The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(143)

"I hope you don't mind me contacting you. I found your number on my father's desk. He doesn't know that I'm calling."

"I don't mind," I replied, unsure of whether or not I meant it.

She took a deep breath. "First off, I want to apologize for my behavior a few weeks ago...in my father's office. I assure you, that's not how I normally behave. It's just that with your news and the whole thing...well, I was definitely taken by surprise."

"No need to apologize, Miss Ireland."

"Please, call me Lauren."

"It's fine, Lauren. I assure you, I've heard much worse."

She laughed nervously. "I can only imagine."

There was an awkward silence on the phone, and I wasn't sure who was supposed to speak next. I still had no idea why she was calling. Was it just to apologize? Or was there something else?

"Actually, the reason I'm calling..." she began.

Okay, so there was something else.

". . . is because I was kind of hoping we could meet. For coffee or something."

I shifted uncomfortably and finally took a seat on the edge of my bed. This was definitely not something I did often. Why did she even feel the need to meet me, anyway? Did she suddenly want us to become friends? Best buddies with the woman who destroyed her engagement? That seemed a little far-fetched.

"Honestly, Lauren. If you just want to apologize, there's no need. I completely understand why you reacted the way you did. And I don't hold it against you."

"No," she replied. "It's not that. Actually, it's regarding a different subject altogether."

She had certainly piqued my curiosity. "And what would that be, exactly?" I asked as politely as possible. Given my recent track record, I wasn't really in the mood for any more surprises.

"I'd actually rather discuss it with you in person, if you don't mind. I promise I won't take up more than an hour of your time."

My first reaction was that it was a setup. An ambush. Lauren and ten of her biggest friends would be waiting for me at whatever tunnel or deserted playground she suggested for our rendezvous. But I could hear something deep in her voice that immediately ruled out that possibility. She sounded humbled. Despairing. Looking for guidance. Well, I certainly wasn't one to be writing an advice column right about now, but I supposed it couldn't hurt to meet with her. Besides, what else did I have to do these days? Take up knitting?

So I agreed.

To my relief, she didn't suggest an abandoned playground or back alley somewhere. She asked if we could meet at a simple coffee shop in Santa Monica.

"The 18th Street Café, do you know it?"

I smiled. "Yes, it's a nice place."

Lauren and I agreed to meet the following evening, and as I hung up the phone I immediately wondered if I would regret it. But I convinced myself that I should be welcoming any distraction at this point. Because as much as I hated to admit it, it was nearly impossible not to think about Jamie with every passing minute. A small, tiny, insignificant part of me wondered why I hadn't heard from him. Especially when he was clearly the one in the wrong about this whole thing.

I mean, sure, I had the card in my purse. I know how it must have looked to him when he found it. Especially given the odd encounter we had had with the man at Haku Sushi who almost spilled everything.

But wouldn't he at least call or e-mail to make sure I had gotten home all right?

He had basically deserted me in a foreign country.

Okay, I had deserted myself. But nonetheless, despite my better judgment, despite my better self telling me not to, I still caught myself staring longingly at the phone from time to time. I still couldn't help but check my voice mail even when there was no voice-mail indicator on my screen.

And I hated that I did that.

I hated that he had made me care. The lying, cheating scumball had me wondering whether or not he would ever pick up the phone to call me again.

And then there was the next question: Was he a lying, cheating scumball to begin with?

And then there was the question after that: What was I going to tell his wife?

My services had always been very clear: intention to cheat. Displaying unfaithful tendencies. Almost sex. That's what they were, and that's what they'd always been.

Everyone got the same treatment. Every man got the same, up-to-the-last-minute thrill ride. And if this were any other assignment, Jamie technically would have passed.

So is that what I should tell Karen Howard Richards? That he's innocent?

Or would I tell her the truth? All of it. The plane trip from Vegas, the round of golf, sushi, airplane bags, Paris. And then let her decide. Let her try to answer the question I still hadn't been able to answer.

And what about the reverse scenario? The one where Karen doesn't call at all. The one where I never hear from her again – for whatever reason. Maybe Jamie flew home from Paris all full of remorse and regret, and spilled his heart out to her, confessed everything, and they had a passionate night full of honest communication and incredible make-up sex.

Good for them.

I hope they're very happy together.

At least I'd never have to deal with either one of them again. As unlikely as I believed that scenario was, I did find it strange that I still had yet to hear from her since I got back. Jamie would have obviously taken a flight home right away, wouldn't he?