The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men

by Jessica Brody

  He continues to ask me out on a regular basis, and I continue to say no. Yet his confidence never falters, and I'm repeatedly impressed with his unyielding persistence. Every time I turn him down, he simply vows that one day I will change my mind. But after four months of living in Paris without a single date, I am still pretty sure that I want to be on my own for a while.

  I finish dressing, drying my hair, and applying my makeup, then slip out the front doors of my seven-story classic Haussmannian-style building, with my briefcase in hand. I hop in a cab and direct him to Cafe Bosquet near the École militaire, and he steps on the gas.

  After a quick breakfast of my usual thé au lait and brioche and a few delightful jokes from Pierre, I get into another cab and settle in for the drive to the outskirts of the city, where the metropolitan business district of Paris is located.

  As I slide into a seat at the conference table, my dad says to me, "I'll probably just stick around for the introduction and then slip out and let you handle the negotiations. I think it'll go much smoother if I'm not around to interfere."

  I pull my legal pad out of my briefcase and set it in front of me. "No problem. That's fine. I've done plenty of these things on my own," I reassure him as we wait for the other party to arrive.

  My dad leans back in his chair, looking extremely at ease. "Sounds good."

  "So tell me what the story is with this guy again?"

  He folds his hands in his lap and explains, "We formed an LLP about a year ago, but things got complicated and he said I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal. The partnership eventually dissolved a couple months back."

  "So why are we here, then?"

  My dad shrugs. "He called me a few days ago and said he wants to try to reconcile. You know, set up a new agreement."

  I jot down a few notes on my legal pad. "And you're cool with this?"

  He nods. "Yeah. I've always thought it would be a good partnership. I'm just glad he finally came around and realized it, too."

  My dad seems to find amusement in his last statement, and a knowing smile creeps its way across his lips.

  I shoot him a strange look. "What?"

  But he simply shakes his head and continues to smirk. "Nothing."

  I roll my eyes. "Whatever, Dad."

  He laughs at this. "Is that part of your sophisticated negotiation vocabulary?"

  But I just smile in return. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

  A few moments later, the door opens and my dad's assistant enters. She speaks in a rich French accent, the elongated syllables rolling off her tongue like an enchanting melody. "Mr. Ree-shar has arrived. He is in the restrooms."

  "Merci, Yvette," my dad responds with a courteous smile.

  I lean closer to him. "What's this guy's name? Ree-shar?"

  He laughs. "No, that's just the French pronunciation. Yvette sometimes has a hard time with the American names."

  I nod understandingly. "So how do you pronounce his name?"

  "It's Richards in English."

  I scowl and lean back in my seat. "Ugh. That's Jamie's last name."

  Another knowing smile stretches across my dad's face. "It is, isn't it? I forgot that. Common name, I guess."

  "Yeah," I mumble as I drop my head down and start doodling on my notepad.

  But when I look up again and study my dad closer, for some reason he doesn't seem like himself. He seems . . . I don't know . . . smug or something. I am just about to comment on the fact when the door squeaks open once again and into the room walks Mr. Ree-shar himself.

  Except it isn't just any other person with that name.

  As common as it might be, the man who enters that conference room is the only Richards I have ever known.

  And his first name is Jamie.

  I sit paralyzed in my chair, a stunned expression plastered onto my face.

  I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming.

  There's no other explanation for this. Jamie only appears in my dreams. In my late-night fantasies as I'm lying in bed trying to find something to sleep to. He doesn't appear in my real life.

  Our eyes meet, and I wait for a similar (if slightly less frantic) expression to register on his face. But it never does. He simply flashes me a polite, professional smile and then turns his attention to my dad.

  As if he doesn't even recognize me.

  As if he's seeing me for the first time.

  Does he have amnesia? I think. Has he been in a terrible accident and lost all of his memories? That would certainly explain the absence of a phone call or e-mail in the past four months.

  My dad leaps into action, rising and offering his hand for Jamie to shake. "Hi, Jamie. Good to see you again."

  "Good to see you, too, Jack."

  Then my dad turns to me. "This is my associate, Jennifer Hunter. She's here to assist with the negotiations."

  I stare blankly up at my dad. What on earth is he doing? Does he have amnesia, too? This is Jamie standing here. Jamie! The man I lived with. The man I once agreed to marry. Has it been so long since the two of them met that he can't even put two and two together?

  "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Hunter." Jamie extends his hand to me, his face once again void of any recognition.

  But I don't shake it. I just sit there gawking at it. As if it's a foreign object I've never seen before. But in actuality, it's a hand I once knew very well. A hand that once caressed me, held me, comforted me.

  My dad nudges me with his elbow, and I blink rapidly to wake myself from my trance. With cautious, unsteady fingers, I reach out and shake the hand that is extended toward me, feeling a million tiny tingles shoot up my arm.

  Jamie sits down, tugging at the lapels of his jacket. "So," he begins, his voice all business, "shall we get started?"

  But my dad doesn't return to his seat. He simply looks down at me and says, "I think you can take it from here, Jen. I have a lot of work to finish up, so I'll leave it to you." He gives me a reassuring pat on the back.

  Jamie flashes a tight-lipped smile. "Good to see you again, Jack."

  My dad points a finger at him. "You, too, Jamie."

  My head bobs frantically between the two of them, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in here and why I don't seem to be in on it.

  "Are you kidding?" I finally sputter out, speaking (or more like spitting) for the first time since my amnesiac ex-fiancé entered the room.

  But my dad just looks at me as if he has no idea what I could possibly be referring to. "Is something the matter? If you have any questions, I'll be right down the hall."

  I look back at Jamie, and he offers me an innocent little shrug.

  Okay, maybe it's just me. Maybe I am the delusional one with the mental malfunctions. Maybe the man sitting across from me is just another stranger I've never met and I'm sitting here imagining the entire thing. I mean, it certainly wouldn't be the first time I pictured Jamie walking back into my life with no warning. But during most of those fantasies, I don't sit there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. I jump into his arms and make out with him passionately.

  But this feels so much more real than any of the others.

  "Um, nothing," I mumble, staring down at the table. "I'm fine."

  My dad smiles. "Good." He motions toward a phone in the middle of the table. "Just call if you need me." And then he steps out the door, leaving me alone with the one man I never thought I'd ever see again. Especially not in a scenario where he doesn't even seem to recognize me.

  "Okay, then," Jamie begins, his voice once again completely professional and detached. "I think we should start by discussing the dissolution of the previous agreement so that we can identify the key problem areas and work to resolve them in the new one."

  I nod my head timidly but make no sound. Well, except for the small gurgle that comes from the back of my throat. But that's completely involuntary.

  Is he seriously going through with this? Obviously this is some kind of joke. A gag. A prank.

  But if it
is, Jamie clearly isn't in on it, because he proceeds to remove a thick and rather daunting-looking document from his briefcase and plops it onto the table with a loud thud. Then he flips calmly to a flagged page about twenty sheets in and starts reading. "In section two C of our previous business agreement, it was stated that 'in creating this partnership and in the general spirit of all partnerships of this nature, both parties explicitly agree that every effort will be made to keep the other party fully abreast of any and all developments that hold relevance to the partnership.'" His voice is unnervingly impassive, like a robot's.

  He stops reading and looks directly at me, his eyes penetrating mine with a steely expression. "It is my understanding that you (as a representative of your client) were in direct violation of this section."

  I can barely understand anything he is saying. What partnership? What agreement? My dad told me that we were meeting with some guy he tried to form an LLP with last year and the partnership eventually fell through. But when did my dad go into business with Jamie? And why did no one tell me about this? Did they do it behind my back?

  When I don't respond, Jamie interprets my silence as permission to continue. "Moving on to section four F." Mechanically, he flips to another flagged page and continues reading in that same cold, aloof tone: "In this section, it was explicitly stated that you were to abandon your previous business practices once the partnership was formed, as they were in direct conflict with the goals and objectives set forth by our agreement." He takes a breath and looks at me again. "It is my understanding that you were in direct violation of this section as well."

  Wait a minute. My mind is suddenly flooding. Abandon your previous business practices? Why would my dad sign an agreement that required him to quit his job? He loves his job. He would never agree to that.

  Something is not right here. Something is not adding up.

  "Do you agree that you failed to abandon your conflicting business practices in accordance with this agreement?"

  "What?" I blubber, feeling frustrated to be so out of the loop. "No. I don't agree. I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. Jamie, what is going on here?"

  He looks back at me questioningly, his eyebrows raised in innocent speculation. "So are you contesting this section as a valid reason for the dissolution?"

  But I ignore his annoying business jargon and just ask him point-blank, "Did you go into business with my dad and not tell me? Was it while we were dating?"

  But he remains silent, refusing to say a word. And this infuriates me even more. "I want to know what is happening here. And don't pretend you don't know."

  Jamie's voice is patient but still detached. "I thought we all understood our purpose for today's meeting was to renegotiate a new and improved partnership."

  My eyes narrow and I stare at him intently, trying to extract just one ounce of sense from his words. My superpower was always useless on Jamie. But you would think that after all the time that has passed, after everything I've been through to get to this point in my life, I would be able to read just one smidgen of a thought in his brain. Except I draw nothing but a blank.

  And just as I'm about to rise up and storm out of this office in vehement protest, I catch the smallest twinkle in his eye and the faintest smirk on his lips.

  And then suddenly his words repeat in my mind and everything starts to fall into place. Abandon your previous business practices. Direct conflict with the goals and objectives set forth by our agreement. New and improved partnership.

  The agreement he's referring to isn't between him and my father. It's between him and me.

  Jamie is here to negotiate me back.

  "Isn't that why we're here?" Jamie asks, forcing me back into the conversation.

  I sit up a bit straighter, feeling a burst of electricity run through my body. My head is spinning and my heart is pounding in my chest, but I manage to match his professional tone and businesslike manner when I say, "Yes. That is why we're here. Please continue."

  He nods appreciatively. "Thank you. So do you or do you not contest the violation of these agreements and accept responsibility for the resulting dissolution of the partnership?"

  There is no way I could ever contest it. Or ever would. It's a responsibility I have been accepting fully for the past four months of my life. The responsibility that won't let me sleep at night. Won't let me walk the streets of Paris without seeing Jamie's face everywhere I go. I am the one who broke my promise. I am the one who hurt him. And now is my chance to tell him. And apologize.

  I nod firmly. "I do take full responsibility for the dissolution of our previous partnership. And I am remorseful for the violations of our agreement and my blatant errors in judgment. But I am eager to renegotiate a new contract and prove my ability to maintain a successful partnership."

  Jamie nods back. "Although it should also be noted that my party accepts partial responsibility for the dissolution as well. We acknowledge that the use of certain testing methods to analyze the durability of said agreement was dishonorable and in bad form. We also acknowledge that alternative methods utilizing communication between the two parties should have been employed instead."

  I fight back a smile. "I acknowledge your acknowledgment."

  "Good," Jamie states. "Then let's talk about the reconciliation."

  My face is tight and rigid, matching Jamie's body language meticulously. But inside, I'm screaming. My pulse is racing at max speed. My stomach is churning.

  "I think the key to the new partnership is to create an agreement that is fully amenable to both parties. And which both parties are comfortable upholding."

  "I couldn't agree more."

  "Very well, then," he continues in all seriousness. "I've given the reconciliation much thought. And I've come to the conclusion that the fundamental problem with the previous partnership all comes down to a question of language."

  "Language?" I confirm curiously.

  "Yes. It appears that your previous business practices did not lend themselves well to the establishment of a permanent, traditional form of agreement. And it was essentially the definition of the partnership that was ultimately problematic."

  "I see," I reply, nodding pensively. "So what exactly are you offering as a proposed solution?"

  Another deadpan smile. "I'm glad you asked." He reaches into his briefcase and removes a single sheet of white paper and places it facedown on the table in front of him. "I've created a proposal for a new and highly untraditional form of agreement that I hope you'll find suitable to your specific needs."

  Slowly, he slides the paper across to me. "As you can see, it's significantly shorter than the previous one."

  I stare down at the white page in front of me, feeling my throat go dry and my nerves go haywire.

  "Go ahead," Jamie encourages me. "Take a look."

  With shaking hands and uneven breath, I slowly flip the paper right side up and glance down at it. The page is completely blank except for one line in the middle, carefully typed in a basic Arial twelve-point font.

  Will you not marry me?

  And with that, I simply can't hold myself together any longer. My composure cracks and laughter escapes my lips. Glorious, liberating, joyful laughter.

  "Do you not find the proposal amenable?" Jamie replies, his face still blank as a whitewashed stone.

  I shake my head. "No, I do. It's . . . perfect." My voice breaks and the tears come. "I love you," I whisper.

  At last, Jamie's professional, emotionless façade comes crashing down. And in its place is the warm, gentle smile that I thought I'd never see again. Except in my memories.

  "I love you, too."

  We rise from our seats at exactly the same moment and walk the length of the conference table until we meet in the middle. Our fingers touch first, then our palms, and then our lips. It's the kiss I've been dreaming about for four empty months.

  He pulls me close to him, and I collapse against his chest, feeling the familiar sound of his heartb
eat. It's pounding almost as fast and as furiously as mine.

  The unforgettable warmth of his skin thaws me instantly. Paris has been so cold without it.

  "How did you know I was here?" I ask into the fabric of his suit jacket. "How did you find me?"

  He leans forward and kisses the top of my head. His lips feel heavy and purposeful. "I saw the article in the L.A. Times. About the agency." Then he places his hands on my shoulders and pulls me away so that he can look directly into my eyes. "I couldn't believe that you had given it up. I never thought you'd be capable of walking away from that life. I always thought it had to come first for you. That it would always be your priority. That's why I left. When I read that you were no longer running the agency, I went to your place to find you. But a strange pregnant woman answered the door. She said you had moved to Paris. I called your mom to confirm, and she told me what you had been doing here. The negotiator thing. And then she told me you had come here with your dad. Another shocking discovery. I could hardly believe it. It was like you had turned into a whole different person."

  I laugh. He is absolutely right. I have turned into a different person. And definitely a better one. "When you left, everything changed," I say softly, feeling more tears well up. "Nothing made sense anymore. And it didn't take long for me to realize that choosing my past over my future with you was the wrong choice."

  Jamie wraps his arms back around me and squeezes me tightly. I bury my face under his chin and we stay like that for a long time, locked in each other's arms in the middle of the drab and dreary corporate conference room. I breathe in the sweet scent of him. It fills me with so much joy because I thought I had lost it forever.

  My mind flashes back across the last twenty minutes. The charade that Jamie set up to be here. Calling my father, flying halfway across the world. Just to ask for me back. I know it's something I'll always remember.

  "I think I underestimated your acting skills," I say playfully, giving his chest a poke.

  He chuckles. "I can pull out a noteworthy performance when it really matters." He exhales a heavy sigh. "I'm really proud of you, Jen. For who you've let yourself become."