The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(95)

All that was missing was the little Honey Nut Cheerios bee buzzing into my living room to graciously pour the milk into my bowl and giggle when I poked him in the stomach. Or was that the Pillsbury Doughboy? I get all of those cartoon spokespeople confused.

It was a beautiful day. And it was about to get even better. Because in only a few short hours I would be making the long, winding drive to Sarah Miller's house to deliver the good news personally. If there was anything better than a proven faithful husband, it was informing the dubious wife of the fact.

And to be honest, unfortunately, it's not news I've been able to deliver very often in the past.

Only nine times, to be exact.

And I know that doesn't sound like a lot. It may even seem downright depressing. But here's the way I see it (or at least the theory that I've invented to keep myself from jumping in front of an eighteen-wheeler on the 405): Nine men out of around two hundred is

4.5 percent. And yes, that is a depressing statistic. But you have to figure that the pool of two hundred men I'm dealing with is not an accurate sampling of all men. These are not the husbands, boyfriends, and fiancés of normal, trusting women. These are not the husbands, boyfriends, and fiancés of women in healthy, trusting relationships. These are the husbands, boyfriends, and fiancés of women with reasonable cause for suspicion. And if you give women's intuition the benefit of the doubt, then these two hundred men were pretty much doomed to fail from the start.

It's not to say that 95.5 percent of all men will cheat given the opportunity. I look at it as 95.5 percent of all women are correct when they get the "feeling" that their men are capable of adultery.

And that's why I do this. Or at least, that's how it started out. To give these women the opportunity to confirm or deny their suspicions.

But today was a different day. If there was ever a suspicion that you'd want to be wrong about, I suspect this would be it. And I was more than certain that bringing this good news to Sarah Miller, no matter how strange a person she was, would be the highlight of my week. And hopefully, the highlight of her century.

Not even the thought of my upcoming fidelity inspection of Sophie's fiancé could get me down right now. In fact, I don't even know why I was so reluctant to agree to it in the first place. He would obviously pass.

Friday night would be a breeze. Eric would barely even look at me twice. Why should he? He has an amazing, sexy, sweet, intelligent fiancée waiting for him at home. What the hell would he want with me?

And then a disturbing thought hit me. My chewing slowed from a crunchy chomp to a soggy, cowlike gnaw. What if he didn't?

What if he took the bait, flirted, bought me drinks, stared at my cleavage, kissed me, unzipped the back of my dress, touched my...

I suddenly felt nauseous. I placed the bowl of cereal down on the coffee table with a loud clank.

This was the love of Sophie's life. And I was about to throw myself in front of him with a low-cut top and a face full of sultry eye makeup?

Had I lost my mind?

What kind of a friend even does something like that?

I picked up the phone and dialed Sophie's number from memory. Her number was stored in my speed dial, but somehow, punching in all the digits felt more dramatic. More proactive.

She answered after one ring. "What's up?"

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" I kept my tone light and casual, as if this was a common courtesy call I placed to all my clients on the Tuesday before their scheduled inspection. Just part of the proper fidelity inspector protocol – make sure your clients are fully onboard before you throw yourself into the wolf's playground dressed as a sheep.

Sophie sighed loudly into the phone. It came through sounding like a muffled Darth Vader breath. "Yes, Jen. We've been over this. I need to know."

"I can tell you right now what you need to know." I could feel desperation seeping into my voice. I tried to filter it out. "He's going to turn me down. He's going to pass. So there's really no point in putting yourself through this."

Or me, I thought.

"Well, if you're so sure," she began sensibly, "then it should be no big deal for you to go down there and get it over with."

Damn it. She was using logic. I hate it when she does that.

"But after he passes, don't you think it will be a little weird when he finally meets me for real and suddenly realizes that his fiancée's best friend had just happened to be at the same bar as him before the wedding and pretended not to know who he was?"

I could almost hear Sophie's gears turning as she thought about this for a few seconds. "Well, I guess we'll just have to deal with that when the time comes, won't we? It's more important that I know the truth. And besides, you owe me."

"For what?" I asked insistently.

"For keeping your entire life a secret for the past two years," Sophie said matter-of-factly.

I fell silent. "Oh, that."

She laughed. "Yes, that. And now is your chance to repay me. And I must admit, the punishment fits the crime pretty damn well, don't ya think?"

I muttered some type of agreement and hung up the phone.

So much for getting out of that one.

Let's just hope I'm right and my cheater radar isn't giving off false hopes.