The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men Read online

  "Yes," I stated. "I've had several husbands hire us to test their wives."

  "And you've also testified at some of the resulting divorce proceedings as well, am I right?"

  I didn't approve of her use of the words resulting divorce proceedings. As if my agency alone were responsible for the divorce rate in this country. It's true most of these couples would still be together had their husbands or wives not failed the fidelity inspection, but I liked to think of it more as "awakening" people to the truth rather than "inspiring" divorce.

  Of course, I didn't voice my opinion on her word choice. I simply responded, "Yes."

  "And what is your role in these inspections?"

  "I meet with the client, gather all the details, then I assign the case to the associate I feel is best equipped to handle it."

  Mrs. Langley's lawyer set her legal pad on the table so that she could now use both hands to animate the intricacy of her next statement/question. "So in other words, you match each subject, in this case Mr. Langley, with his ideal . . . fantasy."

  I shrugged. "I guess you could put it that way."

  "Yes or no," she prompted me in return.

  I paused, looking fleetingly around the courtroom, my eyes falling upon the empty jury box. I immediately wondered what twelve of my so-called peers would have thought about what I was about to say. Would they have judged me for it? Or would they have respected me because I was genuinely trying to help people? The same way I was trying to help Mrs. Langley today, in this humid, air-conditioning-forsaken courtroom in Westchester County.

  "Yes."

  "Uh-huh." Mrs. Langley's lawyer picked up her ballpoint pen and began using it as a prop to enumerate the points in her next sentences. "So, Mrs. Langley comes into your office, tells you that she's worried about her husband's behavior on business trips, you choose the associate that you feel best fits his ideal woman, then she meets him in a hotel bar in Seattle, tells him her name is something that it's not, strikes up a conversation with him based on made-up facts that he is likely to respond to, and waits to see if he'll cheat on his wife with her."

  "It's actually an intention to cheat that we test for, not . . ."

  The woman flashed me a look that urged me to just say yes so that we could move on.

  "Sorry, yes."

  She contorted her face into a disgusted expression and let out a small snort. "But isn't that entrapment?"

  "Objection, Your Honor," Mr. Langley's lawyer cut in again. "Leading the witness. She's trying to discredit my argument."

  "I'm just asking the question that I think everyone in this courtroom is dying to know the answer to," Mrs. Langley's lawyer argued calmly.

  I looked anxiously to the judge sitting next to me. She appeared completely immersed in this interrogation. "Overruled," she decided after a moment of deliberation. Then she turned to me. "You may answer the question."

  I exhaled quietly, relieved that this particular question would not be left hanging in judicial limbo. "It's not entrapment," I stated in an unwavering tone. This was an issue I took very seriously. There's a fine line between inspecting someone and entrapping, and I took all precautions to make sure my business remained on the right side of it. "My employees are given explicit instructions to follow, not lead," I continued. "As was the case with Mr. Langley, the associate was not allowed to initiate anything. Any and all suggestions of further intimacy were left solely to his discretion." By the end of my sentence, I realized that my voice had started to sound somewhat defensive.

  I paused and took a deep breath, reminding myself not to get too worked up. I had a tendency to do that when someone brought up the E-word. Let's just say it was a sore spot. "In other words," I began, calmer and more in control, "Mr. Langley made a conscious choice to cheat on his wife. He did not fall victim to a trap."

  Two hours had passed since Todd Langley first sat on the bar stool next to the beautiful and delicate Keira Summers. They had covered every topic from religion to politics to pop icons. He now sat close enough to touch the bare skin of her arm or shoulder with just the slightest reach. And he had touched it. Numerous times. Nearly every sixty seconds for the past hour, in fact. Every joke, every shared opinion, every seemingly genuine connection, had, in his mind, been grounds for another fleeting contact with her soft, flawless skin. He simply couldn't get enough of it.

  And the fact that Keira hadn't seemed to mind in the least only fueled his resolve to touch her again.

  Todd motioned toward the bartender and ordered another two glasses of Pinot Noir, but Keira quickly interrupted him with a slightly intoxicated giggle and said, "Actually, I think I've had enough." She checked her watch. "Plus, it's getting kinda late."

  In reality, she could have easily drunk twice as much as she had and still managed to successfully convince a police officer that she'd been drinking soda water all night. A high tolerance to alcohol was a standard prerequisite for this job. The girl who got tipsy and giggly and uninhibited after two glasses of wine was only an illusion. A physical embodiment of everything his wife was not.

  "Why? What time is it?" Todd asked.

  "Eleven forty-five," she replied, gathering her things and pushing herself off the bar stool. "I should really head home. And didn't you say you had an early flight back to New York tomorrow?"

  But he didn't answer. He had a hard time forming a coherent sentence at this point. Even if it just consisted of the word yes. Because his brain was focusing on only one question: Could he really let a woman like this walk out of here?

  The answer appeared evident immediately. Even though the fading photographs of his wife and children seemed to burn a hole right through the leather of his wallet and the cloth of his pant leg, threatening to scorch his skin. If anything, those burning photographs only made him act faster. Before they could leave any permanent scar tissue.

  "Maybe you could come upstairs?" he blurted out, abandoning any and all attempts at sounding suave or urbane.

  Keira giggled bashfully at the invitation. It was the perfect reaction. Awkwardness could not be met with complete confidence. Particularly with a man like Todd Langley, who was all too used to encountering nothing but overbearing confidence at home. No. Awkwardness had to be met with mutual awkwardness.

  The most endearing kind.

  "Sorry," he began, stumbling to find his next words. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, it's just that—"

  "Okay," Keira replied, looking at the floor.

  "Okay?"

  She nodded timidly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I could probably use the distraction tonight."

  Todd let out a sigh of relief as a huge smile beamed across his face. "Okay."

  He put his hand gently on the small of her back and guided her out of the hotel bar, through the lobby, and into a waiting elevator that had nowhere to go but up.

  A sly smile had just appeared across the face of Mrs. Langley's lawyer. "Are you saying that Mr. Langley failed his fidelity inspection?"

  I looked back down at my notes. It was a superfluous move at this point. I had been preparing for this afternoon for the past two weeks. But something compelled me to do it. Perhaps the notes made me feel more credible. Better prepared. Or perhaps it was because this single, one-word answer was really all I was here to give.

  "Yes."

  "I have no further questions, Your Honor," she stated confidently before taking her seat next to Mrs. Langley and pulling her legal pad in front of her. She held her pen in her left hand, poised and ready. As if that one writing instrument were all it was going to take to defeat the enemy sitting on the other side of the room.

  I glanced off to the left and saw Mr. Langley's lawyer begin to rise from his seat. He reached down and fastened the single button on his suit jacket before making a long, slow approach to my little wooden box.

  My intuition warned me that he would be nothing but ruthless. I could read it on his face, in his thoughts, and in the way he sauntered toward me. Int
imidation was the way he lived his life. The way he raised his kids, spoke to his secretaries, sent back food at a restaurant. Above all else, it was the way he cross-examined his witnesses. I knew it shouldn't have bothered me. I'd dealt with intimidating men plenty of times. And lived to tell about it. But I couldn't help feeling anxious . . . nervous, even. It was that damn partiality rearing its ugly head again. If only I didn't care. If only I didn't feel as though I needed this victory just as much as Mrs. Langley did.

  If only . . .

  "What did you say your name was?" he asked once he had arrived in front of me.

  "Ashlyn," I stated simply.

  He flashed a condescending smile. "I mean, what is your real name?"

  Before I even had time to react, Mrs. Langley's lawyer shot out of her seat like a rocket. "Objection, Your Honor. The witness has agreed to testify anonymously, as confidentiality is an integral part of her business, not to mention the safety of her associates." She tapped at a stack of paperwork on the table. "I have five precedent cases here that document the court allowing the witness to give an anonymous testimony under similar conditions. She should not be pressured to divulge any personal details about herself, as they are irrelevant to this case."

  Mr. Langley's lawyer threw up his hands in frustration. "I'm just trying to establish witness credibility! If she won't give us her real name, how can we even trust that she's giving us real facts?"

  "Objection sustained," the judge decided. "The witness's real name has no bearing on her testimony. Next question."

  Mrs. Langley's lawyer settled back into her seat, seemingly satisfied. She gave me an encouraging nod of her head.

  "Fine, Ashlyn," the man in front of me began, doing little to hide his mocking tone. "Were you present during my client's 'fidelity whatever you call it'?"

  "Fidelity inspection," I clarified, struggling to mask my annoyance. "And no, I don't attend most of the inspections."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because I trust my employees wholeheartedly, and therefore I find no reason to fly halfway across the country for each one. Plus, there are far too many for me to be present at all of them. I would have to be cloned . . . many times over."

  Mr. Langley's lawyer nodded, pursing his lips in deep thought. "Hmm. Lots of distrustful people out there, huh?"

  I replied with a noncommittal shrug.

  "So how do you even know what goes on during these assignments?"

  I folded my hands in my lap. "My associates are required to provide me with detailed accounts in the form of notes and post-assignment reports. In addition, we have weekly staff meetings where all associates verbally recap the results of their assignments. I have no doubt that I can effectively recount, in comprehensive detail, the events of Mr. Langley's case."

  "So let me get this straight," he began, drumming his finger contemplatively against his bottom lip. "Basically you're implying that we should base the division of Mr. and Mrs. Langley's life assets on your word, which is in turn based on someone else's word?"

  "Objection!" Mrs. Langley's lawyer shot up again. "Do I even need to object to that?"

  The judge nodded. "Rephrase your question, Counselor."

  Mr. Langley's lawyer turned to the judge with fabricated aggravation in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, it's just that we're here to decide whether or not my client, a loving and devoted husband and father, is entitled to half of his wife's earnings. A sum not short of three point five million dollars. And all we have to go by is this woman's notes? I'm honestly not even sure why we're still here."

  "I appreciate your opinion, Counselor," the judge replied calmly, "but I will decide whether or not her testimony is useful. I think you should just continue to question your witness."

  The man bowed his head slightly in submission. "Of course, Your Honor. But based on my strong opinion that this witness bears no credibility, I have no further questions."

  The judge nodded and then turned to me. "You may step down."

  That wasn't so bad, I thought, surprised, as I tucked my notes into my briefcase and snapped the top flap closed. I had expected a much more valiant display from this guy. And from the confusion on Todd Langley's face, I'm guessing so did he.

  I felt good about my testimony. Confident. Hopeful. It was an emotion I wasn't used to attaching to aspects of my job. I had always made a point of avoiding "hope" when it came to the lives and relationships of others. Because there are just too many factors outside of your control. But recently, somehow "hope" had managed to sneak post the radar. And by the time I realized it was there, it was too difficult not to cling to.

  Bottom line: I wanted this win.

  The backs of my legs rejoiced as I stood up from the uncomfortable wooden chair, and I heard a small pop come from the middle of my lower back. But as I took my first step down the stairs toward freedom, I heard Mr. Langley's lawyer say, "Actually, I do have one more question."

  The judge nodded, and I stifled a groan and sat back down.

  Mr. Langley's lawyer leaned against the table and feigned deep contemplation. The palms of his hands pressed together, and the tips of his fingers rested on his chin. "You mentioned earlier in your testimony something about an 'intention' to cheat. What exactly does that mean?"

  The pressure of Todd's lips on hers was intense.

  He paused momentarily and took a moment to admire the woman who now lay on his hotel bed before leaning in to kiss her again. She tasted like heaven mixed with Estancia Pinot Noir.

  She moaned slightly, and this gave him the courage to press further. His hand began to reposition itself under her dress.

  But it never quite got there.

  "Wait—" Keira pushed lightly against his arm. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

  Todd let out a deep, lustful sigh. "More than you could ever imagine."

  Then she placed a single finger on his lips and whispered, "Then, I'll be right back."

  She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. Her movement was so fluid, so practiced, it almost alarmed him. But not quite. His blinding anticipation was strong enough to block out any alarming thoughts. The light from the bathroom flickered on and splashed a murky shadow across the room. He heard the sound of water running from the faucet, and he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, a silly, boyish grin spreading across his face as he waited impatiently for Keira Summers to return.

  Or more important, for the promise of what was to come when she did.

  Little did he know . . . she was already gone.

  The light in the bathroom remained illuminated and the water continued to run for at least five minutes before he decided to check on her. But by then, the girl in the black dress and all traces of what she represented had vanished. Even her lingering smell had begun to fade. And after shutting off the faucet and standing perplexedly in the middle of the bathroom, staring at the cold white tiles on the floor, he even started to wonder if she'd ever been there to begin with. Maybe she'd been a figment of his imagination. A drunk and desperate apparition.

  And even though he wouldn't fully understand the true implications of her sudden absence until a few days later, when he came home to find that his key wouldn't turn in the lock, a faint buzzing sound was already sounding in his ears. A warning bell signaling that something was not as it should be. That beautiful blondes in slinky black dresses didn't just simply appear and disappear without reason.

  "So in the end, you have no physical proof whatsoever that my client, Mr. Langley, would have actually gone through with sexual intercourse?"

  I could feel the defensiveness seeping back into my voice. "The fidelity inspection is designed to make absolutely sure that the intention of infidelity is—"

  "Yes or no is fine," Mr. Langley's lawyer interrupted, a smug grin plastered on his face.

  I sighed, my shoulders slouching slightly. "No. I don't."

  "So theoretically, had your associate not left before the deed was done, Mr. Langley could have ea
sily stopped it himself."

  "In theory, yes, but—"

  "Thank you," he interrupted again, clearly not overly concerned with common courtesies at this point. "So I guess the only question I have left is why the witness thinks an intention to cheat is the same thing as cheating. An unfaithful tendency is not an act of adultery. It's simply one person's judgment of character. And probably not even an accurate one."

  I took a deep breath and spoke with as much conviction as I could muster. "My associates don't engage in any sexual activity. Otherwise it would be prostitution. I run a legitimate business. And that's why my employees test the subjects for an intention to cheat only. But I am fully confident that had my associate not left Todd Langley's hotel room that night, he would have had sex with her."

  "Well, thank you for that," Mr. Langley's lawyer offered condescendingly after a short pause. "But if the witness has no physical proof of infidelity to share with us, then I have no further questions, Your Honor."

  The judge nodded. "You may step down," she informed me for the second time, and then turned her focus to the rest of the courtroom. "We'll reconvene tomorrow morning, and I'll have a decision by then." She gathered her paperwork and pushed her chair back from her desk.

  "Actually," I interrupted, raising my hand tentatively. "Can I just say one more thing?"

  Mrs. Langley's lawyer shot me a "What do you think you're doing?" look, but I ignored it and spoke directly to the judge. Because she was the only audience I cared about at this point. The one who had control over all those outside factors that used to keep me at an emotional arm's length from situations like this.

  "Go ahead," she allowed.

  I didn't know if what I was about to say would help at all. But I was fairly sure that it probably wouldn't hurt. So I decided it was worth a shot. "I've learned in the course of my life that cheating is a subjective term. Sex often has nothing to do with it. Mr. Langley may not have physically cheated on his wife—at least not with my associate—but the betrayal was there long before she ever walked into his hotel room."

  A long silence followed. And it was only now that I dared look into the eyes of Todd Langley. The man who had seduced one of my associates, invited her up to his hotel room, touched her skin, kissed her mouth, and showed every intention of doing exactly what he had promised to never do. His thoughts spoke to me as clear as day. He felt justified in the choices he had made with Keira Summers. Entitled. The faint smirk on his face told me that he was not sorry for what happened—only sorry that he had gotten caught.