Incentive (Infidelity Universe)

“Do you travel with her?” If I can coax this guy into conversation, I might be able to find out who she is or where she lives. “Or does she hire local security when she’s in town?”

He stands sour-faced and statuesque like the Royal Guard at Buckingham Palace. So much for prying anything out of him. I might’ve tried harder, but the elevator slows to a stop.

The doors open to a contemporary lobby that’s larger than my entire apartment. A winding staircase leads to a rooftop terrace, and several hallways trail off into more rooms and hallways. Dark wood floors, nickel lighting fixtures, and a profusion of white. Feels a little cold and a lot unwelcoming.

Footsteps approach from around the corner, and a man appears, wearing a perfect smile with sparkling white teeth.

“Decker Gabrielli.” He shakes my hand. “I’m Reese Cromwell. Welcome.” He flicks his wrist, gesturing me to follow him deeper into the suite. “How was the ride here?”

“Spacious.” I clasp my hands behind my back and match his strides. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

Dressed in a collared shirt and designer jeans, he’s ridiculously stylish and good-looking. Clean-shaven, physically fit, and not a blond hair out of place. If I had to guess, he’s the same age as me, late-twenties, maybe younger.

“I run things around here.” He walks through an elegant living room, passing multiple exterior doors that open to a private terrace with a prime view of the Upper East Side.

“What kinds of things?” I want to ask him what business she’s in, what she looks like, and where the hell is she?

First, I need to know if he’s clued in to the real reason I’m here. Karen said friends and family aren’t privy to how the clients meet their companions. Does that confidentiality extend to the client’s inner circle of employees?

I shrug off my jacket and toss it over a chair.

“I’m her personal assistant.” Reese sits on one of two facing sofas and lifts a bottle of single malt whiskey from the coffee table. “I’m hesitant to use the term assistant here, because I manage every aspect of her personal life. Let’s just say I manage her closet.”

How many men does she keep in her closet? I pull in a deep breath and try to loosen my posture.

“Sit.” He nods at the couch across from him. “Have a drink with me.”

“Is she here?” I perch on the edge of the cushion and glance around, my gaze landing on the only closed door.

“We’ll get to that. How about a toast?” He hands me a finger of whiskey and raises his own glass. “To a successful year with Infidelity.”

So he knows. My insides twist, but I clink the glass with his and drink, relishing the burn in my throat. “Who is she?”

“I know you went through a thorough investigation and signed a one-year agreement.” He slowly swirls his glass, watching the amber liquid swish round and round. “But I vet every person who enters her life, including her sexual partners. I need to be sure about you before I let you near her.”

Why is he so protective? Is he one of her lovers, a close friend, or just a loyal employee? None of that narrows down her identity. She could be anyone, from a Supreme Court judge to a country music singer.

“Her pristine reputation is extremely important to her.” He sets down the glass and laces his hands together between his spread legs. “She busts her ass to keep her public image respectable and her private life very private.” His mouth crooks up. “You don’t want to know how many men have sat exactly where you’re sitting, interviewing to be a fuck buddy for a woman they’ve never met. Most are escorted out before learning who she is.”

I sip the whiskey and stare at him.

“Money will buy the best-looking men in any city or industry.” He sits back and rests an ankle on his knee. “A lot of money buys their silence. The few men I’ve allowed into her bed did their job and kept their mouths shut. But you know what they didn’t do?”

When he calls it a job, it sounds so damn shallow and mechanical. And what’s this shit about allowing men in her bed? He handpicks her lovers? What kind of relationship does he have with this woman?

“I’m going to wager,” I say, finishing off the whiskey, “they didn’t make her happy.”

He grins. “Exactly.” He studies me for a moment, and his lips flatten. “I’ve succeeded in choosing companions who don’t talk to the press, but I’ve failed in finding a compatible lover who suits her needs. So when she was referred to Infidelity, I jumped on it.”

“That’s just…” I’m dumbfounded by this conversation.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I mean, most people go about this…organically. You know, crossing paths with someone and sparks fly, that kind of shit. Sounds like you’re trying to force—”