Page 1 of Lying Lainey

one

Lainey

There are two types of people in the world. Those who let their circumstances dictate who and what they become and those who say fuck it and choose to make the life they want by any means necessary. I’m the latter.

Born to an addict, an Alpha no less, my mother lost me the moment I took my first breath. I was handed over to the foster system before she could even name me. Really, I should be thanking her for being such a fuck-up and exposing me to the reality of the world.

It’s been thirty-two years since that event occurred, and damn, if she could see me now. Here I was walking down the steps of the most exclusive high-end hotel in Marlios, wearing a gown that cost more than the average person’s yearly salary. That’s not even adding in the accessories that went along with it to complete the whole look.

It hasn’t all been ball gowns and roses, but the life I’ve lived thus far has taught me many valuable lessons and skills. However, I will admit my mother did teach me the most important lesson in life—never count on anyone to look after you, they don’t give a shit. If I hadn’t been forced to own that truth and do what was necessary to build the life I deserved, who knows what dead-end town or job I’d be stuck with. At least now I had a life I could control, and provided me everything I could ever want. To me, that was the true measure of success.

“Good evening, Ms. Emmalina. Mr. Gilani wanted me to inform you that he’ll be meeting you at the gala,” the driver greeted as he opened the limousine door for me.

“Thank you, Walter,” I said, slipping into the limo, trying to mask my irritation at his words.

I spotted my favorite brand of champagne on ice, ready for me to pour a glass which surprised me. Then I noticed a note tucked into a large bouquet of purple flowers—Emmalina’s favorite color—the man had been paying attention. Plucking the note out of the bouquet, I flipped it open.

My petal,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to pick you up tonight as I promised. This new drug launch needed a bit more of my attention. I hope these flowers make you smile as you have made me smile these past weeks. Can’t wait to see you in that dress.

~ Z

I smiled at the letter but not for the reason he’d thought I would. This simple note and gesture made all my fears vanish about my snookums getting bored of me. I’d been playing a risky game of hard to get, drawing out the anticipation of what was going to happen tonight. Zarin Gilani ran one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies, Blissmeds, and they were about to launch an off-brand version of a competitor’s drug that would crush the competition. The thing about it was that Zarin stole intellectual property from an intern who used to work for him. That intern felt undervalued, so he offered the competition his idea, and they ran with it. That drug became a game changer in the medical field, making Pharmigo the number one pharmaceutical company. Blissmeds started to lose stock and loyalty until they announced the creation of this off-brand version.

Furious, the CEO of Pharmigo hired me to get nice and comfy cozy with Zarin so I could plant some information. Specifically, this information would flag doctored findings of the data they collected during the drug trial. It was a report that the authorities were required to read in their final review happening on Monday. Once that was uncovered, the drug would be rejected, Blissmeds investigated, and Zarin Gilani would lose millions. Pharmigo would remain on top, I would get a hefty amount of money deposited into my account, and we’d all be happy.

Well… not Zarin.

As a con artist specializing in manipulation, counterfeiting, stealing, planting evidence, and occasionally, blackmailing, I keep busy. With each new contract, it’s important I make it clear my customers are paying for the end result—nothing more. They don’t get to dictate anything other than who the target is, what the end result needs to be, and the deadline. If they want the best female con artist in all of Breona, they’ll do as I say, or I’ll cut my losses. They need to understand I’m in high demand, and if I don’t like a job, I don’t need to take it. There are always more jobs waiting for me at the snap of my fingers.

Over the past five years, there’s only been a few times a client has refused my rules. Typically, it’s because they want me to promise certain things on top of the end goal. Such as ruining a marriage, making sure they are blacklisted in an industry, or ensuring they are left destitute and will never recover. This is where I need to explain none of this is personal to me—it’s strictly business. All I care about is what I might get out of the transaction on top of the cold hard cash in my pocket. Some understand, while others can’t see past their anger and find someone else.

The limousine pulled up to the museum where the gala was being held. An attendant came to the limousine and opened the door for me, extending a hand. I took his offered assistance, making sure I led with my left leg to show off the dramatic slit my dress had. The man gave an audible gulp at the sight, making me grin. It was always smart to test your effect on a stranger to make sure you nailed your desired response. Tonight, I wanted Zarin to think of nothing else other than taking me back to his home and stripping me out of this dress. I’d teased him for almost two weeks, ensuring he would follow through tonight so I could finish the job.

I gave the man a sweet smile before I tucked my clutch under my arm and adjusted my fur stole. It was spring, but the nights in Marlios were still a bit chilly, being the northernmost city of Breona. Marlios was the third largest city in the province and the epicenter of all the medical companies. This made it a rich city as well as a favorite of mine to work in.

My stilettos click-clacked on the museum’s marble steps, alerting the door attendants that someone was approaching. They each gave me beaming smiles as I passed through the double doors and into the museum entry. This was normally the space you bought your ticket before proceeding into the museum’s main room. I paused before a woman in a simple black dress with a tablet and an earpiece telling me she was an event coordinator. The gala had started earlier, but I’d suggested we go slightly later to avoid the press and overwhelming crowds.

“Good evening. May I see your ticket, please?” the woman requested.

“Unfortunately, my date has them, and he’s meeting me here. The name is Zarin Gilani,” I explained. “I’m more than happy to wait—”

“There’s no need for that,” she said, cutting me off. “Mr. Gilani reached out to us and said you’d be arriving before him. I’ll just need to see your ID to confirm you’re the person he said would be joining him.”

“That’s wonderful. My name is Emmaline Cresswell,” I shared, pulling out my ID. There on a carefully crafted counterfeit was my smiling face, fake name, address, and the mark of being a Beta.

In our hierarchical society, a person can be born as into three designations—Alpha, Beta, or Omega. The moment your designation presents itself during puberty, your life and future are categorized. Alphas are the best of the best, the cream of the crop, so to speak. They have all the advantages in appearance, education, and society, which is why the majority of them make up the top one percent of the wealthy. This gala would be predominantly Alphas in attendance, with maybe a few Betas if they were lucky, and the rest would be Omegas, the preferred female partner to an Alpha since they’re the only ones who can give birth to another Alpha or Omega.

She glanced over it quickly, handing it back to me. “A Beta, I’m impressed. You should teach a class or something on how the rest of us can become a whore for a rich Alpha like Mr. Gilani.”

I couldn’t blame her for being a bitch, since Betas got the shit end of most deals. However, that didn’t mean I had to take it either. Just because I could pull off something she couldn’t didn’t give her the right to act like a cunt.

“That’s the thing…” I started, pausing to give her a look from head to toe. “You either have it, or you don’t. No one can teach class.”

The woman’s jaw fell open at my brash words, but I didn’t give a shit. Betas might be the middle-lower class of our world, but many have made a name for themselves. If she wanted to have a better life, then she needed to be the one to fucking do something about it. Yeah, Betas were less desirable for Alphas since they could only produce Beta children, but I knew plenty of packs with Beta lovers as well as an Omega.

“Well, you have a good rest of your evening,” I said, offering her a dazzling smile as I snapped my clutch closed. She muttered a few choice words under her breath, but it simply proved my point. She didn’t have enough of a backbone to stand up for herself, and there was nothing I could do about that for her.