The Best Kind of Lie

Leaning on the table, Margot's boyfriend, an executive in our company, gave me a smile, brushing his bangs to the side.

Margot's face was as dark as a thundercloud. Never mind whether he was her boyfriend—I could sum up my opinions of him in a simple sentence: He was the company's clueless, annoying rich heir.

Judging his intelligence based on human standards would be pointless. You'd have to compare him to an ape.

It was obvious that yesterday, in his Maserati, something in his brain snapped, and he became interested in me when he saw me sitting on the back of an electric scooter.

Today became one of those frustrating days. It seemed like wherever I went, he followed. He kept saying things like, "Woman, you've successfully caught my attention."

When I walked out of the women's restroom and saw him still standing there, arms crossed while staring at me, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Mr. Jarvis, I'm sorry, but I have a boyfriend."

"Oh? But you're not married yet, are you?"

I rolled my eyes at him, but he just kept talking, unbothered.

"There's a social gathering tonight. Come with me."

I ignored him and, in my high heels, walked away.

-

It seemed like one annoying thing after another just kept happening.

Later that afternoon, Lance told me he had a dinner meeting and wouldn't be home for dinner.

I sent him a sulking cat meme, and he responded with an innocent puppy face emoji.

Suddenly, I heard a car horn honk behind me.

I'd heard my car enthusiast friend talk about how you could tell the price range of a sports car just by the sound of the horn.

But I was convinced that Tristan Jarvis was driving the cheapest sports car ever.

That annoying rich kid who'd been tailing me all day was now leisurely cruising behind me in his sports car.

"Didn't I tell you? Come with me to the gathering."

The sun had already set, and he was still wearing his sunglasses. I was pretty sure there was something wrong with his brain.

"Ms. Hayes, there's nothing I can do if you choose to ignore me. But… I don't think you want to get fired, do you?"

-

When I sat in the passenger seat of his Maserati, I couldn't help but think about what I had discussed with Lance the night before.

Were rich people really better than everyone else?

At least, for me, someone who was constantly squeezed by money, the answer was yes.

I thought Tristan would take me to a work-related social event.

But clearly, I had underestimated his shamelessness.

He brought me to a private club instead.

The lobby looked fancy, but my impression of places like this was pretty clear: ridiculously overpriced food that only an idiot would pay for, and expensive cars that came and went like they weren't worth much.

They made a few half-hearted attempts at creating some garden scenes and then slapped ridiculous prices on their menus for no good reason.

But, hey, I wasn't the one paying. No matter how expensive, I didn't care.

I was lucky enough to witness how easily rich men could waste money.

I also figured out that Tristan was probably trying to get me drunk.

What he didn't know was that I'd been able to outdrink relatives during gatherings on New Year's Day when I was fifteen, and I'd been drinking straight liquor.

I picked up the bottle and was about to pour myself another drink when I noticed a group of men around me, swaying, clearly already tipsy.

Tristan was hanging on to some of his friends, mumbling something about protecting him.

Pfft.

There wasn't a single person here who could actually hold their liquor.

I stood up, wanting to find the restroom.

This private club had rented out an entire courtyard, and though it didn't look big from the outside, the inside was a maze.

At first, I couldn't find the way.

Later, I couldn't move at all.

Because I spotted someone who looked a lot like Lance.

I paused, wondering if I'd had too much to drink and was seeing things.

I stopped for a moment and followed quietly.

There were two men with him.

I gasped when I recognized them.

At our company's annual meeting, we always invited big names, and I remembered Vincent Talbot because he was young.

He managed the company at home with precision, like someone who had everything under control.

At this moment, the man who had once seemed so untouchable, was now bent slightly forward, lighting Lance's cigarette.

I took a step closer, trying to see if this man was really Lance.

But I ended up bumping into a small stone arrangement nearby. I barely made a sound, but it was enough for the quiet courtyard to echo it.

Before I knew it, I locked eyes with the three of them.

-