Genuine Lies

alone.
    “Tell me about the project,” Maggie was saying. “I’ll give you my opinion, and then my help.”
    “What project?”
    Both women looked toward the doorway at the sound of the man’s voice. It carried the faintest of British accents, like polish over fine wood, though the man had not lived in England for more than a decade in his thirty-five years. Paul Winthrop’s home was southern California.
    “You’re late.” But Eve was smiling easily and holding out both hands for him.
    “Am I?” He kissed her hands first, then her cheek, finding them both as soft as rose petals. “Hello, gorgeous.” He lifted her glass, sipped, and grinned. “Best damn oranges in the country. Hi, Maggie.”
    “Paul. Christ, you look more like your father every day. I could get you a screen test in a heartbeat.”
    He sipped again before handing the glass back to Eve. “I’m going to take you up on that one day—when hell freezes over.”
    He crossed to the bar, a tall, leanly built male with a hint of muscle beneath his loose shirt. His hair was the color of aged mahogany and was windswept from driving fast with the top of his convertible down. His face, which had been almost too pretty as a boy, had weathered—much to his relief. Eve studied it now, the long, straight nose, the hollowed cheeks, the deep blue eyes with their faint lines that were a woman’s curse and a man’s character. His mouth was quirked in a grin and was strong and beautifully shaped. It was a mouth she had fallen in love with twenty-five years before. His father’s mouth.
    “How is the old bastard?” she asked with affection.
    “Enjoying his fifth wife, and the tables at Monte Carlo.”
    “He’ll never learn. Women and gambling were always Rory’s weaknesses.”
    Because he planned to work that evening, Paul sipped his juice straight. He’d interrupted his day for Eve, as he would have done for no one else. “Fortunately, he’s always had uncanny luck with both.”
    Eve drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. She’d been married to Rory Winthrop for a brief and tumultuous two years a quarter of a century before, and wasn’t certain she agreed with his son’s verdict. “How old is this one, thirty?”
    “According to her press releases.” Amused, Paul tilted his head as Eve snatched up another cigarette. “Come now, gorgeous, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
    If anyone else had suggested it, she would have raked them clean to the bone. Now Eve merely shrugged.
    “I hate to see him make a fool of himself. Besides, everytime he takes the plunge, they run a list of his exes.” A cloud of smoke veiled her face for a moment, then was whipped up into the current from the ceiling fan. “I detest seeing my name linked with his poorer choices.”
    “Ah, but yours shines the brightest.” Paul lifted his glass in salute. “As it should.”
    “Always the right words at the right time.” Pleased, Eve settled back. But her fingers moved restlessly on the arm of the chair. “The mark of the successful novelist. Which is one of the reasons I asked you here today.”
    “One of?”
    “The other being that I don’t see enough of you, Paul, when you’re in the middle of one of your books.” Again she held out a hand for his. “I might have been your stepmama for only a short time, but you’re still my only son.”
    Touched, he brought her hand to his lips. “And you’re still the only woman I love.”
    “Because you’re too damn choosy.” But Eve squeezed his fingers before she released them. “I didn’t ask both of you here for sentiment. I need your professional advice.” She took a slow drag on her cigarette, knowing the value of the dramatic timing. “I’ve decided to write my memoirs.”
    “Oh, Christ,” was Maggie’s first reaction, but Paul merely lifted a brow.
    “Why?”
    Only the sharpest of ears would have heard the hesitation. Eve always had her lines cold. “Having a lifetime achievement award thrust on me started me thinking.”
    “That was an honor, Eve,” Maggie put in. “Not a kick in the pants.”
    “It was both,” Eve said. “It was fitting to have my body of work honored, but my life—and my work—are far from finished. It did cause me to reflect on the fact that my fifty years in this business have been far from dull. I don’t think even someone with Paul’s imagination could dream up a more interesting story—with such varied characters.” Her lips curved slowly, with