The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men

"Uh-huh," he said into the phone, accompanied by a thoughtful head bob. "Yes, I see. Well, that's definitely an interesting conclusion. I would love to hear your reasoning behind that."

  I cupped my hand over my mouth and spoke in a low voice. "I can't explain that right now, I just know, okay? You have to trust me. Now, tell me that Hank is talking to another firm and then ask me if there's any wiggle room in the price of our bid."

  As I glanced at the table from my hiding place in the hallway, I could see Jamie nervously massaging the back of his neck with his free hand. Then he cleared his throat and reluctantly obliged. "Well, it's a good thing that you called because Mr. Chandler and I were just discussing some of the options in our proposal, and I was wondering if there's any chance we can negotiate a better price for him. He seems to have gotten a lower offer from one of our competitors."

  I watched Hank's reaction to this. He looked mighty pleased with himself. Satisfied that he seemed to have successfully dodged a bullet.

  "Good," I said to Jamie. "Now, I know you're not much of an actor, but do your best. I want you to look disappointed in what I'm saying right now."

  I watched Jamie's face as the emotion registered.

  "Nod understandingly," I commanded him.

  He complied. "Yes, I understand."

  "Then in a few seconds, I want you to say, 'Thank you, I'll convey your thoughts to Hank,' and then hang up the phone and tell him that unfortunately the current bid is the most competitive one your firm can offer."

  Jamie paused, looking uncertainly down at the table. I could sense his hesitation from halfway across the restaurant. "Please just trust me," I assured him again.

  "Well," I finally heard him say, "I hope you're right about that."

  "I am right."

  He nodded again and finally said, "Yes, well, thank you, Carl. I'll convey your thoughts to Hank."

  Then the line went dead. I watched from the hallway as Jamie relayed my message. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I could definitely make out the drastic change in Hank's expression. It was as if someone had just told him that his $40 million lotto ticket was a fake.

  There was a quiet yet intense exchange between them as I assumed Jamie was once again trying to assure Hank that their final price was well worth every penny and that they really were the best company for the job.

  I danced impatiently in the hallway for a few minutes before returning to the table and sliding back into my chair. "What'd I miss?"

  Jamie turned to me with an incredulous look on his face. "Quite a bit, actually. Mr. Chandler has just agreed to accept our offer."

  "That's great!" I said, taking a sip of my water. "Congratulations to both of you."

  Jamie was trying hard to hide his strange combination of elation and mystification, while Hank was trying to hide his embarrassment at being called on his bluff.

  I, on the other hand, was simply basking in my victory.

  "Okay, how did you do that?" Jamie asked the moment I sat in the car and shut the door.

  "Easy," I replied, toying with him. "I simply pulled on the door and it shut. Would you like me to do it again in slow motion?"

  "Ha-ha," he indulged me. "Now, tell me how you did that?"

  I shrugged. "It was fairly obvious he was lying."

  "Not to me!" he cried. "I was about to offer him a fifty-thousand-dollar reduction in our fees!"

  I leaned back in my seat, enjoying Jamie's awestruck attention. "Well, that would have sucked, now, wouldn't it?"

  He sighed loudly and slouched his shoulders, looking dejected.

  I finally gave in. "Fine, I don't know how I knew, I just knew. It just came to me. He was talking about that other offer and every bone in my body was telling me he was lying."

  "Really?" Jamie was clearly unconvinced.

  I nodded. "Yeah. Really."

  "It was just a hunch?"

  "No," I replied with determination. "It wasn't a hunch. I knew he was bluffing."

  "So it's real, then? This men-reading superpower of yours."

  I shrugged again. "I guess. It's the same way I know the subject of a fidelity inspection is a cheater."

  Jamie was silent for a moment. "You mean it's the same way you used to know the subject is a cheater," he clarified with a blank look on his face.

  I suddenly felt the temperature in the car drop ten degrees, and I attempted to rub the chill from my gooseflesh-covered arms. "Right," I said, smiling weakly. "Used to know. That's what I meant."

  Jamie studied me for a moment. His voice said nothing, but his eyes were far less discreet.

  Eventually, he turned away and started the car, then pulled away from the curb and maneuvered through the streets of Beverly Hills toward home.

  I faced out the window and stayed quiet. But I could feel Jamie's eyes on me as we drove, glancing periodically in my direction like a police officer staking out a suspected felon. Certain that any minute now I might do something worthy of an arrest.

  And if I did, he would be ready and waiting to bring me in for questioning.

  19

  byte-size emotions

  Having been on official bed rest for three days, I was anxious to get back to work on Wednesday morning. I looked at it as my return to normalcy. My chance to start fresh and erase everything that had happened in the past few weeks. I found comfort and relief in the habitual task of listening to my associates deliver their verdicts in the morning staff meeting and handing out their new assignments for the week.

  There were only five of us in the conference room, as opposed to our usual six, because Katie was still shacked up at the Stanton residence, and according to her bi-weekly e-mail updates, there had yet to be any developments to conclusively determine the status of Dean Stanton's fidelity. And after two and a half weeks, I was starting to think that it might be time to pull the plug. I hated to keep Melissa Stanton's invoice accumulating if her husband was showing no signs of disloyalty. I had offered her a discounted rate from our normal fees, given the unusual circumstances, but the final bill still wasn't going to be cheap by any stretch of the imagination.

  So after the meeting was adjourned and before my first appointment showed up, I decided to call Katie for an update.

  "Are you able to talk?" I asked as soon as she answered her cell phone.

  She sounded surprised to hear from me. Probably because we had agreed to communicate solely by e-mail in order to protect her cover. But if I was going to make the right decision about this case, I needed to hear the details straight from her.

  "Hi, yeah, I can talk. Mr. Stanton is on a business trip, and Mrs. Stanton is out planning some charity event fundraiser."

  "Well, where are the kids?" I asked, concerned.

  She groaned. "Killing each other in the backyard. But don't worry about them. They don't listen to anything I say anyway."

  I laughed. "I was actually referring to the fact that you were alone with them. Mrs. Stanton assured me that you wouldn't be doing any actual supervising. Has she not been keeping her word on that?"

  "Technically she has," Katie replied bitterly. "The housekeeper, Juanita, is usually here, too, but she doesn't speak a word of English and the boys know that and walk all over her. Besides, she's always busy with laundry and cleaning and stuff, so I'm usually the one watching the little bastards."

  I wasn't entirely pleased to hear that, but I let it pass. I wasn't sure how long I'd have with her on the phone, and I wanted to get to the point. "Well, I was calling because I want to talk to you about the case. Have there been any further developments since you last e-mailed me?"

  "I'm afraid not," she said hurriedly, and then I heard a muffled sound as her hand covered the receiver. "Cooper! Henry!" she screamed. "Don't touch that! You'll burn your freaking fingers off!"

  She returned to the line. "Sorry about that. Anyway, no, there haven't been any developments. But he's been gone on a business trip for the last few days. So it's hard to tell."

  I took a deep brea
th. "Well, I've been thinking—"

  But Katie interrupted me with a frustrated sigh and a mumbled curse word. "Ashlyn, I'm sorry. Hold on a sec."

  I heard the phone clank against something, and then in the distance Katie's voice bellowed, "Henry! Do not point that thing at your brother! Put down the gun. Right now! Do you want to sit in the naughty chair?"

  She was breathless and irritated when she came back on the phone. "Sorry again. They like to play with water guns even though Mrs. Stanton doesn't approve. She says she doesn't condone violence in the house. Apparently outside the house is fair game, though."

  I stifled a laugh, finding it incredibly ironic that the girl who could outsmart, outwit, and outmaneuver any man in the world had suddenly met her match in twin nine-year-old boys.

  "So what were you saying?" Katie asked, catching her breath.

  "I was just going to say that you've been there for nearly three weeks and he still hasn't shown any clear signs of unfaithful tendencies. I think it might be time to declare it a 'pass' and pull you out of there. I know we could use your help back at the agency, and I'm sure Melissa Stanton doesn't want to be paying for—"

  "No!" Katie objected, sounding rather frantic. For a minute, I thought she was addressing the children again. But she quickly composed herself and said, "I mean, I don't think I should leave yet."

  My face clouded over with confusion. "But I thought you said there have been no developments."

  She stammered slightly. "Well, no . . . I mean, yes . . . sort of."

  "Sort of," I repeated, skeptical.

  She sighed, and it sounded like she was losing her patience. "Well, he's flirty . . . you know, when his wife's not around, which leads me to think that given enough time, he might take it further. So I'm . . . uh, hesitant to pull out now." And then she added hurriedly, "At least not until he gets back from his business trip."

  I jotted down a few notes on my legal pad and then tapped the pen thoughtfully against the paper. "So you're saying that if he has been doing inappropriate things with his former nannies, then he took his time doing it."

  "Urn . . . yeah." Katie's voice was distant, her mind clearly elsewhere. Most likely on the two rowdy children shooting each other with water guns in the backyard.

  "Well, how have you been responding to his flirtations?"

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and then Katie replied in a rushed tone, "Um, good. I mean, flirty back, you know. Following his lead just like always."

  "Okay, then," I concluded, setting my pen down. "I guess we'll give it another week or so and see if anything changes."

  "Great," Katie breathed. "Look, I gotta go. I'll send another update soon." And then she hung up.

  Julie Bleeker was a young woman, mid- to late twenties, with sandy, highlighted blond hair that was cut in a stylish bob. She struck me as the kind of girl you would imagine to have been captain of the cheerleading team in high school. Cute, bubbly, with a million-dollar smile that came easy to her. Much easier than frowning.

  Well, on any other day, at least.

  Hadley led her into my office, and she quickly took a seat on the couch and tucked her hands under her legs, as if trying to keep them warm.

  "Would you like something to drink?" I asked, eyeing her hands. "Maybe a coffee or hot tea?"

  But she shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

  I pulled my legal pad off my desk and settled into my seat. "So," I began in my usual compassionate tone. "What brings you into our agency today?"

  She took a deep breath. "Someone referred me. An old friend."

  I nodded and smiled. "And may I ask her name?"

  The woman hesitated, shifting uneasily in her seat. I was used to new clients being less than forthcoming about their personal life. So I spared her the agony and moved on. "That's all right. It doesn't matter. Let's just talk about why you're here."

  She appeared grateful for the change in direction. "Well, it's my husband," she began to explain. "Ryan."

  "Mm-hmm," I murmured as I began to take notes. "And how long have you been married?"

  "Three years."

  I wrote this down. "And what is your primary concern about Ryan?"

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and then quickly pulled it back into place. "He just doesn't seem to be as 'into' the relationship as he used to be. He's been distant. Not returning phone calls. He says he's just really swamped at work."

  I nodded as I scribbled. "Okay. Well, in my experience I've found that women's intuition is one of the strongest forces on the planet, and you're wise to listen to it and find out for sure."

  I continued to ask Julie my usual repertoire of questions about her relationship, her husband's likes, dislikes, hobbies, and any upcoming special events that would make for a good location for the assignment.

  "Well," she began, rubbing the palms of her hands on her skirt, "he's supposed to be at the W Hotel in Westwood next Wednesday. One of his friends is staying there from out of town, and he's going to meet him for a drink."

  I frowned at the mention of the date as I reached behind me and pulled my iPhone off my desk and navigated to the calendar. "Oh, I'm sorry," I replied. "But I'm afraid next Wednesday isn't going to work. I've been short one associate for the past few weeks, and the rest of my staff is booked up until the following week. But if your husband is local, I'm sure we can find another suitable location to conduct the assignment when . . ."

  Julie raised her hand timidly in the air, bringing my sentence to a premature halt. "Actually, um, I was hoping that you could do the test."

  My eyes widened in surprise. "Me?"

  "Yes. My friend told me I should ask for you. That you performed her inspection and . . ."

  I let out a nervous chuckle. "Yes, well, I'm sorry, but I haven't taken on any assignments myself in over a year. But I can assure you, Mrs. Bleeker, that all of my associates are very capable."

  But Julie was persistent. She shook her head. "I really wouldn't feel comfortable with anyone else. This is not the kind of thing I would normally do. You have to understand that." Moisture was beginning to mist her eyes as she spoke. "And when my friend told me how you changed her life for the better, for the first time in a long time, I actually felt hopeful about something. I need you to do the same thing for me."

  I didn't know what to say or how to respond, so for a good thirty seconds I didn't say anything at all. I just sat there, staring wide-eyed at the woman perched on the edge of my sofa, hope and desolation performing a spellbinding tango across the surface of her face.

  After everything that had happened in the past few weeks, I knew I couldn't possibly say yes to her, but somehow I just couldn't bring myself to say no. I also knew that something about this woman and her ridiculous request was making me extremely uneasy, and I had to get her out of my office as swiftly as possible.

  Because it was ridiculous. Absolutely, positively, beyond all doubt . . . insane.

  "Well, I'm gonna have to give this some thought," I finally admitted, rising to my feet and practically shuffling Julie Bleeker out the door.

  "Okay," she replied warily, standing just short of the hallway. "Just let me know as soon as you can, I guess."

  "Yes, I'll call you," I assured her, placing my hand on her lower back and giving her body a gentle nudge.

  She walked hesitantly out the door, and I closed it firmly behind her, not even bothering to point her in the direction of the lobby. She was a smart girl, she'd eventually find it herself.

  I knew I had to do everything in my power to create a diversion. Distract myself until this unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach passed. So I decided to tackle all the data entry work that had been piling up over the past few weeks.

  After every assignment is complete, every case file is updated, and every associate report is written and turned in, I assume the unenviable task of entering all the details of each inspection into a secure, highly confidential database on our remote
server. The official "Fidelity Files." Every piece of information about every client and every subject is entered manually and stored behind a login and password that only I know. It's a total bitch to maintain, but the information is far too sensitive and classified to trust anyone else to do it. So the job remains mine and mine alone.

  Anxious to do something other than replay Julie Bleeker's words in my mind over and over again, I hastily clicked the icon on my desktop that launched the database program. I entered my login information and selected the option to start a new record. Then I pulled a stack of folders out of my briefcase and plopped them down on the desk next to my computer. With a deep breath, I flipped open the first folder and got to work filling in the empty fields on my screen.

  Case Number: 2378

  Subject Name: Jarod Cunning

  Occupation: Video Game Programmer

  Location: Seattle, WA

  Client Name: Lisa Bailey

  Relationship to Subject: Girlfriend of 2 years

  Primary Concern Warranting Inspection: According to client, subject has unhealthy obsession with playing video games (Interga-lactic Battle Quest is current favorite), and client worries that obsession could translate to infidelity should subject be presented with female player who shares similar passion.

  Associate Assigned to Case: Lauren Ireland

  Inspection Location(s): Online and Seattle

  Result: Failed

  Notes: Associate posed as local gamer and engaged in online play with subject. Rapport with subject was built quickly using game's instant-messaging feature and occasional e-mails. After one week of interaction, subject requested face-to-face meeting at a local Internet cafe, and associate flew to Seattle for the encounter. Subject invited associate to his apartment and then initiated physical contact.

  Enter. Done. Next folder. Create new record. I could feel the distraction working already. Numbing my mind, muting my thoughts.

  Case Number: 2380

  Subject Name: Jocelyn Sandover

  Occupation: Housewife and Stay-at-Home Mother

  Location: Santa Monica, CA