Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy #2) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,67

stop. Looks aren’t everything. And age really is a number. For all I know, Howard Devlin is a lovely, kind, generous man who’s a tiger in bed. A guy who treats Isabel like his queen. Plus, who the hell do I think I am to judge any woman for being in a relationship with a wealthy, powerful, older man? Come on, Georgie. A girl who lives in a glass house—or, in my case, a house with a whole lot of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hollywood Hills—shouldn’t throw stones.

I read a bit more on Howard Devlin and suddenly realize I’ve seen his face before. But where? I pause. Stare at the wall. And, then... Oh, yes! In that photo spread from CeeCee’s fiftieth birthday party!

I pull out my color copy of the article and scan the photos... and sure enough, Howard is standing in a group shot with a slew of music and movie stars. Wow. How crazy is that? Isabel and Howard were both at that party ten years ago. Is that where they first met? Or is this a case of future spouses crossing within inches of each other, never realizing it? Isabel wasn’t a successful actress back then. Not even close. Plus, Reed was at that party, too. So, it wouldn’t surprise me if Isabel and Howard never said two words to each other that night.

On the other hand though, Isabel had to have had acting ambitions back then. Did she spot Howard, a famous movie producer, and try to charm him, or was she too young and inexperienced to recognize him at a party attended by far more recognizable faces?

And what about Howard? Did he spot Isabel that night, from afar, perhaps when she was talking to a young, gorgeous stud in an Armani tux, and think to himself, One day, that woman will be my wife?

Okay, my imagination is running wild now. But, regardless, I make a mental note to ask Isabel about that party. I doubt there’s any sort of “written in the stars” or “love at first sight” angle there in regards to Isabel and Howard, but, still, I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least poke around to find out.

Peter Hennessy. That’s the next name on the list. And one I don’t recognize. But when I google the guy, and see his photo, I palm my forehead. He’s Henn! Reed’s nerdy-looking best friend from college. When I met him at the bar, he instantly put me at ease with his authenticity and sweetness.

Hannah Hennessy. Henn’s wife, I assume. I google and find out she is, indeed, Henn’s wife—an adorable brunette with glasses who works in the publicity department of a movie studio... the same studio owned by Howard Devlin, as a matter of fact. Huh. What a small world! Or is it? Did Reed have something to do with Hannah getting that job? Did Reed pick up the phone and use his connections to help Hannah get an interview? Because that’s exactly the kind of thing I could see Reed doing: pulling strings behind the scenes to help his best friend’s woman get her dream job . . .

Ping.

A murky thought raps gently at the back of my brain. Ping. The thought is like a soft cotton ball lobbed at me from ten feet away...

It’s only a blurry idea at the moment, tugging at the outer fringes of my consciousness. But before the cotton ball hardens into an actual pebble, my phone buzzes with an incoming text that makes me squeal and forget all about the fuzzy thought gently pinging in the back of my head. It’s a message from Alessandra that reads:

I’m at Reed’s front gate, baby! LET ME IN! It’s time to pre-party like ROCKSTARS before we party with ACTUAL ROCKSTARS! (But first, a sandwich. Please. For the love of all things holy, I’m starving.)

Chapter 27

Georgina

“Oh my God,” Alessandra says, gaping at the seven gleaming cars lined up before us in Reed’s massive garage. We’re at the last stop of the house tour I’ve been giving Alessandra for the last thirty minutes. And Alessandra is clearly as blown away by the spectacle of Reed’s glittering car collection as she was the rest of the house.

I lead her down the row of vehicles, expertly rattling off whatever I know about each make and model—all the same factoids Reed told me during my house tour, plus some stuff I think I might have made up—and Alessandra “oohs” and “aahs” and makes snarky comments

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