ble of contents.
Because only Parker, who asked his secretary to research which French dishes could appeal to a hobby chef, could put a team of detectives—judging by the three names and their professional titles listed at the bottom of the page—to investigate me and then organize the information in a table of contents.
It all begins rather innocently, with info on my date of birth, names of my parents, and my address. The next pages document my years of high school and college. Nothing on my relationship with my father. That was my best-kept secret. My only well-kept secret, it seems. They did a thorough job, I'll give them that. Every single piece of crap about me is here. How I got involved with a moron who turned out to be a drug dealer in my first year at Stanford. I only learned of his “profession” when I was caught in the middle of a deal because he used me as a drug mule. Luckily, the police believed I had no idea of his deals, and assured me my record would be untouched. Theoretically, that meant there was no way for an outsider to find out I had a part in the whole thing. But for Parker there is always a way, it seems.
My second year is also closely documented. How I slept with Alex, a Stanford professor who was subsequently fired because of that. The way the investigation was carried out makes my stomach squirm. The emphasis is mostly on how the story resurfaced: if I did something on purpose to expose us.
As per your request, this issue was researched thoroughly. All data suggests that no action on Ms. Haydn's part triggered the discovery. Our sources assured us there was no attempt on her part before, or after the discovery, to blackmail Alexander Johnson.
I tear up. So that's what Parker wanted to know. I don't read any further. I don't want to know more. Every cell in my body screams betrayal.
"Jessica."
My head snaps up. Parker is standing in the doorway, two shades paler than when he left. "I can explain this," he says evenly.
Despite the lump in my throat, I manage to croak out laughter. "I won't stop you. I’m very curious to hear you out."
"I meant to tell you about this. I just didn’t know how you’d react.”
“Like this. Why did you do it?”
Parker walks to his desk and leans on its edge. He doesn't answer right away. I can tell he's considering his words very carefully.
"Look Jessica, it's just a precaution I take with people I let into my life."
I snort. "I specifically like how you insisted they find out if I blackmailed Alexander. All that trust talk was that just one big joke to you?"
"What, no . . ." He looks up at me and moves brusquely, as if wanting to walk over to me, but then reconsiders and stays put. Just as well. I couldn't stand being nearer to him than I am already. "I honestly meant that."
"Sure, you trusted me so much that you hired a freaking team to investigate me. I saw the date on it, Parker. You gave them this task after we went to Helen's."
"Yes. That's because I . . ." He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "That weekend changed things between us. You know that too, Jessica."
"I do," I whisper. "But that still doesn't explain this." I hold up the file, then quickly put it on the shelf, the hard cover burning me.
"When I left for my trip I realized that I had gotten up to my neck in this, but I still didn't know much about you."
"Why didn't you just ask me what you wanted to know?"
Parker laughs humorlessly. "I learned a long time ago that you don't get the truth about people by asking them. I didn't want to fall into a trap believing you would be different."
"Of course not," I say sarcastically.
"You looked up information about me yourself, Jessica. Just because my life is out there for everyone with an Internet connection to read about, doesn't mean it's less intrusive." Am I imagining it, or is there a hint of anger in his voice?
I feel my own face getting red with anger. "In what world is looking you up on the Internet in the same league as hiring a team of detectives to go through all my crap? I looked you up, yes, but I was looking for a reason to trust you. You were looking for one not to trust me."
He shakes his head. "I was ready to give my heart to you, and I wanted to be as certain as I could that you wouldn't just crush it."
His words instantly soften me. Surely I can't blame him for wanting to protect himself from a heartbreak. After all, haven't I tried to do the same?
But he shatters any understanding I might have with his next words.
"And I had to know if there was anything in your past that could become problematic. Imagine if the press—”
"Don't bring the press up, Parker. You did this first and foremost for yourself. And if your detectives had dug up something bad enough, you wouldn't even have given me a chance."
Parker raises his hands in exasperation, a vein pulsing in his temple. I can't believe he dares to be angry. "If you were in my position, you would do the same. You could have been a gold digger for all I knew."