First to Lie
Unraveled Book 1
Marie Johnston
LE Publishing
Unmistaken Identity
Copyright 2017 as Unmistaken Identity by Marie Johnston
Developmental Editing by The Killion Group
Copy Editing by Razor Sharp Editing
Cover Art by Secret Identity Graphics
Second edition proofing by My Brother’s Editor and Double Author Services
The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Also by Marie Johnston
Chapter 1
Mara
I strode into the swanky club and stalled. Loud music pulsed through my body and flashing lights bounced off mirrored columns. Beautiful people sipped cocktails and flirted with the equally stunning people next to them.
I so didn’t belong there.
Sam, why’d you have to go and die on me? Guilt immediately poured in. It wasn’t like the man I leased my storefront from, my dear friend, had planned on passing away.
To fortify my nerves, I reminded myself why I was here instead of at home in my Avengers pajamas, slaying some dragon ass on Xbox. Per the notice, I only had forty-five days to close down my comic book shop and vacate the building. The entire strip mall was scheduled for demolition.
Sam Robson’s son must’ve moved on his plans to tear down my livelihood before dirt had even covered the coffin.
I smoothed my hands down my skirt and wished for my favorite Wonder Woman leggings and plaid flannel. My feet screamed in these heels, but at least I shouldn’t get kicked out for being an ugly duckling in a sea of sleek, designer label-wearing swans.
Why couldn’t Sam’s son have met with me like a responsible business owner? Why couldn’t Sam have finished the paperwork that would’ve taken care of everything and given me the building?
I’m sorry, Mr. Robson isn’t in the office today.
Wesley Robson’s bitchy receptionist had said that line for the last five days. First, the coward had served me papers on Friday afternoon, then he’d been “gone” all week. If he thought to avoid me, he was an idiot. I’d meet his unprofessionalism with my tenacity. To start with, I’d remembered Sam telling me his son owned a nightclub.
And here I was. At Canon. Of all the definitions of canon, which one had he named his club after? I doubted he used religious connotations in the name of a nightclub. In my world, canon discussions varied depending on the universe being discussed. Comic books? Superhero movies? Video games? Yeah, those worlds totally went with this swanky place…
I glanced around at the design and decor of the club. Upscale. Like the high-end retail shopping and luxury condos planned for where my store sat. What was this look called? Industrial contemporary. Another term I’d heard Sam throw around. I’d learned so much from that man.
Six months of mourning his death gave way to a spike in anger. He’d told me he’d take care of it, that my business would never be threatened. The papers that gave me the Heart of Downtown strip mall had been drawn up and…that was as far as it had gotten. He had loved my comic book shop, Arcadia, almost as much as I did.
Squaring my shoulders, I forced one foot in front of the other. As I passed the bouncer, he slid his gaze down my bare legs, up to my plunging neckline, then behind me to the next scantily clad woman. He had plenty to choose from, and, as always, I was forgettable.
I sighed. No wonder the fanboy world was where I stayed. Most days, comic book worlds were preferable to mine, and my customers brightened each hour I worked. Hell, they were my only friends.
I scanned the club as I wound my way around mirrored columns to the bar. Throngs of young professionals left their business jackets behind and bounced in beat to the music, their ties loose and neck collars unbuttoned. Dark booths lining the walls—I was almost afraid to look—were filled with laughing men and women, elegant drinks in their hands. As the night progressed, I was sure the activities in those booths would get more salacious.
The bar anchored the middle of the club and I chose a seat on the same side as the door. A prime view of every corner.
The bartender gave me a once-over. “What can I get you?”
“I’d like to talk to Wes if he’s around.” Maybe acting like I knew him would help. But what if he went by Wesley?
The guy cocked an eyebrow. “He’s not here.”
A ready-made answer. A lot of women must make the same request. Perfect. The guy was a player. At least that might mean he harvested his bedroom fun from the dance floor and would make an appearance.
Ugh. I hated lingering at bars.
What the hell did people drink when they went to places like this? Mixed drinks? I didn’t know any. Beer? I liked it with pizza. “I’ll have a glass of white wine.”
There. That sounded classy.
He rattled off a list of brands, his tone bored.
I gave him a succinct smile. “Surprise me.”
He poured my wine as he made a phone call. My lips flattened when I noticed he’d chosen bottom shelf. Was I that obvious? I wasn’t penniless, but I did pinch the copper out of them.
He slid the glass in front of me and moved down the line, taking orders.
Sipping my drink and watching the crowd, I waffled between ordering a second glass and going home. Could I tolerate sitting at the bar, wasting time, while my mind vacillated between finding another location for my store and giving it up to work for someone else?
I shuddered. Giving someone power and influence over me?
Not again.
I had to hunt Wesley Robson down tonight, didn’t want to waste more time on my search. As it
