make a rule to myself to never hire a trainee, ever, again.

  That’s the first and probably the last to go on my own list. Not that I’m cocky or anything and don’t think I need to follow rules. But as it’s my company, it’s safe to say I can pretty much do whatever the hell I want. I may make up the rules, but it doesn’t mean I have to abide by them.

  “Jack,” I bark, turning to the other side of the table. My pen comes up to my mouth and I tap it lightly against my lip. “Make sure this never happens again. Monitor Miss. Priest and her work moving forward. No paperwork is to be signed off without your permission.”

  Jack nods.

  “Right, well if there’s nothing further, we can bring this meeting to an end.” I close the lid to my laptop and put my notepad and pen on top. The room is silent—exactly how I like it. The only noise comes from people gathering their stuff and Ivy’s incessant sniffling.

  I roll my eyes as I breeze past and head for my office. She tries to catch my eye, but I’m not having any of it. If she’s looking for an apology or some sympathy then she’s coming to the wrong guy.

  Rule number three: You’re here to work. Leave your personal shit at the door. I’m not your best friend—I’m your boss.

  “Benedict has called four times in the last hour,” Kelly, my overly efficient assistant, advises as she follows into my office and puts today’s post on the side of my desk.

  “No surprise there,” I mutter, putting down my laptop. My suit jacket comes off next, which Kelly takes from me in exchange for a cup of coffee. “Anybody else call at all?”

  She hesitates for a split second, but it still catches my hawk eye. I know her well enough to know she’s feeling uncomfortable about something.

  “Well, your mum called a few times. She wanted to speak to you, but I told her you were engaged in a meeting. She then asked me for some dates in your diary for when you could do dinner.”

  My fingers instinctively reach and pinch the bridge of my nose to quell the sudden headache brewing. A happy dinner date with my mother was the last thing I needed adding to my endless list of stuff to do.

  “She’s been trying to pin me down for the last two weeks, but I’ve been ignoring her,” I sigh, closing my eyes.

  “How does tomorrow night sound?” Kelly smiles as she shakes my suit jacket and drapes it over her arm. “You were supposed to meet Ralph for dinner to celebrate the merger, but with the deal falling through, his assistant called earlier and cancelled.”

  “So you booked my mum instead?” I ask, opening my eyes to fix her with an astounded stare.

  I’m pissed off she’s dropped me into this without even asking. My mother and I haven’t exactly been on the best terms lately. Since she’s decided I need a woman in my life, she’s been constantly calling to discuss potential dates she wants me to meet.

  I love her, but it’s not happening. I’ve done my best to avoid her calls because I know she’s got some girls already lined up, and I just can’t face the prospect of having to wine and dine.

  “Don’t do this again without running it by me first, Kelly.”

  She’s taken back by my tone; I can see it on her face. I should apologise, but I’m not in the mood for niceties today. I feel like everybody’s out to piss me off.

  “A-Alex?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Fucking dandy,” I murmur, rounding the side of my desk and plonking into my seat. “You can leave now,” I suggest, opening up my laptop. My eyes are glued to the screen, so I don’t notice Kelly move—I hear her instead.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  She is certainly working those Louboutins I bought her for Christmas. I smirk at the sass of my assistant. Kelly’s one of a few who can push my buttons without tipping me over the edge. She knows me too well.

  We’ve worked together for the last six years, so she’s seen me at my highest and lowest. She was an assistant to my old boss, an old perverted bastard, before I secured the funding from the bank to kick-start my business. Naturally, the day I handed in my notice, I walked over to Kelly and asked her to do the same.

  It was a risk we were both taking. She didn’t know how well the business would do, and I didn’t know how I was going to pay for an employee before I’d even got things off the ground. But, surprisingly, we made it work.

  Then my best buddy, Sean, joined the team a few months later, and we haven’t looked back since. The company has grown and grown over the years from strength to strength.

  Has it been from luck? Was our timing just right?

  Of course not.

  Each investment was calculated and planned down to the smallest detail. We didn’t have room for error because we didn’t have the funds to dig us back out. It all went from gut instinct and some careful research, but it paid off. That’s why I’m sitting on a gold mine. I worked bloody hard for it. And that’s why I don’t answer to anybody.

  Money has given me power beyond anything I could have imagined. If I think back to what a waste of space I was at twenty-three compared to my life now at thirty—it’s just crazy. But the idiot in this game is definitely not me.

  “What is it, Kelly?” I ask, hitting the button on the flashing intercom panel as I put down my coffee. “I’m due a conference call in about ten minutes time with some prospects in Shanghai.”

  She clears her throat, the sound echoing through the speaker. “I have Benedict on the phone again. He says it’s urgent that he speaks to you.”

  I make a fist and fight the urge to snap back with something cocky. Nothing’s this bloody urgent.

  “Fine.”

  “I’m putting him through now,” Kelly chirps as my desk-phone starts to ring.

  “You’ve got five minutes,” I grunt, picking up the receiver. “Shanghai is calling, and I can’t miss it.”

  “Finally, Alex,” Benedict grumbles. “Where the heck have you
been?”

  “In a meeting.”

  “Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “Did you ... perhaps hear about the Oakley bid?”

  I can’t help but scoff. Seriously, he’s been trying to get hold of me all morning to tell me about the one thing I’ve been trying to resolve? My solicitor must think I’m an idiot.

  “Of course I’ve heard about it,” I snap, “do you think I’ve been living under a rock with my own business? It should never have happened like this. We should have been prepared and on our game, but we weren’t—including you.”

  “W-What are you talking about?”

  “You are the contact for God’s sake. Why didn’t you pre-empt an attack from the bastard? He’s been trying to get into all my business lately. Every company we express an interest in is followed up by Oakley. It’s not sitting right with me.”

  “It’s coincidental,” Benedict says in his full-on Brummy accent that’s getting higher and higher by the second.

  It’s amusing me.

  I’ve lived in Birmingham for almost fifteen years, since transferring to college after leaving school at sixteen, yet I haven’t picked up the infamous twang.

  I’m a born and bred Coventry lad. Growing up in a rundown part of the city, in a council house, my life was pretty much destined for failure from the start.

  But I changed it.

  I saw the lives of the people around me. They didn’t work and stayed at home all day. It wasn’t a life I wanted for the family I knew I needed to provide for.

  My mum and baby sister needed me to man-up and look after them. My prick of a dad walked out on my eighteenth birthday, so I found myself with a big choice to make. Did I go to university and follow my dreams, or did I get a job busting my arse for minimum wage?

  I chose my family and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  Working crazy hours for very little pay became the norm, but at least I was helping to pay the bills. The job was shitty, but I knew it was something I had to do.