Sweet Little Lies

Chapter One

Ivy dragged her coat off the back of her chair, putting it on over the dress she had just changed into as her computer shut down for the day. It was raining as always, the sky dark grey and bleak. Securing her laptop in her bag, she shoved the strap over her shoulder and made her way out. She had sent her administrative assistant home an hour ago, so no one greeted her on her way out. The floor was hers and hers alone, third to the top where her brother, Finn's, office was and then her father's.

Malone Whiskey was one of the premiere Irish Whiskey makers in the country and with her help bringing them into the digital age, they had started to crack the international market. Ivy's social media prowess did not stop with the family business - the socially acceptable one. She also had a decent following of her own on Instagram.

Creating a dream life for her followers had been easy. Every post to the main feed and her story were hand-crafted to fool the public. It also gave Ivy extra income that could not be controlled by anyone but her. Most of the Malone family were too technologically stupid to realize how much money could come from portraying a fake life on the internet.

The elevator ride down to the basement was silent, most people already home for the evening. Ivy knew that there had to be some executives still in their offices, wasting away their lives trying to prove something to a man who just didn't care. Snorting to herself, she remembered that she was no better. It was nearly eight p.m. and she was just now leaving after working on a project for the business that her father would approve instantly without so much as a "good job".

Her Bentley waited for her near the elevator, lot number five reserved for her as it had been the past seven years. The streets were busy, the city alive this Friday night. Pedestrians crowded the walkways and crosswalks, oftentimes getting in the streets due to overflow. Horns honked and traffic slowed.

Practically crawling forward, Ivy called out to her phone, "Call Willow."

Ringing blared through her Bluetooth until her cousin picked up, "Hey, I'm at the restaurant. Astrid ditched again."

Ivy huffed out a laugh, "She with her secret boyfriend tonight?"

"Who else?"

"Do you think we'll ever meet this guy?" She asked.

Willow snorted, "Not at this rate. I think she's trying to keep him aways so we don't corrupt him."

"Us?" Ivy asked facetiously, "We would never."

"Let's take bets." Her cousin said, "I think he's older. Like way older."

"That's a good call. She either thinks he's the one and is just keeping him away from everything or she's somewhat embarrassed by him. What if it's someone we know? Like Brandon or Socks?"

"Socks!" Willow laughed emphatically, "Oh, that would be rich. She's the one that gave him that stupid nickname too!"

Ivy joined in on Willow's laughter. It was true. When they were younger, all the way back in middle school, the three of them had gone to a party at his house. It was the first teen party any of them had attended, and they thought it was so cool. Near midnight, Astrid had snuck into his room on a dare, something about finding "naked magazines" or something as salacious as that.

Instead of Playboy or even Maxim, Astrid came out using one of his shirts as a barrier between her fingers and an almost crystallized sock. The boy was mortified, but the damage was done. Only the three of them, Socks and a few others had actually seen the sight of his cum covered sock, but the nickname somehow stuck. By the time they were going into high school, only the teachers called him by his real name. Nowadays, most thought his name had something to do with his career in back-alley boxing.