The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(129)

"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.

"I need another room," I announced decisively to the front-desk clerk.

The man didn't even blink. I suppose that as an employee of the Hotel Ritz in Paris he had probably seen it all. And most likely much worse than a woman in her underwear with dried tears on her cheeks, demanding a second room.

"I'm so sorry, mademoiselle. But we are fresh out of rooms this evening."

I groaned loudly. That was something I certainly hadn't planned for. And that was also the reason I always booked in advance. But with Jamie I hadn't. I guess it was faith, blind, idiotic faith that he just might pass the test and I would never find myself in the situation of having to book another room in the middle of the night. Obviously I didn't exactly count on this particular scenario.

"No, you have to have a room. A suite, a closet, anything! I will take whatever you have. I'm leaving in the morning anyway, so it's just for one night."

The clerk looked at his watch and then shot me a sympathetic glance. "Well, we are holding a room for a guest that has yet to arrive."

"I'll take it!" I said anxiously.

He smiled politely at me, as if to say, And if you'll just let me finish...

"Sorry," I apologized.

"But hotel policy says we cannot rent that room out until eleven P.M."

I anxiously looked around me for a time-telling device of some sort. "Well, what time is it now?"

"Ten, mademoiselle."

I gave him a look of incredulity. "You expect me to wait in the lobby like this for the next hour?"

It was at that moment that the clerk first acknowledged my obvious disregard for the hotel's dress code. He cracked a small smile and then quickly covered it up with a loud clearing of his throat. "Of course not, mademoiselle..."

I let out a sigh of relief and began to dig through my purse in search of my wallet so I could offer him my credit card.

"...you are welcome to wait in the bar," he offered in all seriousness.

I froze and looked up at him. The expression on his face revealed nothing but complete sincerity.

"You're kidding?"

"I cannot give out the room until eleven. I am terribly sorry. If you would like to kindly wait in the lounge, I can come look for you when the room becomes available."

I grunted as I shoved my wallet back into my purse. "Very well, then," I responded as graciously as possible through gritted teeth. "I'll be in the bar." I turned defiantly on the bare skin of my heels and stomped through the lobby.



NO ONE in the Hemingway Bar (the Ritz's celebrated hotel lounge) seemed to take notice of me when I walked in. I quietly took a seat in a back booth, thankful that I had chosen to wear the underwear set with the bikini bottom as opposed to the alternative thong variety.