Sex Lies & Pearls Read online

  SEX, LIES & PEARLS

  Sex and Lies Book Three

  A Moonlight and Magnolias Novel

  Kris Calvert

  Copyright © 2015 by Kris Calvert

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material form the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at www.calvertcomm.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover by Jim Wilmink, Insignia Design

  [email protected]

  Edited by Mary Yakovets and Molly J. Kimbrell

  ISBN: 978-0-9911386-6-1

  Calvert Communications, Lexington, KY 40515

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my lunch crew for the support and encouragement.

  Many thanks to Robyn and Donna for reading and always giving me amazing feedback and for being the best buddies a girl could ask for.

  Thank you to Jim, my friend and colleague for over twenty years. You are by far the best designer in the world. I’m so privileged to know you.

  Thank you to Mary and Molly, my editing ninjas. You are both so incredibly talented and supportive. I’m thankful every day that you are willing to read, correct and punctuate my life.

  Finally, thank you to my adoring husband, Rob and my two children who aren’t children anymore, Luke and Haley. I love you all with all my heart.

  Books by Kris Calvert

  Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea – Sex and Lies Book One

  Sex, Lies & Lipstick – Sex and Lies Book Two

  Sex, Lies & Pearls – Sex and Lies Book Three

  Lead Me From Temptation – Divine Darkness Book One

  Roses are Wrong, Violets Taboo

  A Tale of Beauty

  Be Mine – a Valentine’s Day Novella

  Sparks Fly – an Independence Day Novella

  Kris Calvert’s Website:

  www.kriscalvert.com

  For my sister, Kim

  An amazing person and my best friend

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Kris Calvert

  Dedication

  Prolouge

  1 Polly

  2 Leo

  3 Polly

  4 Leo

  5 Leo

  6 Polly

  7 Leo

  8 Polly

  9 Leo

  10 Polly

  11 Polly

  12 Leo

  13 Polly

  14 Leo

  15 Polly

  16 Leo

  17 Polly

  18 Leo

  19 Polly

  20 Leo

  21 Polly

  22 Polly

  23 Leo

  24 Leo

  25 Leo

  26 Polly

  27 Leo

  28 Polly

  29 Leo

  30 Leo

  31 Polly

  Epilogue

  Connect with Kris

  Coming Soon: Sex Lies & Lace

  PROLOGUE

  November 14, 1999

  I gathered up my crap for the night. Pajamas – as if I’d planned on sleeping at all, my MP3 player with a night’s worth of party tunes including the new Backstreet Boys I’d downloaded from Napster, and a bottle of vodka I’d swiped from the parental unit’s liquor cabinet. Taking a quick peek out the window of the Fifth Avenue penthouse I’d called home, the cold rain fell steadily onto the busy street below as I watched Vinnie the doorman shelter someone with his huge umbrella as they climbed out of a cab and walked toward the entrance.

  My cell phone rang displaying Jess’s phone number. “It’s about time,” I muttered as I flipped it open to answer.

  “Finally,” I grumbled, foregoing the usual hello.

  “Mags,” she squealed. “I’m so excited. We are going to a real party in the Village. This is gonna be so dope.”

  “Shhh,” I hushed. “Keep it down, Jess. If your parents find out they’ll call my parents and we’re screwed. You need to chill.”

  “Sorry,” Jess whispered loudly bringing down her obvious excitement. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m leaving my place in fifteen minutes, but first I have to walk down the hall and give Mrs. Short her mail. I promised my mother I would do it before I leave to come to your place.”

  “Who is Mrs. Short?”

  “An old lady,” I muttered, thinking of the cranky, gray-haired woman down the hall. “My dad’s tried to buy her place and the washed-up punk rock guy down the hall like a million times so we can just have the whole floor, but he’s crazy and she’s old and won’t budge. She smells weird too. Her whole apartment smells weird…you know, like she’s been making soup. Like, her whole entire life. It’s totally gross, but I’m not making waves. Especially not tonight,” I continued as I looked out the window again, hoping the rain would eventually stop. I’d worked hard on my newly permed hair and I didn’t want to look like I’d electrocuted myself. I needed to be a fly-honey—totally hot and yet so very cool. Tonight I was on a hunt—a manhunt, and Ben Rodgers was my prey.

  “How’s the hot dude in 3F these days?” Jess asked.

  I prided myself on knowing who all the hot men in our building were. I was only thirteen but a girl could dream. “He’s good. I talked to him a couple of days ago.”

  “You really do have some cute guys in your building. I’ve got old people in mine.”

  “Yeah, well, me too. And I’ve got to take one of them their freaking mail before I leave.”

  “So you’re coming soon?” Jess asked again. “And your parents think you’re staying with me tonight.”

  “Yes, Jess,” I sighed as I caught my reflection in the mirror and tossed my blonde kinky hair, catching a strand in the thick pink gloss that coated my lips. “And yours think you’re staying with me.”

  “And Cindy’s parents are gone,” Jess squealed again, causing me to back the phone away from my ear.

  “You’ve got to be cool, Jess. Cindy’s older sister said she didn’t care what we did as long as we left her alone.”

  I smirked at my reflection, proud of the plan I’d hatched for the evening. “I’m hanging up. I’ll be there soon and we can walk together to Cindy’s.”

  “A party in the Village, Mags. A real live party,” Jessie gushed.

  “Just try to hold it together until you can get out of your house, Jess. Seriously, if you screw this up for us I’m gonna be royally pissed.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Bye.”

  I pulled the backpack onto my shoulders over my raincoat, taking one last look into the mirror. I looked good. Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City good. Everything was perfect. Well, it would be if Jess or Cindy didn’t screw it up.

  “Margaret?”

  I heard my mother call from the kitchen as I tried my best to sneak out first and call from the street to explain that I’d forgotten to take old lady cabbage patch her mail, but it was too late. I’d been caught. “Yeah?”

  “What are your plans tonight, young lady?”

  My mother always had this nineteen fifties look about her. She wore a double strand of pearls no matter what, every day. They were a gift from her father and she always told me that someday they would be mine – like I would ever wear pearls. It was so Barbara Bush. No matter what my mother wore she always seemed to be coming out of the kitchen with the perfect little outfit, hair and some sort of apron – and the woman never cooked anything. We had staff for that. We had staff for everything. One of the perks of having a former hedge fund operator and now bank president for a father was that everyone did everything for you. Being an only child, I reaped the benefits of his financial mind which translated into a pretty sweet setup. My parents were loving and supportive and stayed on my ass just enough to keep me out of trouble. I secretly appreciated this fact, but tonight I was looking for trouble. And I hoped if I didn’t find it, it would find me.

  “Yes,” Dad chimed in. “Where are you going in this rain?” He put his magazine down and picked up his glass, no doubt the drink my mother had mixed for him when he came home.

  His eyes twinkled with a mischievous grin and the ice rang out, hitting the side of the Waterford crystal. “Big plans?” he asked.

  I fidgeted with the straps of my backpack and shifted my weight from one foot to the other in a slow, nervous sway. “Not really. Just a sleepover at Cindy’s with Jess.”

  “Aren’t her parents in Tuscany?”

  “Daddy, what is this music you always listen to?”

  “It’s Beethoven. The Moonlight Sonata. Don’t change the subject, munchkin. Answer your mother.”

  “I’m sorry, who’s what’s?” I asked, trying to seem as confused as possible.

  “Cindy’s” my dad interjected with a smirk.

  “This music is sooooo depressing. I could totally make you a playlist that would change your life.”

  “Margaret.”

 
He was tired of my antics, and by not answering right away I’d screwed myself over and needed to fix it quickly. If I showed any signs of lying Daddy’s bullshit meter would go off like a siren. It was his specialty—knowing when he was being taken. Look for the fool in the deal, Maggie. If you don’t find one you better look in the mirror. It was his second favorite saying. His first – Money can’t buy happiness. It merely keeps you comfortable through misery.

  “Her sister is home for the weekend from college, but we’re staying at Jessica’s. We’re just gonna watch videos.” I dropped to my knee and looked away from my father’s face. I knew if he could get a good look at me I was done. “Cindy just got Dirty Dancing on VHS,” I blurted as I pretended to tie my already tied shoe.

  “Dirty Dancing,” my mother repeated. “What kind of movie is that?”

  “It’s about the sixties, Mom,” I droned with frustration. “You know, when you were young and wanted to have fun?”

  “Okay,” Daddy interjected as he picked up his magazine again. “We get it. But keep your cell phone with you in case we want to get in touch with you.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t forget Mrs. Short’s mail,” Mom said as she handed me the stack of envelopes.

  I reached to her for the assorted envelopes only to be pulled in for a hug. “Okay, Mom,” I murmured into her shoulder as she held me close. “I’ll be home in the morning.”

  “Be home in time for brunch, dear,” she said as she kissed the top of my head.

  “Bye,” I continued as I opened the door to the hallway.

  One knock on Mrs. Short’s door and a three block walk to Jess’s place and I was home free.

  “Margaret?”

  I turned to face Daddy, hoping I’d not been caught. “Yes?”

  “Be good. And if you can’t be good, be careful.”

  I smiled and waved as I shut the door.

  Pressing the, I thought maybe I could dump off the mail while the elevator came to the top floor of the building. I knocked on Mrs. Short’s door and waited for her to appear.

  “I’m coming,” I heard her gravel from down the hallway of her apartment. It was my cue that I couldn’t just shove her crap under the door and make a run for the elevator as I heard it ding. I was trapped. I’d have to wait for her to answer the door.

  “I’m coming,” she repeated. I heard the peephole slide as she checked to make sure I wasn’t a rapist and I rolled my eyes. No one came to this floor except my family, the drugged-out ex-rock star – and her. She opened the door and the smell came wafting out.

  “Well, hello Michelle,” she said, her voice creaking more than the door when she opened it.

  “It’s Margaret, Mrs. Short.”

  “Right, right. Well, come in, honey. I’m sorry the house isn’t clean. I’ve been gone a couple of days visiting my sister in Baltimore.”

  I looked around her apartment. It smelled as I remembered – soup. I didn’t understand why the old lady thought her home was messy. It was immaculate. It was filled with old furniture and photos, but it was clean. Everything in Mrs. Short’s apartment looked like she’d decorated in nineteen forty.

  “I have your mail. It was accidentally delivered to our box,” I explained as I held out the stack to her.

  “Just set it on the table, Michelle.”

  I started to correct her and suddenly changed my mind. The old lady wasn’t ever going to get it right and I didn’t know why I cared enough to tell her.

  “Here, have a cookie,” she said as she held out an old china plate with a stack of sugar cookies. For a moment I thought of Hansel and Gretel being lured with candy into the house, never to be seen again. “No, thank you. I really have to be going. I’m meeting some friends out for the night.”

  “Oh,” she sighed as she sat and placed the plate on the ancient coffee table in front of her. “It’s nice to have friends to do things with. I only have my sister Bernice and she’s so far away. I have to take the train and catch a taxi and, you know, the taxi drivers aren’t as nice as they used to be.”

  She was talking to me, but in reality she was having an internal dialogue outside her head. I was merely a witness.

  “Yeah,” I stumbled through the word. “Well, I really should be going,” I said as I stood from the blue velvet chair. I felt a little sorry for her. She never had visitors and I knew from my mother that she’d been a widow for a really long time.

  “Oh,” she sighed as she stood and put a hand to her mouth. “Do you really need to go? You know, it’s raining really hard out there. Do you have a good umbrella?”

  “I have my coat,” I explained as I tugged the oversized yellow raincoat back onto my shoulders where it had slipped off with the weight of my backpack.

  “Let me get you an umbrella.”

  I tried to say no. I tried to stop her. All I wanted was to leave. If I did it abruptly she’d rush down the hall to tell my parents. The last thing I wanted tonight was to get in trouble. Instead, I stood in her hallway and watched her shuffle her feet all the way down the hall and into a bedroom and then all the way back. It was like watching paint dry – painful.

  “Thank you,” I said as I took the old, long-handled umbrella from her shaking hand. I knew I’d never use it. I knew I’d leave it with Vinnie downstairs, but if it was going to get me out her apartment then I was willing to take anything she wanted to shove in my hand.

  “Stay dry, dear.”

  I opened the door just in time to hear the elevator ding. If I hurried I could still make it. “Thanks for the umbrella,” I replied as I waved goodbye and made a run for the shiny doors.

  The weight of my backpack swayed against my shoulders and the closer I got to the doors of the elevator, the more I believed I would miss it again and be waiting another five minutes. The building we lived in was posh, but the elevators were slow and being on the top floor it sometimes took a while for the old machine to make its way up.

  I hurried and slid at the last second on the marble floor, sticking my arm between the closing halves. My hand stung with the pinch of the old doors shutting and reopening and I winced at the pain. “Shit!”

  The doors slowly gave way and I waited for them to open completely. I wasn’t alone.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t think anyone was on here.”

  The man nodded, never making eye contact. He was tall, dark and handsome. I wanted to secretly take a photo of him with my phone, but there was no way to do that inconspicuously. My heart was beating so fast. I felt like I was on the elevator with someone famous. Someone I couldn’t place. Maybe he was a model with a billboard in Times Square or on the cover of GQ. Whoever he was, he was hot.

  I tried to look at him without really looking. His navy pinstriped suit was perfectly pressed. He’d obviously not been out in the rain like the rest of New York. I looked to his feet, knowing at least I wouldn’t be caught checking him out if it seemed as if I was looking at his shoes. Black Gucci loafers – the man had expensive taste.

  I adjusted the straps on my backpack again and fiddled with the long umbrella handle. I took a deep breath and tried not to look at him but he was just too beautiful not to stare a little.

  Embarrassed, I looked to the top of the elevator to see we were only at the seventh floor but steadily moving to the lobby.

  Nervously I pulled at the strap of my backpack and dropped the umbrella. The crack it made as it hit the old wooden floor of the elevator made me jump.

  “Sorry,” I whispered again as I knelt to pick it up.

  I could see my reflection in the shine of his shoes. As I rose I took the opportunity to check out as much of him as I could. I would need to recount this experience with Cindy and Jessica later.

  I picked up the umbrella in the center and felt the scratch of the old Velcro strap under my fingers. I slowly stood, the gleam of his gold cufflink in the overhead lights catching my attention.

  He had something on his hand and as I focused tightly I could tell it was a long jagged scar. His hand looked like it had been sewn together by Doctor Frankenstein. I looked away immediately. It was almost gruesome. What a shame such a beautiful man would have a deformed hand.

  Feeling guilty for staring, I looked to the countdown above the doors again and took a deep breath. We were almost at the lobby.