The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(89)

Sophie nodded, silently forfeiting her argument. "Okay, well, most people don't even open random e-mail forwards anyway. I know I don't. I usually just delete them right away out of sheer annoyance."

"Are you kidding? My mom lives for e-mail forwards. She'll take e-mails any way she can get them. She even subscribes to those stupid retail newsletters just so she can hear the AOL man tell her she has mail."

I leaned down and picked up the cat's toy stick from the floor. I waved it through the air, causing the attached string to dance spastically around my feet. Pollo batted it curiously with his paw. "Not to mention, I'll soon be out of a job if that thing continues to circle the globe."

Sophie leaned back against the couch. "Well, I could say the thing that both of us are refusing to say, or I can just shut up and let you contemplate it yourself."

I sat back up and looked at her. "Which is what?"

"Quit."

And there it was, dangling in front of me just like the string tied to the stick, just begging to be batted around in my head. The word I had been refusing to acknowledge for almost a month now. "Quit."

Quit, quit, quit.

Start over. Leave it all behind. I'd thought about it casually on rare occasions, as someone offhandedly talks about wanting to write a novel or take up ballroom dancing. Everybody close to them knows they'll never actually go through with it, just as I'd always known I was nowhere near quitting.

Until now.

"What would I do?" I asked softly.

Sophie's eyes widened as she looked at me. She couldn't believe I was actually taking the suggestion seriously. "Well," she said, after seeing the true pain of my dilemma settling into my face, "how much money do you have saved up?"

I shrugged. "Some. Maybe enough to get me by for a few months. But I wouldn't be able to stay in my condo. I'd have to move."

Sophie nodded. "Yeah, probably."

"Besides, I don't even know what I would want to do. I don't even know who I am without this job. It's been my life for two years now. And it's made me a completely different person. I wouldn't even know where to start. It's not like there's a guidebook out there: Career Options for Former Fidelity Inspectors: Find the One That's Right for You."

Sophie chuckled. "You could always go back to investment banking."

"Yeah, wouldn't that tie up a lot of loose ends."

"Well, if you do quit," she began lightly, "just make sure you complete my assignment first!"

I laughed...even though I felt like crying. "Right." I stood up and gazed desolately in the direction of the front door. "Well, I guess I'll go home and try to get some sleep."

"Okay."

I reached out and pulled Sophie into my arms, squeezing her tightly. "Thanks," I whispered in her ear.

She pulled back and looked at me. "For what? I didn't even do anything."

"No, you did," I assured her. "Trust me."



THE NEXT night Jamie Richards arrived at my front door. I half expected him to call me again so I could meet him downstairs like I did last time. I hadn't exactly had time to think about whether or not I was ready to let him into my house yet. But apparently I didn't have a choice. It's not like I could crack the door open, stick out my head, and say, "Hold on a sec, I'll be right out," and then slam it in his face while I finished gathering up my stuff.

I hid my reluctance with a warm smile and swung the door open for him. "Hi. Come on in." The words practically caught in my throat.

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and told me that I looked beautiful.

I thanked him, as I once again felt my cheeks flush.

"So this is your place?" he asked, stepping inside and surveying the living room. He gave an appreciative nod. "Not bad. You've done well for yourself. It's very... white."

I let out a nervous giggle. "Yeah, I...um... like white."

"I think the PC term is 'Decorationally Colorless.'"

"Hey, I'll be just a second. Um . . ." I could feel a panic bubble rise up in my throat, but I managed to get out, "Make yourself at home."

I ducked into my bedroom and picked out a white Chanel knitted clutch from my closet. I took one last look in the bathroom mirror. I had put together an outfit consisting of a black A-line skirt that ended right above the knee and a fitted three-quarter-sleeve boat-neck shirt with horizontal black and white stripes. My hair was up in a tight ponytail, and I had selected a pair of small silver hoop earrings. Finally, I had matched up the entire ensemble with my black Michael Kors pumps that had dull silver hardware and a rounded toe. I had to admit, for someone who generally found it difficult to dress herself, I was rather proud of my selections.

Upon returning to the living room, I found Jamie meandering around, casually observing his surroundings. I watched him closely from the hallway as his eyes surveyed the small details of my living room. He walked to the TV and nodded approvingly. Then he made his way to the dining room and ran his fingertips across the tops of the wood chairs. At first watching him made me extremely nervous. I felt the sudden desire to remove him immediately from my room, to make this uneasiness subside in any way I could. But it wasn't until he stopped at the fireplace in the living room and paid particular attention to the framed photographs lining the mantel that I felt something else.