The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(58)

"A recall? On what?"

"I no know," her voice reverberated. "They give me appointment for eleven o'clock."

"Today?" I panicked, instinctively pulling out my Treo and checking my schedule.

"No." Her head reappeared from inside the oven and she brushed a sweaty hair from her forehead. "They say Wednesday."

I clicked to Wednesday. Thankfully the morning appeared empty; I typed in the appointment. "Okay. I'll take the car in. Thank you, Marta."



AS I quietly rode the empty elevator up to Roger Ireland's office, my mind was filled with all sorts of noise. I stared at myself in the mirrored elevator doors. Into my own tired, hardened eyes. Despite my best attempts to utilize the magic of makeup, my reflection was pale, worn out, visibly troubled. When did it all get to be so complicated? My best friend and I weren't on speaking terms, I had practically exploded at my naive, twelve-year-old niece, and Parker Colman had almost taken me down in an elevator.

I don't think Revlon makes a concealer for that.

And still, as hard as I tried, I couldn't find a way to erase the image of Jamie's face from my convoluted, highly compartmentalized mind. Something I had always managed to do before.

I couldn't wait for this meeting to be over so I could finally concentrate on sorting out my life. God knows it needed some serious sorting.

The doors opened and I straightened my posture, smoothed my hair and blouse, and pulled open one of the large, double-glass doors that led into Roger Ireland's law firm.

"Let's make this quick," I mumbled to myself.

I felt fairly certain that Roger Ireland was a reasonable man. Concise and to the point. And since he wasn't a wife or a girlfriend, this should probably be an easy "post."

The receptionist showed me in immediately.

"Good morning, Ashlyn," she began, leading me down the main hallway. "Mr. Ireland and Miss Ireland are waiting for you in his office."

"Thank you," I started to say, and then stopped suddenly in my tracks. "Wait, did you say Miss Ireland?"

The receptionist smiled naively. "Yes, his daughter. Lauren?"

Suddenly my feet felt as if they were trapped in mud. What the hell was she doing in there? Mr. Ireland said he was going to tell her himself. Much later. Meaning, after I had left the building and all surrounding areas. I had not mentally prepared myself to deal with a bridezilla two weeks before her wedding. Especially one who was about to find out that her fiancé isn't quite the guy she thought he was.

I tried to keep the look of pure dread from spreading across my face as I continued to follow the receptionist down the hallway and into Mr. Ireland's office, although I couldn't help but feel like I was walking to my own execution.

She swung the door open for me and I prepared myself for the worst.

"Ashlyn!" Roger greeted me pleasantly and stepped forward to shake my hand as I hesitantly entered the room. "Good to see you again."

I looked around the office and noticed an attractive brunette sitting at Mr. Ireland's desk typing frantically into a keyboard. "Dad, your directories are all messed up. That's why you can't find the source of this data stream."

Roger smiled at me. "This is my daughter, Lauren."

Lauren took one last hopeless look at her father's computer monitor and then stood up. She smiled brightly as she walked over and offered me her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ashlyn. Thanks for coming by. Won't you sit down?" She motioned to the couch and took a seat in the nearby armchair.

I eyed her strangely. She was certainly pretty upbeat about this whole process. Was she in denial? Well, she certainly wouldn't be the first bride I'd dealt with who was.

I studied Mr. Ireland's only daughter as I took the safer seat across from her. She was definitely prettier than I thought she'd be. Not that I'm normally one to stereotype, but after Roger Ireland's lengthy explanation of his daughter's extensive computer skills, I kind of pictured someone a little less, well, elegant.

She was tall and slender with long, dark hair that she had pulled back into a very businesslike ponytail. Her clothes were a bit on the boring side: brown pants with a matching jacket. And her beige turtleneck underneath left no skin showing.

I glanced down at my current outfit selection. A gray pencil skirt that was slightly on the tighter side and the off-white blouse that Marta had supplied me with earlier. The blouse was unbuttoned just enough to suggest the existence of cleavage. I suddenly wished that I could turn around and button up the last button. I wondered what she must have been thinking about my ensemble. Not that it mattered, but I assumed she had to be forming at least some kind of an opinion about a girl who seduces betrothed men as an occupation.

Roger looked extremely nervous. I could have sworn I even saw small beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. But Lauren was the exact opposite: calm, composed, and extremely pleasant. I was thoroughly impressed. Most women in her position were pacing the hallways, wringing their hands together, biting off their beautifully manicured fingernails. But not Lauren. I started to doubt Mr. Ireland's initial evaluation of his daughter. He was pretty confident that she was the jealous type, somewhat insecure about men. That was not who was being represented in this office today. I had pictured a girl not unlike Sophie: suspicious, uneasy, and above all else, distrusting.