The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(154)

I laugh and reach out to take the message, taking the burden from the woman's shoulders. "I'll call her," I offer with an incredulous shake of my head.

I should have guessed that wiping out all of Sophie's doubt about the groom himself would only allow her to focus her obsessive behavior on new areas of relevant concern.

Marta and I arrive at the end of the hallway and I push open the door in front of me. I step inside the large corner office that I've chosen to decorate in white and soft grays, and take a seat behind the L-shaped glass desk. "Any others?"

Unlike the previous messages that Marta had simply breezed through without any trace of attachment and/or recognition, she takes particular care in relaying the next one in the stack. "Jamie called..." She allows her clear, accent-free voice to trail off and waits for the reaction she has come to anticipate every single morning when there is a message of this particular nature.

My eyes immediately light up and a smile flashes across my face. "What did he say?"

Marta, having now received the emotional response she was waiting for, continues with the message. "He said he left his black jacket at your house last night and wonders if you can bring it to dinner."

I allow the idyllic smile to linger on my face for just a mere moment longer before I return to my usual level of office professionalism. "Thank you, Marta. I'll return his call after the meeting."

Marta nods her head and begins to exit the office. "Oh," she says, turning back sharply. "And your friend John called... again."

I nod knowingly and ask, "About the same thing?"

"Yes. He wants to know if maybe next week there would be a good day for him to sit in on one of the staff meetings."

I roll my eyes with just the slightest trace of amusement and reply, "Please tell him I'm still considering it."

"Of course," says Marta as she backs out the door and shuts it behind her.

One would think that being the owner of a successful, thriving business, the first thing a woman in my shoes (and my size office) would do in the morning would be to sit down at my computer and sort through my in-box of e-mails.

I, however, don't have time for e-mails at the moment, for I have a conference room full of people waiting for me.

Nevertheless, I always manage to find time to squeeze in the most important step in my morning routine.

And that is exactly what I am in the process of doing at this very moment as I wait patiently for my laptop to boot up. I then navigate my mouse to the small icon in the corner of the screen that bears the Internet Explorer logo.

A browser window springs to life, and thanks to the high-speed wireless Internet installed throughout the office, I am instantly greeted by my home page, which I bypass by typing a very important Web address into the bar at the top of the window.

The fluency in my series of movements would certainly suggest that this is not a routine I do monthly or even weekly. This is a routine that I do every morning, as diligently as a stockbroker checks the opening NASDAQ price, a politician checks the morning polls, or a TV executive checks the latest Nielsen ratings.

The address that I type might, to anyone else, seem strange, odd, and bearing no relation to any aspect of my current day-to-day business. But then again, I know something they do not.

When I finish typing, the combination of letters on the screen spells out the following: www.dontfallforthetrap.com.

Upon pressing Enter and eventually receiving the same comforting page that appeared yesterday and the day before that, and the day before that, I smile with satisfaction, close the application, and begin to gather up the things I will need for the ten A.M. meeting that I am now exactly five minutes late for.

Right on schedule.

Each and every morning I marvel at how a simple line of text reading "Error 400: Web site not available. Bad Request" could so effortlessly put me at ease. And yet every morning I still crave that same reassurance, and still manage to chuckle quietly to myself upon reading the words "Bad Request."

After pulling a stack of glossy, crimson-colored folders from my briefcase and grabbing a yellow legal pad from my desk, I exit through the door from which I entered and make my way back down the long corridor, stopping in front of the awaiting conference room door.

Just before entering I reach up and delicately touch the silver Tiffany chain necklace with a rose pendant hanging from my neck. For some reason it seems to bring me more luck with every passing day. As soon as I enter, conversations around the room come to a halt. I can feel all eyes on me, and I smile politely and make my way to my regular seat at the head of the table.

"Sorry I'm late, everyone. I'll try to make this short."

In this conference room sits my five regular associates. Five vastly different individuals who I have come to trust wholeheartedly. These are the five people now responsible for carrying out my life's work.

Having always had a particular ability to analyze a situation and immediately decide how it should be best handled, I have brought together these unique personalities to form a very special and very talented team of experts.

Sitting to my immediate left is a young blond woman with soft, feminine features, a voluptuous figure, and a classic beauty that would turn the head of any Playboy magazine subscriber. And not coincidentally, those are exactly the kinds of heads she was brought in to turn.

The woman sitting next to her is also extraordinarily beautiful but in her own unique and self-defining way. She is petite and quirky, with a personality that is almost as captivating as her smile. Given that her genuine interests include football, poker, pool, Quentin Tarantino movies, and greasy fast food, this particular associate finds herself in many work-related situations where her non-work-related interests happen to come in handy.