Deloris was more than the brains behind my security, she was one of the few people I considered a friend. Jocelyn introduced us, and after I lost my wife, Deloris was the only one who understood. Although there wasn’t enough of an age difference, Deloris had thought of Jocelyn as a daughter. Since Jo’s family shut me out, and my family didn’t care, Deloris Witt was the one who acknowledged my loss—our loss. Sometimes I wondered if her current devotion was because of me or because of Jo. Either way, it was there.
Deloris had been with me in Del Mar because of the sensitive meetings scheduled during that trip and because she had family in the area. As the head of my security, she’d kept my detail intact and out of sight. As my friend, she’d been elated that I was interested in someone. It was impossible for her two roles not to meet.
From the time I met Charli at the pool in Del Mar, until hours before she entered the presidential suite, I had no doubt that Mrs. Witt knew everything about her. I didn’t need to ask. If she hadn’t known or had learned anything that she felt would be detrimental, she would have suggested I cancel the first dinner. Instead she made menu suggestions and helped.
Although I was curious when I asked the front desk to deliver flowers to Charli’s room and learned there was no one by that name listed in their reservation, I never asked Deloris for more information. Even after Charli ran off, I sought out Chelsea myself. I wanted to learn about Charli with an i from the fascinating golden-eyed beauty herself.
After the first night, after I found Charli in her suite, I specifically told Deloris that I didn’t want to know any more. The mystery of Charli was part of her allure.
“Good morning, Mr. Demetri. It’s going to be another warm one.” The doorman greeted me as he opened the door to the street. I didn’t need the weather app on my phone. I had Hudson.
Instead of replying, I simply nodded, letting Hudson know that I’d heard. I was too preoccupied with the reason Deloris was in the backseat of my car.
Hudson was right, as usual. Humid air blanketed me as I exited the cool building, instantly plastering my starched shirt to my skin beneath my suit jacket. The semi-circular drive only held a few cars at once. That limitation often required drivers or taxis to idle out on the street and be called when the riders were ready for pick-up. Isaac was never on the street. If I said I’d be present at seven o’clock, I meant six fifty-five. I never wondered as I stepped onto the brick walkway if Isaac would be there. He always was.
When I saw the large car, I knew it was Isaac, even though he wasn’t driving my usual Mercedes. Instead, he had one of the Demetri Enterprises limousines. The change in vehicle set my nerves on alert. Something was going down and whatever it was Deloris wanted to discuss it privately.
Stepping from the driver’s seat, Isaac met me at the backseat door. “Sir, good morning. Did you receive my text?”
“Good morning, Isaac. I did. I see Mrs. Witt wasn’t comfortable in the sedan.”
“No, sir,” he answered as he opened my door.
I tried to read Deloris’s expression as I sat, but with her experience she was a master of non-disclosure.
Once the door was closed and we began to move, she began, “Mr. Demetri, I considered calling you last night, and then I decided this information was best shared in person.”
“You have my curiosity piqued. Is it Oren? Did he do something?”
“No, sir.” She uncharacteristically took a moment to consider her words.
“Mrs. Witt…” When she addressed me as Mr. Demetri, it meant the matter was strictly business. “…out with it.”
“It’s about Infidelity.”
I clenched my teeth. I hated that company. Demetri Enterprises was one of its biggest investors. I wished I could blame my father for that one, say that he got involved one late night in a high-stakes poker game and ended up with a company that sold companionship, but I couldn’t. It was all me. It had nothing to do with the business itself. What I saw was a financial opportunity and took it. Demetri Enterprises was involved from the ground level of Infidelity and that partnership had netted us millions. My biggest fear was that one day the companionship side of Infidelity would be made public. The name, Infidelity, was bad enough. The exclusive website portion was a great cover and actually profitable. It was the companionship side that bothered me. Ashley Madison had been hacked. Infidelity could be too.
On more than one occasion, I voiced my concerns to Deloris. She agreed that while anything was possible, she personally worked with Infidelity techs to ensure that the latest firewalls and preventive measures were constantly in place.
“Was it compromised?” I asked, my question coming out more as a growl while I forced my shallow breaths to enter and exit from my nose.
“No, sir. The information is secure. It’s something else. Something that I found yesterday.”
She handed me a large manila envelope.
Releasing the clasp, I pulled out a picture, one printed on standard white paper. The medium made the photo grainy but that didn’t stop me from recognizing the woman. I knew her immediately, every inch of her.
“What the fuck?” I asked as I checked the envelope for more information. “What does Charli have to do with Infidelity? How the fuck…?” I couldn’t make the necessary mental connections to form articulate questions.
“I have more,” Mrs. Witt said. “I have her profile. But I thought maybe you might not want… well, you’d said you didn’t.”
“She has a profile?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes, it was just created yesterday. From what I’ve seen, she was interviewed yesterday by Karen Flores. Ms. Flores’s comments were favorable. Her recommendation was to accept… umm… Charli’s application for employment, contingent upon the results of her medical and psychological evaluations. Miss Charli signed the agreement of intent.”
I turned my head to the window, trying to tether the rage flowing rapidly through my system. If this were a man delivering this news, I might very well have punched him, but it wasn’t.
“Lennox,” Mrs. Witt said in a more placating tone. “I found this before it was forwarded to anyone. No clients have been considered. Besides the customary employees—doctor, psychologist, Karen, photographer, and assistants—no one knows about this. All of those people are bound by confidentiality.”
“How? Why?”
“I’m not sure of how, other than that a gentleman named Cyrus Perry is her sponsor.”
“Cyrus Perry, that name sounds vaguely familiar.”
“He’s not employed by Demetri or any of its subsidiaries. I’ll look further into him,” she said as she scribbled a note in the margin of her notebook.
“Why?”
“From the profile, it appears as though she has had a recent loss of financial stability. She had a trust fund that’s now gone. She’s recently been accepted…” Deloris’s voice trailed away. “I’m sorry. I’ve probably already said more than you wanted to know.”
“She’s been accepted…?”
“To Columbia Law.”
Columbia Law School is here. Charli’s here in Manhattan.
“This profile was completed yesterday?” I asked. “Blocks from my office?” Infidelity had expanded to numerous locations throughout the country, yet Charli had been blocks from me.
“Yes, sir.”
If she had financial problems she should have called me. Why the fuck didn’t she call me? Did she delete my number? My jaw clenched and unclenched. Silence prevailed as my thoughts swirled. They were a tornado, a violent cyclone capable of massive destruction. Clenching my teeth, I tried to calm them, at least a little.
Finally, Mrs. Witt asked, “Would you like me to call Ms. Flores?”
And what? Tell her to reject Charli? If she’d been willing to do this for money, what would she do if this didn’t work? As much as I hated Infidelity, the people there did a good job of insuring the health and wealth of their employees as well as the anonymity of their clients.
/> “No, Deloris. Give me Ms. Flores’s direct number. I’ll call her.”
“Sir, I don’t need to remind you that using your office or home phone…”
“No, you don’t.”
Deloris reached into her purse and pulled out a flip phone. “This is a burner.”
I nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing this directly to me.”
“Her profile?”
I sighed. “I would assume that if I asked Ms. Flores about Charli she wouldn’t know who I was speaking about?”
“That’s correct. The name on the profile is Alexandria Collins.”
Alexandria Collins?
Where the hell did Charli come from?
As memories of Del Mar and 101 settled the storm in my head, I began to form a plan. “This conversation never occurred, and after I speak to Ms. Flores, Alexandria Collins’s profile will be deleted permanently. Can you take care of that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
AS I LAY in bed, the quiet apartment did nothing to ease my laziness that minute by minute was augmented by self-pity. It was after eleven in the morning and the one thing I wanted to do was call Chelsea. I kept thinking about the time difference and knew she’d be awake now. I wanted to talk to her and confess what I’d done. Patrick and Cy had been supportive and encouraging throughout last night, but they weren’t Chelsea, weren’t my best friend. They didn’t know me like she did. No one did.
I couldn’t call. Speaking to her about Infidelity would be a breach of the agreement.
I couldn’t even discuss the specifics last night with Cy and Patrick, and they knew about Infidelity. Even without my saying much, it was clear they both understood my ongoing inner turmoil. One minute, I was happy that I’d found a solution and law school was secure. During those moments, I wanted to hug Patrick and Cy. Then, five minutes later, I was mortified at the solution I’d accepted. I questioned my decision: maybe I should have looked around more for another job or I could have spoken to the bursar’s office at Columbia about student loans.
It was as I lay in bed that I began to worry about my client. What if I didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like me? What if I ended up being the first exception to Infidelity’s abuse clause? What if he wasn’t my type? Though I’d answered a very intense and extensive list of questions, was that really enough to accurately pair me with someone I’d never met?
I also wondered about my apartment. I didn’t know if I should keep it or call and break the lease. Housing was mandatory for Infidelity. My client would provide it, and more than likely it would be with him. Then again, just because I was required to live with this unknown man, having a place of my own sounded nice. After all, my apartment was near campus. I could use it as a place to study. With a monthly salary of twenty thousand dollars, the apartment’s rent of three thousand was no longer an issue.
I stared at the ceiling. As tears dripped like a leaky faucet from the corners of my eyes, I wondered if I could do this. At this moment, getting out of bed seemed a monumental effort. How could I follow through? My pillow was damp, but I made no attempt to hold back my tears. I contemplated curling into a ball and never moving. I’d tried that before, but no matter where I hid, Jane always found me.
With each passing minute my sense of loathing grew. Every ounce of the repugnant emotion was directed at myself. I’d done this. I’d betrayed everything I’d ever stood for. I lied to myself, thinking that Alex was an improvement over Alexandria. She wasn’t. She was worse. I’d made this decision. It wasn’t done to me.
Adelaide and Alton had been right about one thing: they knew Alexandria would sell herself given the right incentive. They just didn’t realize I would sell myself to a stranger.
Would I be better off back at Montague Manor with Bryce?
The ringing of my phone shattered the silent air, stilled my interior monologue, and pulled me from my funk. The number flashing on the screen was unknown. I suddenly worried that it was Bryce. Why hadn’t I programmed his name in my phone before I deleted his text messages?
Wiping my eyes, I made the decision that I was done hiding. It never worked when I was young; it wouldn’t work now. I sat up and steeled my shoulders. Exhaling a deep breath, I answered on the fourth ring, barely saving the caller from my voicemail. “Hello.”
“Miss Collins?”
The voice wasn’t Bryce’s. It was a woman. “Yes, this is she,” I replied as my mind came to life with the possible identity of the caller: someone from Columbia—Alton had withdrawn my tuition, someone about my apartment—they needed to see me. I hadn’t had the chance to reach the correct possibility before the woman spoke.
“Miss Collins, this is Karen Flores from Infidelity. We spoke yesterday.”
Did she really think I’d forgotten?
“Yes, Ms. Flores, I remember.” Maybe I failed the exam? Probably the psychological one. They thought I was too crazy to be someone’s companion. If I had failed, I wondered if I’d be relieved or upset.
“Miss Collins, this is highly unusual. However, I need you to come to the office immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“As soon as you can get here. How soon could that be?”
I hadn’t moved since last night. After the piano bar, Cy, Patrick, and I went to dinner. By that time, I’d consumed a few too many martinis. It wasn’t my drink of choice, mostly because I wasn’t used to them. After dinner, we came back to the apartment and Patrick poured me more than one glass of wine. The alcohol had undoubtedly been my coping mechanism, helping me come to terms with the decisions I’d made. I was getting closer to becoming Adelaide day by day.
Considering the circumstances, I decided I had the right to overindulge. That was fine then. Now I reeked of stale booze and needed a shower. “I’m afraid it will take me a few hours.”
“This is extremely important. Be here by one.”
Shit! That is in two hours.
“Yes, I can do that. Ms. Flores?”
“Yes?”
“Is there a problem with my application?”
“We’ll discuss it in person.” The line went dead.
Reflexively, I tapped the first four numbers of Chelsea’s cell number. That was all it took to have her full number, name, and smiling face on my screen. Before I hit the green icon, I remembered that I couldn’t tell her about Infidelity or ask her what to do. The sense of loneliness surrounded me as I deleted the numbers and called Patrick.
“I don’t know,” he said. “That didn’t happen to me. I told you it was about three weeks before I was introduced…”
I sighed. “Well, I’d better get cleaned up and go.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Don’t be late and let me know what happens.”
“I will,” I said, disconnecting the call. Talking to Patrick didn’t ease my nerves. If anything, it made them worse. My stomach twisted as I worked to make myself less of a hungover, depressed excuse for a human and more of the confident put-together woman who’d been at Infidelity yesterday.
I had no idea what to wear. I wished I could wear the suit I’d worn the day before, but that wouldn’t do. My clothing choices were limited. The movers weren’t going to get my things from California until tomorrow. All that I had with me were the clothes I’d taken to Savannah.
With my clean hair—smelling like shampoo instead of old alcohol—pulled back into a low ponytail and my best attempt at reproducing Andrew’s makeup, I decided to wear a simple sleeveless navy sheath dress and navy pumps. If the dress had a jacket it would be very Jackie O. Luckily, I’d packed it with Montague Manor dining protocol in mind.
That made me laugh.
Well, thank you, Mother, for your ridiculous dress code. If you weren’t of that disposition, I wouldn’t have the proper attire to meet with my new pimp.
That sounded brash, even inside my own head, but I couldn’t think of a good argument to refute any of it.
As the taxi approached 17 State Street, I rubbed my moi
st palms over my dress for the hundredth time and looked at my watch. The traffic was worse than it’d been yesterday, or maybe it was just my imagination. Either way, I was pushing my deadline when I raced into the lobby and pushed the up button in need of an elevator.
There were so many elevators in New York. I wondered if anyone knew the exact number. There was the elevator in Patrick’s building and the one here. I could go an entire week in Palo Alto and never ride one elevator. I didn’t mind steps. That said, steps to a third floor and steps to the thirty-seventh were two different things.
“Miss Collins—” I began to say to the receptionist sitting behind the large desk for Infidelity when she lifted her hand and stopped my words.
She pushed a button near her ear and spoke into a Bluetooth, “Ms. Flores, Miss Collins has arrived.” She lifted her eyes to me. “She’ll be right out.”
I was certain that I was paranoid, but Karen’s greeting was less friendly than it seemed yesterday. I didn’t say anything until we were behind her closed office door. When we were, I asked, “Is there a problem? Have I done something wrong?”
Maybe someone heard me talking to Cy and Patrick. I worried about my five thousand dollars. I needed that money. Even if I was going to be told that I didn’t meet the criteria for Infidelity, I’d already made mental plans for the interview money.
Karen sat and adjusted her shoulders. “No, Miss Collins. You haven’t done anything wrong. Your pairing has moved with record speed.”
My heart stopped beating as the blood drained from my face and settled in my stomach. “M-My pairing?”
She had a black pen in her hand and twisted it as she spoke. “Yes. Today is the first day of your one-year commitment, the first day of your agreement.”
“I-I thought maybe you called me here to reject me.”
“No, Miss Collins. You are officially an Infidelity employee, and I have strict instructions for you.” She took a deep breath, stood, and walked to my side of the desk. Looking down, she continued, “Your agreement has been sold. The client paid not only the first and last month’s fee, but in order to expedite the process, he paid a rather large bonus. A percentage of that will be added to your first month’s salary.”
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