The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(51)

He sat up. "It feels like you're just going through the motions or something. Like you're on autopilot but your mind is somewhere else."

Oh, dear Lord.

I started to panic. It just goes to show: No good can ever come from losing focus in this job. You can never let your guard down, even for a minute.

My thoughts were a blur. Was he really questioning my motivations or was this just an excuse? That tiny ray of hope was ironically clouding my view of reality. I couldn't seem to let go of the thought that maybe he was having second thoughts after all, and that my abnormal behavior tonight was just a convenient way out. A magical solution to dissolve the glue that held him captive in this sticky situation.

"That's crazy," I replied defensively.

"Is it?"

It suddenly occurred to me: If he turns me down now, I'll never know the real reason why. Will it be because he really wanted to be faithful to his fiancée, or will it be because I screwed up? The implication of confusing these two very different scenarios was severe. I, of course, would assume the latter.

How would I ever report back to Roger Ireland if I wasn't 100 percent sure about the results? "Um, he passed...well, sort of. It's complicated, see..."

No way. That would never fly. I had to know for certain before I left this room.

"Parker." I sat up and faced him, trying to look serious and provocative at the same time. "I'm not going through any motions. I want what you want. I think you just have to decide what you want."

There. I put the ball right back in his court. It wasn't the ultimate fix, but it would hopefully give him something to chew on for a while.

Then I had another thought. One far more sobering than any of my others. What if he had been tipped off about me? Intercepted by someone in the course of the night. Giving away my true intentions. Revealing everything.

If that were the case, it would mean Parker was just playing along, going through the motions, setting me up to fail. Slow playing me!

There was an awkward silence between us.

He looked over at me, obviously wondering what was going through my head. Funny, I was wondering the same thing about him. I wasn't sure which one of us was more desperate for a mind-reading device right about now. Especially when my internal one was failing me so miserably.

My superpowers had never been so out-of-tune in my life. Like Parker Colman, of all people in the world, was my kryptonite. Everything felt chaotic. As if someone had placed a magnet next to my compass and the needle was spinning in crazy circles.

Because, for the first time tonight, I had absolutely no idea what he was holding in his hand. The cards on the table were meaningless to me now. It wasn't as easy as having the nut flush when you're pretty sure your opponent is holding three kings. And when you don't have a clue what the person across from you is playing with, there's no way you can know how much to bet.

I tried to mask my anxiety as he continued to study my face. As if trying to map out his next play based on what I could possibly be hiding.

Trying to figure out if I still had those two hearts in my back pocket.

And then realization and relief washed over his face.

"Wait a minute," he said with a knowing smile. "Okay, how much are my friends paying you?"

I smothered a gasp. "Excuse me?"

"You're an escort, right? My friends paid for you. But they were sure I wouldn't sleep with you if I knew who you really were, so they told you to pretend you were all into me and shit, right?"

My eyes widened. And just as I was about to throw the whole thing out the window, fold my hand, leave the table, and for the first time abandon the job half finished out of pure pride, something in me clicked.

Parker had just made the ultimate poker faux pas: He had showed me his hand before the game was over. And suddenly I had the edge I was looking for. I knew exactly how to play.

I violently pulled myself off the bed and started huffing and puffing around the room in search of my shoes.

I made sure that every aggravated, insulted, emotionally wounded bone in my body was perfectly visible and audible.

"Oh my God! I have never been so insulted in my entire life!"

Parker's face immediately turned bright red, realizing his utterly horrendous mistake. He panicked and jumped up from the bed, reaching out to grab me and pull me close to him. "Wait, don't leave. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

I shoved him away. "You think I'm a hooker?"

He stammered. "I'm sorry. I just sensed a change in you. I didn't know what it was. I overreacted. I got paranoid. It was the alcohol talking... not me. Please don't leave! I really want to spend more time with you."

I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him, seemingly deciding whether I had it in my heart to forgive him. Seemingly deciding just how much I wanted to have sex tonight. And then my voice softened slightly, to an almost vulnerable murmur. "Do I look like a hooker?" I asked, with hope of reconciliation in my eyes.

"Of course not! You are so beautiful and sexy and... classy! God, I want you so bad, it's driving me crazy." He put his arms back around me. This time gently, affectionately, with a forced adoration he prayed would be convincing enough to keep me from walking out the door. To keep me in his rented bed.

It worked.

Somehow I knew it would.