Fidelity Files (39 page)

I could feel my breathing get very shallow. The seriousness in his voice alarmed me. Actually, it scared the shit out of me.

"What's that?"

Jamie fidgeted again, shifting his weight around as if he were trying to get comfortable before the start of a three-hour
Lord of the Rings
installment.

"I've debated telling you for a while."

I swallowed hard. "Why's that?"

"Because I think it might upset you."

"Okay," I replied softly, preparing myself for what I already knew he was going to say. I knew it immediately. He was coming clean. He was going to tell me the truth. No more lies. No more deceit. No more pretending that he didn't have a wife back home. This was it. The one thing you wouldn't find in the story of a famous French king and his mistress... honesty.

But the question that spun through my mind at nearly a mile a minute was: Did I want to hear it?

At this point, would telling the truth really set him free? Could he be forgiven? Would it make everything all right?

Or was it already too late for that?

It would certainly destroy the assignment.

But then again, on any other assignment, when the subject stops the course of action to admit that he has a wife, and then politely excuses himself, it's considered a pass. It's a reason to rip up his failed inspection card. Frankly, that's only happened a few times. Most of them admit they have a wife, and then upon seeing the look on my face that says "Yeah... so?" they proceed, anyway.

But like I said before, I couldn't compare Jamie to any of the others. He wasn't like any of them. And I certainly wasn't the same girl I had been with any of them.

Ashlyn had been invited along on this trip because I had so desperately wanted her to help me through it, but she had barely made an appearance. She just didn't seem to fit into the equation.

Jamie took a deep breath and then scratched the side of his face. His mind was searching for words. I could tell.

He finally looked me straight in the eye and said, "There's a chance I might have to cut the trip short."

I stared at him blankly. What did he just say? I didn't hear any mention of a wife in that sentence. Maybe the wife part was coming next. As in, "I have to cut the trip short because my
wife
is expecting me." Or "Because my
wife
needs me to go to some dinner party with her." Maybe even "Because my
wife
asked me to pick up some stuff at the dry cleaner and I forgot."

So I painted on a disappointed expression and took the bait. "Oh, no! Why's that?" I asked.

He tugged nervously on his ear.

Here it comes,
I thought.

"Because the client is having second thoughts about hiring our firm. Apparently, there's been a last-minute counteroffer by another company that came in far below our bid. They might pull the plug and go with someone else. And there's really no reason for me to be here if they're not going to hire us."

My mouth dropped open as I listened to him continue to ramble incessantly about the odds and ends of signing on new clients and requests for proposals and other crap that I managed to tune out.

"And they're right. I mean, there are at least three other clients back in L.A. that need my attention. You know how people can be. Completely fickle. Especially when they're spending this much money on something. One minute you're the hottest firm in the industry and the next minute you're colder than a corpse on
CSI.
"

"What?" I was finally able to get out.

Jamie tilted his head to the side, seemingly confused as to what part of this whole thing was still unclear to me.

"That's what you wanted to tell me?"

He frowned. "Yes. Why?"

I tried to wipe the bewildered expression from my face, but it was like trying to clear your windshield with a broken wiper. "So we're going home early?"

Jamie sighed. "See, I knew you'd be upset. I'm really sorry. I should know for sure tomorrow. I would say we could stay. Just the two of us. But if they pull the plug, my firm is gonna need me back in the office right away."

I nodded numbly. "Right."

"Nothing's for certain yet. I'm just giving you a heads-up. I didn't want to mention it earlier because I thought at least we could spend a nice day together."

I managed to close my mouth and begin to gather my thoughts. "When would we have to leave?" I asked, trying to sound understanding.

"The day after tomorrow," he replied ruefully. "Of course, you're welcome to stay if you want. I just have to go back. I don't have a choice."

I was quiet. Not really sure what to say. And not really sure if it would even come out the way I wanted it to if I
did
have something important to contribute.

As much as I've made a living off of being able to read men's minds and predict certain behaviors, I've always said that people are never 100 percent predictable. And Jamie had proven that to me – numerous times. I had been wrong about nearly every aspect of him. And every time I had tried to predict his behavior, I was left with the same feelings I felt brewing inside of me at this very moment.

Surprise. Confusion. Disillusionment. And then, eventually, a total loss of control.

That's why you remain unemotional. Indifferent to the outcome. Completely neutral as to whether your mind-reading capabilities are accurate or not.

Because if you never anticipate, if you never feel hope, you'll never be caught unaware. It was a lesson I'd prided myself on learning, committing to memory, and following like a commandment.

But somehow tonight, and with every minute I'd spent with Jamie since that fateful trip back from Vegas, I'd managed to forget it. I'd managed to forget a lot of things lately. And I wasn't happy with the results.

I'd never been a big fan of uncertainty, and I thought I had figured out how to avoid it. Now it was chasing me down a dark hallway with no doors, no windows, no light switches.

Jamie reached out and patted my hand. I flinched. Something I've never done on an assignment. I attempted to play it off by flipping my hand over so that we were palm in palm.

"Sorry to bring it up," he said, interlacing his fingers with mine. "But let's not worry about it until it's certain. Okay?"

I smiled pleasantly. "Okay."

Jamie leaned across the table and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. "So tell me, how do you know how to speak French so well, anyway?"

I looked away, refusing to meet his glance. Instead I pretended to be distracted by all the Paris nightlife starting to fill up the street. I had always hated lying to him. But tonight, right now, something was different. A voice deep inside was telling me not to care. It was the voice of hostility. Bitterness. And even resentment. He had already lied to me. He'd been lying to me from day one. Every moment that we were together and the subject of his wife didn't come up was a lie. The trust had already been smashed to pieces. And he was holding the sledgehammer.

So what did it matter anymore?

"I studied it in school," I replied casually.

"Wow," he replied. "That's amazing. Most people who learn it in school don't retain any of it. But you seem to have a really good handle on the language. I've heard it's extremely hard when you have no practical application for it."

"Well, I
do
use it, okay? What's with the twenty questions?" I snapped violently.

My sudden outburst surprised us both. I shrank back in my seat with embarrassment. Jamie blinked and stared at me, waiting for the punch line. Because that's what we do. We joke. We banter. We go back and forth, for hours. Playing off each other. Inspiring each other.

But the punch line never came. I simply sat back in my seat and surrendered my hands into my lap.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—" he began cautiously.

"No," I quickly interrupted him, frustrated with myself that I had let my emotions escape. Especially when they never do. Especially when they were always so well contained. Always guarded, twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Because evidently, like members of the French monarchy, they couldn't be left unattended.

"It was me," I insisted gently. "I apologize. I guess I'm just feeling a bit jet-lagged."

Jamie looked at me with uncertainty. "Okay. Are you sure?"

I waved my hand in the air. "Yes. Completely."

"Is this about...?"

"It's not about anything," I said hastily. And then covered it up with an agreeable smile.

Jamie nodded slowly and looked at me with tender eyes. They were filled with so much genuine compassion that it almost made me want to throw my napkin down and storm away from the table, yelling something like, "You're a cheater, so start fucking acting like one!"

The waiter brought our entrées and I quietly picked up my fork and began to shovel small pieces of steak tartare into my mouth.

"Well, I guess we're both tired," he admitted, watching me frantically stuff my face with raw beef.

"Mmm-hmm," I said with a mouthful of red meat. I swallowed. "I'm exhausted."

I guess deep down I always thought Jamie would save us. That he would tell me the truth before it was too late. And then maybe, just maybe, there would be room for forgiveness. After all, it seemed to be the word of the week. But it was obvious to me now that there was only one way out of this trip: for Jamie to fail his fidelity inspection. Honesty was no longer an option, as he seemed to have no idea what the word actually meant.

Jamie was right that the trip would be cut short. Because tonight it was show time. The black-and-pink lace bra and matching panties I was wearing under my skirt and sweater would certainly do the trick. If all went according to plan, I would be sleeping in my own hotel room tonight and on the next flight home in the morning.

"Well, we'll just eat fast and head straight back to the hotel," Jamie offered sympathetically.

I grabbed a piece of bread from the basket on the table and took an oversized bite as I replied to his comment with an empty smile. "Perfect," I said sweetly.

JAMIE KISSED me as soon as we entered the hotel room. It was a much-needed relief from the relatively quiet taxi ride home. I suppose we each had a lot on our minds. I was thinking about getting back to the hotel, stripping down to my sexy bra and matching underwear, and getting this damn inspection over with. He was, ironically, probably thinking about bras and panties as well. Or the lack of them.

I'm sure he took my silence as a sign that I was upset about the possible shortening of our trip. If he only knew how a shortened trip to Paris was the
last
item on my list of things to be upset about today.

His kiss was passionate and purposeful. As he pressed his body into mine and we fell onto the bed, it wasn't hard to speculate about what that purpose was. And my mind was immediately set at ease.

See,
I told myself.
He
is
a cheater.
All this time worrying about how I would feel if he refused to have sex with me. It was pretty obvious from the hard bulge forming in his pants that he was far from refusing.

He eagerly reached down for the bottom of my sweater and began to pull it upward. Our kissing stopped only long enough for the sweater to slide over my head, and then his lips desperately lunged back for mine as if we hadn't kissed each other for a year – or longer.

I began to unbutton his shirt from the top.
His
fingers started at the bottom, and when our hands met at the middle button, I quickly slid the shirt off his shoulders. He twisted his body to help remove it faster.

Every action, every removal, every touch couldn't be done with more impatience. We had both been waiting so long to get to this very moment... but for different reasons. And now that it was finally here, there was no doubt that neither of us wanted to wait any longer than we had to. Clothing was only an aggravating obstacle at this point.

When I was finally down to my bra and underwear, he slowed down.
Way
down. He pulled his mouth away from me and looked admiringly at my body, sprawled out before him. I could feel his eyes on me as strongly as I could feel his hands. When he looked at me, it was as if they, too, were caressing my skin. And as much as I hated to admit it, his eyes felt almost as good.

I lay on my back with Jamie resting closely at my side, his head propped up with his hand, one leg between mine. He carefully traced the tops of my breasts with his fingertips, and then he lowered his head to kiss them. They were perfectly rounded by the push-up wires of my bra and I tilted my chin up and moaned with pleasure.

The scary part was... the moan was real.

It wasn't fake.

Where the hell was Ashlyn?

She had left me here to fend for myself, and I clearly wasn't doing a very good job at it.

Everything felt amazing. The incredibleness of this moment was undeniable.

He kissed me again, and delicately pulled himself on top of me. The kiss grew deeper, and I could feel him getting harder. His body sunk into mine, and we slowly rocked together as our lips touched, parted, separated, and then touched again.

My eyes were closed yet I felt like I could see everything. As if I no longer needed them to open...ever again. The sensation of Jamie's body on top of mine was all I needed to feel for the rest of my life.

And then all of a sudden, panic set in.

What are you doing?
I asked myself.

We were about to have sex and I was about to let it happen. I wanted nothing more than for it to happen. But it
couldn't
happen. That was not in the agenda. The rules are and always have been very simple: I test for an "intention to cheat" only. There is no sex involved. There never has been and there never
can
be. Otherwise, it's just plain prostitution. Yes,
prostitution
. I had to keep one very important and sobering fact in mind: I was being
paid
to be here.

Not to mention that I would
knowingly
be having sex with another woman's husband.

I again felt the incredible longing for the bliss of ignorance. The mind-eraser drug. Something to wipe out all memories from the past week so that I could go back to that perfect day when she didn't exist.
Mrs.
Jamie Richards.

How wonderful would this moment be if I could?

Jamie stopped kissing me and reached up to touch my face with the back of his hand. "Hey," he said gently.

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. A genuine, real, authentic smile. "Yeah?"

He continued to stroke my cheek and then tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I can't believe what I'm about to say, but maybe we shouldn't be doing this right now."

My eyes opened wide and I stared at him in disbelief. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said hurriedly. "I just..." His voice trailed off and he rolled onto his back. "I just don't know if we're ready for this yet."

I didn't know how to respond to that. It was definitely a new kind of rejection. One I hadn't heard before. And most of the time, unlike other girls, I'm all for the rejections. But this one brought a mixed bag of emotions. Why didn't he want to? Was it me? Was the underwear not sexy enough? Was the push-up bra not pushing up enough? What the hell was it?

"Well, you certainly
felt
ready," I half joked, trying to hide my wounded ego.

He laughed. "Yeah, well, that's only natural. I mean, you
are
unbelievably sexy."

"But you don't want to have sex with me," I reminded him bluntly.

He reached out and grabbed my hand tightly. "I do. Believe me, I do. Please, don't be offended. I'm just not sure we should...
yet.
"

I nodded apprehensively. "Okay."

"How gay am I?" he asked, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

I chuckled. "You're not
gay.
Trust me, one of my best friends is gay... and you are definitely nowhere near anything like him."

He laughed. "Thanks. I'll keep reminding myself of that."

I watched him as he watched the ceiling. He looked...troubled.

"Is everything all right?" I ventured.

He turned toward me and offered me an apologetic sigh. "Yes. Everything's fine. I'm sorry, baby. I'm just...preoccupied."

I grabbed his hand and kissed it. "I understand."

I sat up and slid off the bed. "I guess I'm going to get ready for bed, then." I walked through the large expanse of the suite into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. For a minute I stood in the darkness, afraid to turn on the light. Afraid of what it might reveal to me. And what that revelation would mean.

I slowly reached out and flipped the switch. I took a long, hard look at myself in the mirror. My reflection said it all.

I was beaming.

I know most girls would be confused. Hurt. Rejected. But not me. Jamie's rejection was the best gift he could have ever given me. Because I knew exactly where it came from. The reasons behind it. And they were good reasons.

But then a thought came to me. He said,
"I'm just not sure we should...
yet."

What exactly did "yet" mean?

Did it mean tomorrow we should? Or the next day we should? When did it end? When
should
we? And would this assignment have to go on for the next week? Month? Year? Until he finally felt ready to cheat on his wife?

At first I thought the rejection was a good thing. But on second thought, could it be just a prolonging of this god-awful assignment?

Could it possibly just mean that my work here was "yet
"
to be complete?

"Hey, Jen," Jamie's voice called through the door.

"Yeah?" I replied, my eyes still glued to my befuddled reflection.

"I think I left my Amex at the front desk. I'm just going to run down to the lobby and check. Do you need anything while I'm down there?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine!"

I ran the hot water and kept my finger under the faucet, waiting for the flow to get warm. I quickly splashed my face, squeezed out a dollop of face wash, and saturated my skin in it.

"Hey, I can't find my key," I heard Jamie's voice through the door again. "Do you have yours?"

"Sure," I called back, my eyes closed and my face covered in white cream. "It's in my purse."

"Okay, thanks!"

I rinsed my face off, patted it dry with the soft, fluffy white Ritz Paris towel, and then rummaged through my toiletries bag to find my toothbrush. I did an abbreviated version of my usual three-minute brushing routine, and then with a heavy sigh I shut off the light and opened the door.

The first thing I saw when I came back into the bedroom was the gold-trimmed, white satin bed frame and the rumpled sheets from our
almost
French love affair. The thought of his words of refusal, once again, filled me with confusion. Confusion that I desperately wished to resolve but, quite frankly, didn't know how.

The second thing I saw was Jamie. Standing motionless in the middle of the suite. In one hand, he held his cell phone up to his ear, listening intently, his eyes strangely filled with what could only be described as painful disappointment. Whatever he was listening to on the other end of that call was bad news. Very bad news.

And that's when I saw what he was holding in his
other
hand.

My failed fidelity inspection card. The one I had tucked ever-so-safely
into the inside pocket of my purse. The one he was only supposed to see if
and
when
he actually did fail.

From where I stood, at least twenty feet away, I could just make out the red letter
A
on the black surface, shining fiercely from across the room, illuminating the shadowy, moonlit suite like a red spotlight.

The sight of it burned a hole in my irises. The same effect, I imagine, that the letter was intended to have when sewed into the fabric of Hester Prynne's clothing.

I stopped in my tracks. Our eyes met and locked. He looked at me with such sadness and betrayal that my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Without moving his eye line even an inch, he pulled the phone away from his ear and closed it with a snap that reverberated in the empty room like a gunshot.

We stood still for what seemed like an eternity, staring into each other's eyes, silent questions and accusations bouncing back and forth between us like invisible sound waves.

Jamie was the first to speak.

"It's a setup?" he asked quietly, with, thankfully, no trace of anger in his voice. Just pain. Deep, confused pain. "It's
all
been a setup?"

I closed my eyes and struggled to come up with the right words. Until I realized that they didn't exist. They don't write speeches for moments like this. "Jamie, I—"

"From the beginning!" he said, his tone raised, the anger finally creeping in. "From the fucking beginning!?"

"No!" I cried desperately. "Not from the beginning. Not until a few days ago!"

"And
this
is what you do? You set people up? To fail?"

I shook my head, the tears stinging my eyes. "Not with you! It didn't start out that way. I wanted to tell you about it. I had decided to tell you about it, and then—"

"That man in the sushi restaurant. He was trying to warn me about you. And I, like a fucking fool, stood up for you!" He dropped both items from his hands. The phone fell with a loud thud while the card danced and twirled gracefully to the ground, landing, most appropriately, A-side up. "You lied to me!"

"Me?" I shouted, feeling the passion rise up inside me. "
You're
the liar here! Do I have to remind you that you have a fucking wife? I guess I do, because you seemed to have forgotten. It
seemed
to have slipped your mind. Because you 'conveniently' forgot to mention her this
whole
time!"

"Yeah, a wife who
hired
you! To act like you were falling for me just as hard as I was falling for you!"

"Jamie, I
did
fall for you," I practically begged.

But he refused to listen. He believed what he wanted to believe. I guess the same way I did.

"So do you get to go to Paris with all these guys?" he prodded sadistically. "Or was I the only one foolish enough to invite you along? You've probably gone on a
lot
of nice trips in your line of work! That's quite an employee benefits package, Jen. And I'll bet every single one of them has made you an airplane bag, too."

The tears streamed down my face, but I didn't care. I didn't even bother to wipe them away. I simply charged toward him, as if I might try to take him down with one of my self-defense maneuvers. But instead I reached around behind him and grabbed my bag up off the nightstand and shoved my arm through the strap. Then I bent down to his feet and picked up the black card.

I stood up and held it out to him. "I think this belongs to you."

Jamie threw his hands in the air. "I'm not touching that thing."

"Fine!" I yelled as I slammed it down on the nightstand. "I'll just leave it where I always leave it." I stormed in the direction of the door. "Because you're
exactly
like all the rest of the cheating scum I meet!"

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I knew I should have just kept walking and never looked back. But something made me turn around, just to see what was written on his face.

Jamie's head was down, staring at the ground. The battle was over. Now all that was left was the aftermath. And he could feel it. It enveloped him. He backed up slowly until the back of his knees softly collided with one of the antique Louis XV armchairs, and he allowed himself to collapse into the seat.

"I'm not the one who cheated," he said softly, just in case anyone was listening.

But I wasn't.

I was too busy slamming the door.

It wasn't until I stepped off the elevator into the hotel lobby that I realized I was still in my underwear. Yes, I happened to have my very fashionable Dior purse around my shoulder, but in my underwear nonetheless. There were a few stares from some of the patrons and a few hotel employees trying
not
to stare. I looked down at my ensemble, and instead of trying to cover myself up like they always do in the movies when a woman finds herself minus a few necessary items of clothing, I decided my virtual nakedness was the least of my problems right now. So I held my head up high and marched purposefully toward the front desk. I guess I could at least be thankful that I was wearing a matching set.