The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(55)

Initial reading: wealthy, single but not against marriage or family. In Vegas for business and, refreshingly enough, probably not the cheating type.

Meeting one of the few faithful ones left in the world is always a pleasant surprise. It's almost like spotting an endangered species while hiking in the wild. You immediately want to whip out your camera to document the sighting. Otherwise, how will people know to believe you?

I flashed a warm smile. "I won a few hands here and there."

The flight attendant placed our drinks in front of us. My good-looking, non-cheating neighbor had ordered a tomato juice. An honest drink. I'm always wary of airplane passengers who order hard alcohol at eleven in the morning.

"Good for you. A girl who plays poker... that's rare."

I guess we were two endangered species sitting right next to each other on the same flight leaving Las Vegas. What are the odds?

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a fan of any method of making money that doesn't require you to report it to the IRS."

He laughed. "And what do you do when you're not hustling people out of their paychecks?"

And here come the lies. "I'm an investment banker....What about you?"

"I work for the IRS," he said in an apologetic tone, lowering his head.

A slight wave of panic washed over me, along with an entire ocean of awkwardness. I took a sip of my Diet Coke. "Um ...I was just kidding about the..."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to arrest you for years of back taxes on unreported gambling earnings."

The smile on his face allowed me to release a loud gush of air and, of course, a laugh of relief. "Good one."

"Hmm, a poker player who can't see an obvious bluff. I'm not too confident in your abilities all of a sudden."

I stammered. "Well, to be fair, it wasn't exactly an obvious bluff."

"Please. I got a D-minus in eighth-grade drama class! I couldn't act my way out of a cardboard box."

"Well, I'm not exactly sure, but I think placing children in cardboard boxes might be bordering on child abuse." I pretended to ponder the thought.

"Yes, well, that was twenty-five years ago... back then, it was more of a gray area."

"And that would make you thirty-..."

"Ah, so she's also a human calculator."

"And you're a D student, it would seem," I shot back.

He shook his head as he took a sip of his juice. "I said I got a D in a drama class. It doesn't make me a D student, just a D actor."

As he set down his drink, I instinctively looked to his left hand. No ring. Just as I suspected. Single. My reading was, as usual, right on the money.

"So what do you do when you're not pretending to be an undercover IRS agent?"

If I were to guess, I would have said marketing or advertising. He was too clever to be an accountant. And not suave enough to be a salesman. So it came as no surprise when he said:

"I'm a marketing consultant. Harrah's Casinos is one of our clients."

Right again. It was almost too easy.

Our conversation continued for another twenty minutes, and just as I was about to have second thoughts on my general aversion to airplane small talk, the pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I've just received word from the tower in LAX that there are some pretty bad thunderstorms hovering over the Los Angeles area. We're going to have to land in Palm Springs and wait for the storms to pass over. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, but we want to make sure it's safe to land before we bring you into L.A."

I looked over at my neighbor, and we groaned simultaneously.

"I thought it never rains in L.A.," I complained.

"It doesn't," he confirmed, "but I made some calls."

"So you're something of a miracle worker?"

He turned toward me and held out his hand. "I'm Jamie Richards."

I shook it. "Jennifer."

"Just Jennifer? Like Cher or Madonna?"

"I prefer to be compared to the likes of Michelangelo, if you don't mind."

Jamie laughed. It felt good to have someone genuinely laugh at one of my jokes. Someone who didn't have a wife at home. Someone whose laugh wasn't overflowing with ulterior motives.

And honestly, it felt good to laugh back... ulterior motive–free.

"All right. I'll play along with the first-name-only thing. But just a suggestion: You might want to pick something more unique than 'Jennifer' if you're going to walk around last name–less."

"You're right. Fine. It's Jennifer...H.," I said coyly.

He looked impressed. "Wow. First name, last initial. We're making progress. Do you feel okay? Is this conversation moving too fast for you? Do you want to take a short break and get back to me?"

I looked out the window at the approaching Palm Springs runway. "Well, it doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere anytime soon."

"So, you decided to reveal a letter? Do I get one every hour?"

I smirked. "If Jennifer H. was enough to distinguish me all the way through high school, it should get you through the next few hours...at least until we get back to L.A."

"Fair enough, Jennifer H."