The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(84)

"I'm sorry," the woman said to me, without even a hint of sincerity. "But Mr. Jacobs does not see anyone without an appointment."

I decided I would have to play to her strengths. Or, better said, her obvious weaknesses. I flashed a phony smile and leaned over the high receptionist counter. She instinctively retracted, as if half expecting me to grow fangs and start gnawing on her face.

I lowered my voice to a near whisper. "I hate to bring you into this whole, uncivilized mess. But your, um, boss is attempting to ruin my life because his wife, whom I'm now assuming is probably in the process of becoming his ex-wife, found out he tried to seduce me in a hotel bar in Denver. And now I'm here to deal with him."

I casually stood back up and sucked in a relaxed breath. As if I had simply leaned over to thoughtfully tell her she had food in her teeth. But judging by the sinfully delighted grin on her face, I knew I had played the right card. The disgruntled employee whose only joy in life comes directly from bearing witness to any even remotely unpleasant occurrence brought upon the evil and ungrateful boss man. That, and really good office gossip.

I suspected my news counted as both. She picked up her phone and held it to her ear. "Ashlyn was it?" she asked graciously.

I nodded with a satisfied smile and waited as she spoke softly into the receiver. After a quick eyebrow raise she hung up the phone and said, "You can go right on in."

Wow. Quicker than I thought. I took a deep breath and stepped around the reception desk.

"Straight down the hall, last door on the left," she informed me.

"Thanks."

"Good luck!" she whispered loudly.

I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign before starting down the long, looming corridor ahead of me.

My nemesis was seated in a large executive chair facing out the window, bellowing into a wireless earpiece. "I told you I wanted those figures yesterday!" he yelled at what seemed like thin air. "I don't care what time it is over there! Here it's ten A.M., and that makes you more than twelve hours late!"

Ah, yes. Raymond Jacobs. I remembered him well. That deep voice. That large, ominous presence. The attempted bribe in his moment of defeat. Throwing money at any unfortunate situation might not have been the only thing that got him to where he is today, but it was certainly helping him stay there.

I knew from the moment I saw him in that hotel bar in Denver that he was definitely not a man you wanted to mess with.

But I had.

Because I was being paid to.

And now, I was definitely being paid back for it.

I quietly closed the door behind me and waited for the scary man in the big chair to turn around and reveal his hideous face.

And when he did, a knowing smile crept across it. It was almost creepy. As if he had been waiting for me to walk into that office. Any day now. Waiting for his rematch in chess. Because he knew just as well as I did that this time . . . he was several moves ahead of me.

"I was hoping you'd stop by," he said, leaning back in his chair, not bothering to stand up and greet me, for which I was grateful. I preferred to keep as much distance between us as possible.

I reminded myself to stay calm. Emotionless and, above all else, ruthless. This man couldn't be given any idea how much he'd upset me. And he had to understand that I was not going to back down, even though I felt like crawling under his desk – and never coming out.

My goal was to get as much information as possible and get out. I was in no position to win at this point; I needed more data, more insight into the game itself. Then I could go home and strategize my next move.

He studied me from behind the desk, his perverted little eyes running up and down the length of my body. "Ashlyn, I believe it was."

I smiled callously as I sat down on the couch across from him. "Good memory."

"But of course that's not your real name," he ventured.

"Let's just cut to the chase," I said, marveling at how much I sounded like I belonged in one of those old black-and-white PI movies.

He smiled at me, almost as if he felt sorry for me. "I'm afraid there is no chase, honey. I'm not taking down the Web site."

I returned his patronizing grin. "Of course you're not. Why would you?"

Raymond chuckled, highly amused by the situation.

"And I wouldn't dream of asking you to take it down. I'm quite honored that you spent so much time and resources outing me. And such flattering pictures of me as well. You simply have to give me the name of your photographer. Maybe I can hire him to take some publicity shots."

Raymond smiled again and pointed his finger at me. "You're a sassy one, aren't you?"

"You tell me. You're the one with all the inside information these days."

Raymond tried to stare me down. I held my ground. Never blinking, never faltering. Never exposing that, in the end, I had nothing. And everything to lose.

"It's a bitch, isn't it?" he asked.

I pretended to ponder his question in all seriousness, as if it contained an answer to one of life's most unsolvable puzzles. All the while I was actually racking my brain for my next course of action. I had to get answers to my questions. How did he find me? Who took those pictures? How much did he really know about me? "Actually, I'm quite impressed," I began. "I'm a pretty difficult person to track down. I'm surprised that your spies were even able to find me at all."