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you went into it to offer people the truth. And that's exactly what you did for Mrs. Langley."
    I squirmed away from his grasp and hid my escape behind a sip of tea. "I know."
    "She's better off now, regardless of what happened in that courtroom."
    "I know, " I repeated, this time with just a bit more indignation in my voice.
    Jamie leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. "Okay, just making sure. I don't like seeing you upset."
    "I told you, I'm not upset." Another ambiguously true statement.
    "Good. Then I'll see you tonight."
    "Where are we going again?"
    He grinned, quickly forgetting all about the Langleys and their court case, for which I felt overwhelmingly relieved. "It's a surprise."
    I smiled as I made my way to the front door and opened it wide. "Oh, right. I forgot you're being melodramatic about it," I teased with a playful roll of my eyes.
    Jamie shook his head and walked back to the kitchen. "Just meet me here at seven-thirty. And don't be late."
    "I won't!" I called over my shoulder, and shut the door behind me.

3
the fantastic five
    Being a fidelity inspector was the only real career I had ever known.
    Sure, there had been jobs before it. In high school, I sold men's boxer shorts and undershirts at the Hanes outlet store in the mall. In college, I became an official Subway sandwich artist, trained in the fine art of processed meats and cheeses. And when I finally graduated at the age of twenty-two, I landed the prestigious and highly coveted analyst job at Stanley Marshall Investment Bank, where my life became a dizzying array of spreadsheets, PowerPoint slides, and working weekends.
    But I never considered any of those temporary professions an actual "career." Because in my mind, a career is something you believe in. Something you work hard to excel at. Something that defines you.
    And I think it's safe to say I never felt defined by men's undershirts, foot-long roast beef subs, or spreadsheets. These were just obstacles in my way of completing each and every day so that I could go home and do something useful with my time.
    But then I stumbled upon a job that was like nothing I'd ever heard of before. In fact, I don't even think most people would call it a job. It's definitely not advertised on Monster.com . And you'll never find it listed in a brochure from your high school guidance counselor or on some form asking you to check the box that most appropriately describes your current occupation. In fact, I didn't even know it existed until I actually became one. To this day, I have no idea if there were others out there like me. Or if maybe I had been the only one. A Lone Ranger in a new frontier, paving the way for anyone who decided to stumble along after me.
    I used to think of myself as kind of a mini-superhero.
    I know it sounds pretty ridiculous. But I did have all the defining characteristics of a female superhero. I had the kick-ass costume (or wardrobe, rather) that effectively accentuated my legs, boobs, or butt depending on the assignment. I had the secret identity that nobody else knew about—my friends and family knew me only by my real name: Jennifer Hunter. But I couldn't very well use that name for my job. It was too risky. I dealt with too many unstable, untrustworthy people. So I came up with a code name: Ashlyn. And that was the name I gave out to all the unsuspecting men I met on a weekly basis.
    And I even had a superpower. I guess technically I still have it. It's the kind of thing that doesn't just go away. I may not be able to leap buildings in a single bound, but what I can do is probably much more appealing to the eighteen to thirty-five female demographic.
    I can decipher any man you put in front of me . . . in less than thirty seconds. I can read them like an open book. I don't know how or when I acquired this particular skill, it just always seemed to be there.
    Clearly, it's something that used to come in handy in my previous line of work.
    Now it comes in handy when I'm