Betrayal

  “I’ll be honest, Miss Collins. You are many things, but your life goal is what makes you a potential candidate for Infidelity. Yes, you’re beautiful. You’re also young. Youth spurs beauty. I can find beautiful women in every city or town in the country. You’re intelligent. Your education speaks to that. However, we have intelligent employees who were never granted access to institutions such as Stanford. It’s because of your dream for your future that you stand out.

  “I’d venture to say that one day you’d like to be a successful attorney, perhaps even enter the judicial system. You obviously have the résumé, assuming you complete Columbia. Maybe your goal is politics… my point is that you will adhere to our strict code of ethics and confidentiality. If you don’t, it’s your closet that will be decorated for Halloween.”

  I nodded. That made sense. “Are your clients as well screened as your employees?”

  “Yes.”

  “I apologize for repeating myself, but what can Infidelity do for me?”

  Karen stood and walked to the front of her desk. Sitting on the edge, she leaned back. “Miss Collins, your background check has just begun. From what I could obtain, it appears you didn’t have financial concerns while at Stanford. Your tuition, as well as monthly payments to your savings and checking accounts, was all paid by a trust fund brokered by the Savannah law firm of Hamilton and Porter. That trust fund is now gone.”

  I swallowed and looked from Karen to Cy and back to Karen.

  “Miss Collins, that is my business—our business. I know about my clients and about my employees. I don’t share that knowledge, but I make it my business to know.”

  “Everything you said is correct,” I confirmed.

  “The next natural conclusion is that you’re in need of money. If we broker a mutually beneficial agreement, Infidelity reimburses its employees well. The average employee receives twenty thousand dollars a month for living expenses. You see, it’s important for our employees to fit in with the clients and their world. While all of our clients agree to provide housing, their generosity beyond the basics—very high-end basics—is at their discretion.

  “May I assume that twenty thousand dollars a month would be helpful in meeting your tuition expenses?” she asked.

  No shit.

  “Yes.”

  “Beyond that, Miss Collins, while it may not seem as if it would, Infidelity will open doors for you. You’ll be seen with the best of the best. You’ll brush elbows and interact with people who may one day consider you for their law firm or vote on your nomination.”

  “And they’ll know that I was—”

  “No. No one knows where you and your client met except you, him, and me.” She looked to Cyrus. “Cyrus is officially your sponsor. No one comes to us without one. While he knows that you’re here, no one will inform him of the client who purchases your agreement.” She shrugged. “That said, Cyrus Perry is a smart man. He’ll figure it out, but if he were ever to share that, he would be removed from the Infidelity network.

  “That is why you’ll never meet other employees, not in the capacity of colleagues. The few office staff and medical staff with whom you’ll interact are restricted by rather strong do-not-disclose agreements. They’re paid very well to keep secrets and forget who and what they see.”

  Just like the house staff at Montague Manor.

  “I would venture to guess,” Karen went on, “that you have met clients and employees alike without ever being the wiser. That is the beauty of Infidelity.”

  “I-I…” I leaned on the arms of the chair. “…can’t… the man can’t be married.”

  Karen smiled and walked back to the other side of the desk. “Cyrus, could you please give Alex and me a couple of hours. Let’s say until three thirty?”

  Cy stood and looked at me. “Alex?”

  I took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I’m willing to continue this discussion. Thank you, Cy.”

  He smiled and turned back to Karen. “Take good care of her. She’s important to Pat and to me.”

  The last part of his sentence sent an unexpected flow through me, bringing warmth to my chilled extremities.

  For the next two hours Karen and I discussed everything that could be expected of me as well as things I deemed unacceptable. Our conversation wasn’t limited to sex, though we did discuss that. We also talked about living conditions and my need to have time for classes and studying. We discussed travel and whether or not I had a passport. We discussed schedules and domestic responsibilities.

  She even asked me about my preferences when dating. What I liked or looked for in a man. It often seemed as though I was completing a profile for an online dating service. I agreed to a photo session after our interview. Pictures were needed for my file.

  “Each employee is given one client,” Karen explained. “As you could assume, if a client is assigned to an agreement and it doesn’t work out, if we then assigned that same employee to another client and the two clients know one another, it would be easy for the second client’s confidentiality to be compromised. Therefore, we do our best to make compatible matches.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I’m rarely wrong.”

  “I don’t have any say in who…”

  “No, Miss Collins. That would require your reviewing client’s profiles. You’ll be introduced to one client and one client only.” She pulled a three-page agreement from a folder and laid it on her desk.

  The agreement was already completed with my name and today’s date.

  “If you sign this agreement of intent, you’ll be agreeing to a medical examination and psychological evaluation, to be completed today. Contingent upon the results of those evaluations, by signing this agreement you also agree to a one-year relationship with the client to whom you are assigned. One year from the date you are contacted with your assignment, you and the client must mutually agree to continue the relationship or the relationship will be discontinued.

  “The only exception to this rule, the only way it could be voided, is physical abuse. To date that has never happened with Infidelity. As I’ve said, we research our clients. However, I’ll give you a card with a number. If abuse is ever an issue, call the number on the card, not the local authorities. This exception makes null and void your length of contract, and removes you from our employment with financial compensation, but it does not remove you from the nondisclosure or confidentiality of Infidelity. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  She pointed to a clause on page two. “Then please initial here.”

  “During the agreed-upon one year,” Karen went on, “you agree to keep yourself monogamous with your client. That means that you will not date or have relations with another man or woman. Doing so could create a media scandal for your client. We’ve never had bad press and we don’t want to start. With some clients, the introduction of a significant other is best handled slowly. With others it is done on a faster schedule, like ripping off a Band-Aid. We have a public relations department that helps each client with his or her own unique situation.”

  “Her?” I asked.

  “Yes, our clients are both men and women. Our employees are both men and women. Do you agree to being faithful to your client for one year?”

  I began to wonder how many of the people I’d met or people I’d seen on television or in social media were in fact clients and employees of Infidelity.

  “Miss Collins?”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  “Are you currently in a relationship?”

  While I should have thought of Bryce and the announcement Alton had planned to make at my party, my mind went to Nox.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She pointed again. “Please initial here.”

  As I read through the agreement, the increased moisture of my palms made the pen in my grasp more difficult to hold. Nevertheless, I did hold it and I did initial. When we came to the final line, the one asking for my full legal signature, I took a deep brea
th and penned: Alexandria Collins. After all, if I were to own this decision, Alexandria would be coming along for the ride.

  A few hours later, Karen escorted me down the secret elevator.

  “Alex, I’ll be in touch with you. I know that your classes will be beginning shortly. This process takes time. We won’t have the results of your evaluations for at least a few days. After that, the pairing, while not rocket science, is an arduous procedure. Infidelity’s success is contingent upon a successful coupling. It could take weeks or longer if the perfect client has yet to join our organization. Please do not contact me. I’ll contact you. Once we learn the results of your evaluations, I’ll inform you of your employment status. Other than your reimbursement for your time today, financial compensation begins then. The five thousand dollars for today will appear in your bank account in the next three to five business days. We thank you for your time.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Flores.”

  We shook hands as she left me alone to enter the main elevator. With each floor of my descent, I wavered in my resolve. Twenty-four hours ago I’d never heard of Infidelity. Forty-eight hours ago I was walking away from Montague Manor. I straightened my shoulders. Alton and Adelaide would never know how I’d ensured my education. They’d never know that I’d sold myself. All they’d know is that I went to Columbia and they were never burdened with the bill. In my mind, my defiance of their plan gave my decision credence.

  Twenty thousand dollars per month for one year with no expense for rent. Even if I needed to purchase essentials, I could save money. I already had a decent wardrobe. After only one year, I could ensure my tuition at Columbia, not just for the rest of this year, but also for the entire three years of the program.

  When I stepped into the lobby Patrick and Cy were both there. Their questioning gazes asked what they couldn’t verbally.

  Patrick wrapped me in a hug. “Hey, little cousin, how are you?”

  I shrugged. “I think I’m all right.”

  Cy smiled at us. “I know a great little piano bar. Who’d like a drink?”

  “Me,” Patrick and I said in unison.

  UNDER THE LIGHTS of my private gym, the small beads of perspiration glistened on my skin. Faster and faster I pushed as sweat coated my body, saturating my shirt and shorts. Harder, quicker, one more mile… the internal commands kept me moving, kept my feet in rhythm as I continued my workout. Sometimes I wondered who I punished the most—me or the treadmill. I knew the treadmill wasn’t a person, yet sometimes I thought of it that way.

  I’d assign it a name and beat it into submission: each slap of my foot was a mark, each pounding mile was the pushing of my designated person’s limits. Allowing my mind to imagine while experiencing the physical exertion was socially more acceptable than the actual acts I envisioned. The law frowned upon bondage and corporal punishment. As CFO, senior vice president, and heir apparent of Demetri Enterprises, acting out my desires in real life would meet more than the law’s disapproval. My father, Oren Demetri, CEO and president of Demetri Enterprises, would head the line to cast the first stone.

  It didn’t matter that I’d spent the last six years learning the ins and outs of every company in the Demetri Enterprises portfolio. I knew the CEOs, as well as their assistants, by name. I knew which ones made profits and which ones reported losses, quarterly as well as annually. I knew the extent of our investment and the margin on our returns.

  My father would tell anyone who’d listen how he’d built Demetri Enterprises from nothing. He’d talk about his great ability, even at a young age, and how others had used it for their benefit. Then he’d bore the listener with his one-man rendition recounting his subjugated life of underappreciation, until the day he decided enough was enough and he deserved the benefits of his abilities—the day Demetri Enterprises was conceived.

  In all of Oren’s grand speech, he’d forget to mention how it all nearly came crashing down. He wouldn’t admit that he was unprepared for the crash that brought Wall Street to its knees. Experts have argued that it hadn’t been as bad as Black Monday in 1987; the difference was that the crash that almost ended Demetri Enterprises lasted longer.

  Talking heads discussed the loss of paper wealth versus real wealth. That comparison was indistinguishable when margins were called and there was nothing to give. With financial institutions closing their doors and the unemployment rate soaring, panic became the norm.

  Not long out of graduate school, it was my knowledge and understanding of the financial climate that kept Demetri from scrumming to the same fate as many other companies. My father may have birthed Demetri, he may have manhandled his way through board meetings and backroom agreements, but I had the education, knew the history, and worked my ass off to keep it solvent.

  While Oren swam his way out of a bottle, I worked the new environment. It was a different terrain. Not unnavigable.

  That’s not to say I didn’t take risks—I did. With me, Demetri Enterprises diversified. Every decision was calculated. It was a time when few businesses were investing. Therefore, even small investments were made with painstaking analysis. I didn’t approach an opportunity because someone in a dark room of a private club told me I should. I scrutinized the data, the market, the climate, everything. Not only did Demetri survive, it was now stronger than ever.

  That dedication to Demetri Enterprises cost me more than I ever imagined. I sold a part of my soul and lost her in the process. Would it have made it better if Oren had acknowledged my sacrifice? It wouldn’t have brought Jocelyn back.

  One more mile. Just one more.

  The calves of my legs protested and my breathing labored, but the clock on the wall told me I had time. That’s what waking before the sun will do. It provided more hours of productive time—hours that others wasted in bed. I will have accomplished a ten-mile run, cleared the demons from my head—the ones that gathered in the night—and still be in the office before half of our employees.

  Since Jo, the name I called Jocelyn, I didn’t waste time. I never slept late, never took my mind off the prize—with one exception. One week. My one true taste of what life could’ve been. I’d forgotten what happiness was, and now that I remembered, I wished I didn’t.

  Although I still checked my private cell phone daily for any sign of communication, in what remained of my heart I knew it wouldn’t come. The first day and even the second after Del Mar, I’d hoped. Charli had shaken my world, made me forget who I was and what I believed. She’d also made me forget that hope was nothing but a vindictive bastard that took up residence inside and gave a false promise of something outside of your control.

  In one short week, she’d made me forget that life was about control. Only I can control my own destiny. For a sliver of time I let myself have hope. With each passing day, I saw my error and worked to put that vindictive bastard back in the steel lined box it deserved.

  In hindsight, I should never have allowed myself that luxury. I should have seen the signs. I knew them all too well. Shit, I carried them. They were banners written in a language that only those who share in it can read. There was a sadness and a drive in Charli’s beautiful golden eyes, that I recognized and understood. We never said more, never shared our demons. We played by our rules.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t see her ghosts lurking and watching. I saw hers because I knew mine. Just like the companies and Demetri Enterprise investments, I knew the names of my ghosts. My prize for surviving, when Jo didn’t, would be that one day my ghosts would experience a punishment that only I could deliver. If Charli dreamt of the same fate for her ghosts, I understood how she was too focused to remember Del Mar.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The treadmill’s speed slowed and the incline decreased. A five-minute cooldown and I’d get ready for the office. As my steps slowed, I tried to think about the screen on the wall—the television broadcasting the latest financial news from the European markets. I willed myself to concentrate on the financial crisis in Greece
. Hell, I even thought about what I’d eat for breakfast.

  None of it stuck. They were but fleeting thoughts as the scent of Charli’s auburn hair filled my senses—the sweet aroma as she slept, her back against my chest, my chin on her head, her soft curves wrapped in my arms, and her firm ass rubbing against me. Instead of running and pushing my legs for that last half-mile, when I closed my eyes, I was easing into her tight pussy, feeling her warmth as her body hugged me, contracting in warm waves.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  Fuck!

  Not only would my shower be cold again this morning, but my legs wouldn’t be the only part of me getting a workout. Jacking off just got moved to the top of my morning schedule. I should have known. Since Del Mar it had become a permanent staple in my routine.

  I’D TEXTED ISAAC, my driver, to be outside of the building at seven o’clock. Traffic was beginning to build and leaving early could save me as much as twenty minutes on the nearly eight-mile drive. It all depended upon the backup on the FDR.

  I hadn’t looked at Isaac’s response until I was in the elevator. Every morning it was the same: YES, SIR, MR. DEMETRI, I WILL BE WAITING. That was why I was surprised when I read today’s.

  Isaac: “MR. DEMETRI, MRS. WITT INSISTED ON ACCOMPANYING YOU TO THE OFFICE TODAY. SHE IS WAITING IN THE CAR.”

  What the fuck?

  Mrs. Witt wasn’t my housekeeper as Charli had surmised. Even Deloris laughed when I told her that. Deloris Witt was the head of my security. She wasn’t the muscle. Those were the people she hired. She was the brains. With a CIA background and computer skills that rivaled some of the best hackers in the world, she was the one who kept me informed on all things Demetri Enterprises. Hell, she kept me informed on all things Lennox Demetri.

  We had a regularly scheduled appointment every Monday morning. During that time she briefed me on everything I would need to know during the upcoming week. Today wasn’t Monday. It was Wednesday.