The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(37)

The off-the-shoulder sweater (now officially an off-the-body sweater) was tossed to the side, and I watched Clayton react to my red strapless push-up bra. Of course, this was exactly the way the wardrobe selection had been designed. To garner a reaction.

Because in my life, the truth is... nothing happens by chance.

Everything is premeditated.

It keeps me in control at all times.

If I can predict it, I can manage it. If I can calculate it, I can manipulate it. After all, Clayton was just a man, like any other man. And men are my specialty. No matter where or when I apply the knowledge.

I knew we would end up back here. I knew he would take off my sweater. And I knew that in the next five minutes he would attempt to unbutton my jeans and lower the zipper. I also knew that in those five minutes I would let him.

Because I was a girl who never dated.

And therefore I was a girl who hadn't had sex in a long time.

And therefore I was a girl who wouldn't say no to it.

Until I heard the sound of a key in a lock. It was faint. Almost silent. Clayton was too busy pressing his fingertips against my stomach to even notice. But I noticed. I notice everything. Another occupational hazard, I guess.

I glanced toward the front door in time to see the handle turn slowly and the door creak open.

Clayton replaced his fingertips with his mouth as he kissed my stomach and stopped at my jeans, playfully brushing across the fabric with his lips.

He was oblivious to the mysterious visitor. That is, until she made her presence known, in a very loud way.

"What the f*ck are you doing?" I heard a loud shriek come from the front door as it slammed closed.

Clayton's head shot up like a rocket launch. "Rani?" His eyes glazed over with fear. "I...I thought you were in Cabo with the girls."

"I knew it!" she screamed, tears welling up in her eyes. "I knew you would do this! You piece of shit!" Suddenly, a small purse came flying through the air. I successfully dodged it, allowing it to hit Clayton squarely between the eyes.

That was my less-than-subtle cue to leave. I pulled myself to my feet and tried hard to tune out the sound of their voices as I picked my sweater up off the floor and slid it over my head.

Clayton quickly stood up and reached out toward the petite, Indian girl standing motionless (and purseless) in the middle of the living room. "Rani, I just wanted to—"

"Don't touch me. Don't you f*cking touch me!" She stepped back and batted his hand away.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Clayton pleaded.

"I'm just gonna..." My voice intentionally drifted off as I grabbed my bag and quietly made my way toward the door, keeping my head down to avoid eye contact.

Clayton ignored me. It figured. I was of little importance now. Now that she had unexpectedly showed up. But I suppose I was used to that... falling from grace in a matter of seconds. In a normal week, I went from being the sexiest woman alive, to being, well, pretty much the devil in a blink of an eye at least three times. I've learned not to take it personally.

I've learned not to take a lot of things personally.

I watched as the argument escalated and moved into the kitchen, Rani storming through the dining room with Clayton following closely after her like a puppy begging for forgiveness for chewing on her favorite pair of shoes. I could hear their voices. Hers was loud and full of anger. His was soft and saturated with apologies.

As I placed my hand on the doorknob, I immediately heard the sound of footsteps getting closer. Coming back from the kitchen. I turned my head to see one angry woman stomping toward me. Fury in her eyes, and vengeance in her step.

I glanced anxiously toward the safety the front door promised to provide once I was on the other side of it. I turned the handle and pulled it toward me. But an inch was all I got. Her hand landed on top of mine, and in one swift motion and a very loud thud, the door was shut again. I froze and looked up at her. My face blank. My mind restless.

"Ashlyn," she said gently, her face softening for a moment.

I smiled back, unassumingly. "Yes?"

Her hand slid off mine, and I was suddenly free. "Thank you," she said with a painful sigh.

I let go of the door, now moist with the sweat of my hand, and patted her tenderly on the shoulder. "You're very welcome."

She wiped her tearstained face and sniffled. "I was right." Her voice was filled with paradoxical questions. Questions like: "Would I have felt better if I were wrong?" Trying to answer them was like setting your mind on fire and watching it burn.

I took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, you usually are."

She nodded and choked back a quiet sob. "Then I did the right thing?"

I craned my neck to glance past her into the kitchen. Clayton had taken a seat at the table, his head between his knees, his hands running through his hair. His regret seeping through every pore of his skin.

Then I looked back at Rani, her dark eyelashes damp with tears and her breathtakingly exotic features filled with uncertainty. She looked like a princess. The kind you read about in fairy tales of far-off lands and unfamiliar cultures. But tonight, here, unfortunately, the princess would feel the pain of a real world. The agony of a real life. And the bitterness of an unhappy ending.

Hers was a question I was used to answering. A comfort I was used to giving. And the response would be the same as it always is.