Besides, there's something else.

I know that I should put my feelings for him away, but I simply can't. I need closure.

I need to know why he lied.

I need to know why he deceived me.

A few days later, I finally cave. I meet up with him not far away from my office, in downtown LA.

It's a two and a half hour drive for him, but he acts like he lives around the corner. He promises to be there at one.

I get to the restaurant early and ask to be seated next to the window looking out onto the busy street outside.

It's a casual dining place as far as the restaurants in this part of town go. Everyone around here caters to the people working in the big buildings, but this is one of the few ones without white tablecloths.

I run my fingers over the wood grain just below the place setting and wonder what I'm doing here. I'm not giving him another chance.

So, why am I talking to him at all?

I tell myself that it's because I'm a journalist. I want to get a quote. I want him to confirm or deny certain things about my story.

Deep down, I know that's not the only reason why.

I had left so suddenly and without explanation that I feel like I owe him something.

He also owes me something.

“Hi,” Liam says, walking up to me.

He's dressed in a well-tailored slim cut suit that accentuates his lean physique.

He is tall, dark, and dashing.

He has perfectly smooth skin and hair that is only a little bit out of place in that casual unkept sort of way that's incredibly sexy.

Sitting down across from me, I watch the way his Adam's apple moves up and down. His eyes meet mine and my breath stops in the back of my throat.

Not long ago those eyes looked at me in that same way when he was lowering himself on top of me. I want to be back there more than anything again, but I know that it cannot happen.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Liam says.

“Thanks for making the drive out.”

He is about to say something else and then I realize that I'm not the only reason why he's here.

Of course, how stupid of me.

It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is my story and getting to the bottom of his lies.

“You’re meeting with Alex again, aren't you?”

He starts to say no but then thinks better of it.

“Yes, I am. I wasn't going to, but when you finally asked me to come, I thought that I would take the opportunity to come here and save myself another trip.”

I look down at my plate and then back up at him. I don't know what I wanted him to say.

I guess I wanted an apology.

I also feel like I owe him one as well.

“You left that day without saying a word,” Liam says.

It's an accusation but also a statement of fact.

“Yes, I did,” I admit.

“Why?”

“I found out the truth about who you are and I was startled.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not Liam Parish. You’re Liam Linville. Although your driver's license says that your name is Peter Schmidt. Why?”

“You had no right to look in my wallet,” he says.

“I know.”

We glare at each other, but neither of us moves. A waiter comes by and asks for our orders. I haven't even looked at the menu.

Liam asks him for more time.

I turn my attention toward the menu and decide to order the first thing that I see. Then I wait for him to decide on his dish.

He moves his eyes over the menu very slowly, reading about each plate and debating about the best choice.

I know that he's stalling. I know that he's trying to buy more time. That's okay.

I like that I can make him uncomfortable.

“I don't know what you want me to tell you, Emma,” he finally says, taking a sip of his cold water.

The ice clings to the glass and makes a loud bell-like sound.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” I say.

“I want to, but how do I know if I can trust you?”

This takes me by surprise.

No, this must be just another line, I decide.

“Trust me with what? Why are you lying?”

The waiter comes back and we place our orders. Then he picks up his knife and looks at his reflection.

“You already wrote one article about me that you had no right to write,” he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you the truth for a long time. I really like you and I really enjoyed the time that we spent together.”

“But?” I finish his thought.

“But… The truth is a secret that would endanger my life if I shared it.”

I roll my eyes and say, “What a liar.”

“I'm not a liar,” Liam says quietly. “I knew that I should have never gone to Alex's party, but we ran into each other. I missed being my old self. It was nice to have someone in my life who knew me for who I used to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It grounded me,” Liam continues, ignoring my question. “I don't know how to explain this to you, but everything that I told you is true and also untrue.”

“Okay, you said you wanted to meet me here to answer my questions. Well, you're not doing any of that.”

“I am here and I will answer your questions as best as I can. But first…”

“What?” I say, getting annoyed.

“You have to promise me that everything that I tell you is off the record. That means that you can't use any of this information in your stories. You can't write anything else about me.”

“Why?”

“If you do, then it's going to put my life in danger.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, exasperated.

The waiter comes back with a plate of finely breaded onion rings that Liam ordered.

My mouth starts to water and I grab a piece of one, unable to stop myself.

“I don't know where to start,” Liam says, leaning back in his chair. “I don't think we should be having this conversation, but I wanted to see you again. I missed you. You shouldn’t have left like that, but I understand why you did.”

“Wasn't safe,” I say categorically. “Perhaps still not, but at least we’re in public.”

“I will never hurt you,” he says in a quiet tone of voice. The way that he looks at me with those big, sad eyes, I can't help but believe him. Questions continue to linger though.

“You don't know where to start so why don't I?” I suggest.

He nods.

“What's your real name?”

“Liam Linville,” he says quietly.

“Did you testify against your uncle in a Medicare fraud case?”

Liam's eyes flash up to mine.

There's a tinge of shock in his gaze, but after a few moments he lets out a deep sigh and gives me a brief nod.

“You can't publish any of this. I'm telling you this as a friend,” he insists. “Nothing more. If any of this is published, I'm going to deny it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I agree. I never had any intention of publishing this. I just want to get to the truth.”

This seems to appease him and he lets out a sigh of relief.

"Who is Liam Parish?” I ask.