The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(39)

I was thoroughly engrossed in her story. "And then?"

"And then everything. We've been together ever since."

"So why the books? Why the doubt?"

She sighed and smoothed her ponytail with her hand. "Because we've been together ever since. I think he wants more...I think he's curious about what he's missing. I think he wants a white girl."

I nearly spit out my lemonade. "What? Are you serious? You're beautiful! Stunning! And he picked you out of a sea of white girls... because you were different. Why all of a sudden would he change his mind?"

She shrugged and shook her head helplessly. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. I see him looking sometimes. I just don't know if I grew up to be the girl he's supposed to be with. After ten years, how do you even know? How can anyone choose a soul mate at age fifteen?"

I pressed my lips together and looked away. "You can't," I conceded.

"He's not going to cheat with a one-night stand from a bar. I'm sure of that. He's not the type. If anything, he'll want to meet someone, go on a date, see what other genuine options are out there."

I nodded and reached out to touch her hand. "Let me help you."

She cocked her head to the side. "How are you going to do that?"

"I offer a very special service. For women like you. It's not something you can find in any book."

I could tell by the look on Rani's face that she was intrigued. So I continued to tell her exactly what I do and have done for the past two years.

Her reaction was interesting. I'm not used to having to explain this situation to someone who has no idea what's about to be presented to them. Most of my clients are usually at least somewhat prepared for what I'm about to tell them. After all, they did call me. And I half expected Rani to jump up out of her seat in disgust and storm off onto the Promenade, leaving me with the bill and lemonade dripping down my face. But she didn't. She simply looked at me the way a religious zealot might look upon a newly found ancient relic. At first, with disbelief... doubt that it was really authentic. And then finally with an awestruck numbness that changed everything she's ever believed in.

"But I don't have any money to..."

"I just want to help," I assured her.

I could see her eyes welling up with tears. Tears of thankfulness, tears of fear, and tears of relief that she would finally be getting the answer she'd been looking for.

And that she wouldn't have to rely on a book.



I STOOD outside the door of Clayton and Rani's apartment. I could still faintly hear the voices inside, arguing. That would last awhile, I imagined.

Rani was right. You can't pick your soul mate at age fifteen. But a small part of me wanted to root for them. Wanted them to work it out, to be able to see this incident as a breaking point and a place to move forward from. A hurdle that must be leaped and cleared before the road can ever be smooth again.

But I make it a rule not to root for anyone. And I also make it a rule not to make exceptions. So before I walked away, I let my hand softly touch the wooden door as I said good-bye to Princess Rani.



THE NEXT day was my third and final poker lesson before my assignment in Las Vegas on Saturday. I had found a poker tutor on Craigslist last week after I met with Roger Ireland concerning his daughter and her fiancé. And given the recent poker craze that had hit the country, it wasn't a difficult thing to find.

When I first made the call to the tutor, I told him that I wanted a poker mastery crash course. I needed to be able to impress a client during an upcoming business trip to Vegas, which was true enough. And my tutor, Ethan (or "the Cowboy," as he preferred to be called), didn't seem to care what my purpose was for learning the game, as long as my check cleared so he could deposit it into his online-poker account.

"So, during our last two lessons," he began, adeptly shuffling a deck of cards in front of him, "we focused on the rules of the game, the rounds of play, the strategies for calculating your odds based on how much money is in the pot, and of course, how to determine the hands of the other players." I sat in Ethan's basement, where he had set up a mini poker shrine. Photos of famous players decorated the walls, three professional poker tables dominated the center of the room, and the carpet looked identical to the noisy, colorful carpets you find inside any of the casinos on the Strip.

I picked up four of the chips in front of me and began practicing my chip twirls. Ethan had demonstrated them briefly during our last lesson, and I'd been watching the players on ESPN gracefully spin chips around their fingers while contemplating their next action. I realized after watching it on TV that the chip tricks were almost as important in appearing to know what you're doing as playing the game itself. And as much as I knew I needed to play the game well, I also knew that Saturday night would be all about appearances.

"But today we're going to add the final step of this process..." the Cowboy continued.

"Chip flipping?" I asked hopefully.

"Bluffing," he stated seriously, clearly enjoying the suspenseful spotlight.

"Ah."

"It's the hardest part of poker to master. But once you do, the rest of the game is easy."

"Lying?" I confirmed.

"Fooling the other players into believing you have something when you don't . . . or that you don't have something when you do," he replied self-importantly.