The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(120)

"I like bubble," I said quietly as I placed the gum packs next to the growing collection of items on my seat.

"Good, 'cause I like mint," Jamie said with a wink.

I swallowed hard. "I guess it's perfect, then."

"There's more, there's more," he urged me, motioning toward the bag.

With every item that I removed, my hands grew shakier. Mad Libs, playing cards, candy bars, mini-bottles of alcohol.

"Yeah, I figured those were probably not part of the bags you made when you were a kid," Jamie said, pointing to the bottles. "But I decided that the bag-making ritual needed to grow up a bit."

Then I reached down into the bottom and pulled out a medium-sized, light blue, Tiffany jewelry box. My heart somersaulted.

"Well, that is not exactly for the plane. I mean, you could wear it on the plane, but I thought maybe it would be better suited for Paris itself."

A weak smile appeared across my face as I lifted the lid and braced myself for what was inside. It was a silver-chained necklace with a tiny, circular rose pendant hanging from the center.

A gasp escaped from my mouth when I saw it. I just couldn't help myself. Cheater or no, it was just so beautiful. It looked just like one of the rose windows in the Notre Dame Cathedral. And I had no doubt that he had selected it for that very reason.

"I guess that means you like it," Jamie ventured.

I couldn't speak. I tried, but nothing came out. I could barely even nod my head. My entire body was in shock. The airplane bag was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given me.

"Either that...or you already have two of them," he continued, after my period of silence had reached a few extra long seconds.

My head became free from my spell and I nodded it profusely. My lips followed. "Yes."

"Yes, you have two of them?" Jamie laughed.

I shook my head numbly. "No, I like it. I mean...I love it."

Jamie moved his hand from my leg and laced his fingers with mine. Then he brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"Good. I thought of you as soon as I saw it."

His comment stung. My only consolation at that moment was the hope that maybe he had sent his assistant to pick something out. Or maybe Calloway Consultants had a special gift services department that they hired for this kind of stuff. I could only pray that he had placed a quick phone call saying, "I'm too busy balancing my wife, my new girlfriend, and my work so can you please put together a nice 'airplane bag' for my trip to Paris, which I still have to pack for." And then I assumed he had called the in-house packing service shortly after.

But deep down I knew it wasn't true. I knew he had picked it out himself. Meaning, he took more time away from his wife than he already had, just to go shopping for a stupid airplane bag for me. It didn't seem fair. And it definitely didn't seem right that I loved it this much.

It shouldn't have been this way. Why was he making it so hard? As much as I knew I should throw my arms around his neck, kiss him, and then thank him profusely for being such a sweetheart of a guy, I just couldn't do it. And the reason I couldn't do it was because I wanted to.

My head was spinning like a broken compass. I didn't know which way was up and which way my true feelings were pointing. As I looked at his face, lit up with the anticipation of my approval, and then over at the contents of my custom-made airplane bag sprawled out on the seat next to me, I wanted to love him. I wanted it to all be a mistake. I wanted to take the goddamn blue pill and erase everything that had happened in the last week.

But as the limo pulled up to the curbside check-in at LAX, I knew that I couldn't forget what had happened. I couldn't erase the fact that I was getting on a plane to Paris with another woman's husband.

And if Jamie continued to throw these unhittable curveballs at me, I knew it was going to be a very long trip.

As I stepped out of the limo onto the curb I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into. And we hadn't even gotten on the plane yet.



I SOON discovered that working for a consulting company that allows you to charge all travel relating to your multimillion-dollar client was not a bad gig at all. Everything was first class. First-class baggage check-in, drinks in the international first-class lounge, first-class seats on a nonstop flight from Los Angeles to Paris, and reservations at the Hotel Ritz in the First Arrondissement of Paris.

Even I, a frequent first-class traveler due to my former – or now current – job was impressed.

I could tell Jamie was trying to impress me. Each time we entered the new and exciting next stage of our trip, he would watch my reaction. I could feel his eyes on my face as we walked into the international first-class lounge and I glanced around at all the plasma TV screens, the three open bars, and the buffets lined with various food choices. I let myself nod a small indication of approval and turned to smile at him.

Then he watched me again as we stepped onto the plane and the flight attendant graciously guided us through the business class, up the stairs, and into the exclusive first-class cabin of the plane. Each seat was like its own little apartment, with a TV screen, a desk, a retractable table, a fully reclinable swivel seat, and even a small supplementary seating area across from the seat. Jamie and I sat side by side as he, like a child with a new toy he wanted to show off, demonstrated all the features of our airplane "apartments."