To Catch A Cheat Part 5

"Keep going," Marissa said, not about to be fooled into thinking there wasn't something negative about her in those other three comments. The fact that she liked her guys to play on the straight team didn't bother her at all; the fact that there were three more comments after Jamie's . . . did.

Amy scrolled down, and the three girls and Petie stared at the second comment, from Gerald Hopkins. Marissa recognized the name, and the accompanying photo he'd posted, immediately.

"The tuba lover," she said.

The photo was of Gerald, playing his tuba in the Atlanta Symphony. His post was short and to the point.

"Oooh, I'll read this one," Candi said. "I remember Gerald. Talk about one of your less-than-finer moments." She cleared her throat. "I also dated Marissa Kincaid, three years ago. It lasted about four months. For the record, she lied to me, so the fact that she's listed on this site doesn't surprise me."

"I lied to him? What's he talking about? I never lied to him."

Candi continued, "For the first couple of months, Marissa acted like she really enjoyed spending time with me and attending my performances with the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra (www.atlantasymphony.org). However, after the third month, Marissa informed me that she couldn't stand the way our dates revolved around my hobby. Hobby? This is my life, and she calls it a hobby? She claimed I cared more about my tuba than her, so she called it quits. Obviously, the woman lied about enjoying those first dates, and obviously, the woman was jealous of a tuba. Need I say more? She needs help. The fact that she started her cheater database with a guy whom she hadn't seen since junior high makes her certifiable. Just my opinion, of course, but I'd love to hear yours. By the way, I'm listed on her website, too. And believe it or not, she even states that I cheated on her with my love of my tuba. Mental, that's the word I'd used to describe her. Mental. Gerald Hopkins, Princ.i.p.al Tuba, AtlantaSymphony.org." Candi looked at Amy. "How about that, he managed to plug the Atlanta Symphony, and and his tuba, no less than three times." his tuba, no less than three times."

"It could be worse," Amy said, though she didn't say how.

"I shouldn't have put him in the cheater list," Marissa said. "Really, it was a tuba. It wasn't a female or anything."

"I disagree. Lots of females play second fiddle to inanimate objects. I think it's high time that was cla.s.sified as cheating, too, and you did it. Bravo," Candi added in a mock British accent. She applauded lightly with her fingertips against her palm and stuck her nose in the air for effect.

Amy giggled. "Actually, I believe it would be playing second tuba, rather than second fiddle, right?"

"Go to the third one," Marissa instructed, while Petie squirmed in her lap. "And hurry. I think Petie needs to go out again."

"Thimble bladder," Candi said, but she patted Petie's head and gave him an air kiss. He responded with a happy bark and apparently forgot his need to go.

Amy scrolled down the page, then shook her head hard enough to send her ponytail swinging and laughed so hard she snorted. "It's Jamie again, asking Gerald out."

"That guy's the mental one," Candi said, grinning.

Petie, remembering his dilemma, scurried up Marissa's chest and whimpered at her neck. "We've got to go out. Just read the last one quick for me."

"Oh," Amy said somberly. "Well, this one doesn't have much to say."

"Just a second, Petie," Marissa said, warning bells sounding at Amy's curt response. "What does it say?"

Amy shot a glance at Candi, who instinctively leaned in front of Marissa to view the screen. Petie, trapped between the two women, barked for more room.

"Sorry, Petie," Candi said, scooting closer to the table and making it even harder for Marissa to see what was displayed. Then Candi muttered, "That a.s.shole."

"Who?" Marissa questioned.

"Blake," Candi replied, the single syllable holding as much venom as she could muster. Neither Candi nor Amy cared for him, mainly because he'd so thoroughly and completely swept Marissa off her feet, had her thinking marriage and babies and the whole nine yards, then flipped over a flight attendant he met en route to Vegas.

Blake Couvillion. The spicy, s.e.xy Cajun whose name alone still sent a quiver straight to Marissa's core . . . and the one guy to whom she'd actually said the "L" word. What had he put on Trent Jackson's site? And why would he say anything? She never lied to Blake, and while she did have a page dedicated to him in The Cheaters The Cheaters section of her site, she didn't state anything all that bad, just that she'd flipped over him, but he flipped over someone else. Basically, that he cheated. She'd only spoken the truth and really hadn't dissed him too much in the process. So what had he said about her? section of her site, she didn't state anything all that bad, just that she'd flipped over him, but he flipped over someone else. Basically, that he cheated. She'd only spoken the truth and really hadn't dissed him too much in the process. So what had he said about her?

Amy b.u.mped her head against Candi's to get a better view, then called Blake Couvillion another choice expletive, a lot more racy and a lot more colorful than Candi's.

"What did he say?" Marissa repeated. She didn't even attempt to look at the screen. From their reactions, she was pretty sure she didn't want to hear it, but she was sure as h.e.l.l that she didn't want to see it on the world wide web, where everyone else in Atlanta, and all over, could read it, too.

"You sure you wanna know?" Amy asked hesitantly.

"Do you really think I want someone telling me at work instead of hearing it from you?" Marissa stroked the back of Petie's neck and prayed that he could hold his bladder a little bit longer, at least long enough for her to find out if Blake's words were as bad as her friends believed.

"He says you cry during s.e.x." Amy squinted, waiting for Marissa's response.

None came.

"He also says that the crying wasn't why he left, but that he admits it turned him off," Candi said quickly.

It turned him off? But the whole reason that she cried-and it only happened once-was that she thought thought she'd just made love for the first time. Obviously, she was wrong. Dead wrong. Embarra.s.singly wrong. she'd just made love for the first time. Obviously, she was wrong. Dead wrong. Embarra.s.singly wrong.

How many people would read that?

Easy answer-everyone in Atlanta who got the paper and learned about the site.

"I hear Los Angeles is a nice place to live," she said. "I could probably get a job there, near the beach even, and I bet there aren't that many people in California who will read today's issue of the AJ-C AJ-C." There. She now had a plan. Moving two thousand miles away seemed like a good idea.

"You don't think people in L.A. get the Internet?" Candi asked, then slapped a hand over her mouth as though she could push the horrible words back in.

But she was right. Everyone had a computer, and everyone could read about her on Trent Jackson's site. Even the part that said she cried in bed. Oh, the guys would really be lining up to date her now, that's for sure.

"Candi!" Amy scolded. "That is so not what she needs to hear right now."

"Well, it's true. I can't get away from this, and Trent Jackson knows it," Marissa said. She wanted to hit something-hurt something-preferably him.

"You know," Amy said, smiling sinisterly, "it won't take long before people who've read that article start responding to our site, too. I mean, there aren't any comments about Trent on his personal cheater page yet, but I'd bet money that there will be before the day's over. And we all know that women are so much better at putting exes in their place than men."

A frisson of excitement rippled down Marissa's spine. What would would women say about Trent? Surely he had something embarra.s.sing on him, too, right? Odds were that a woman he'd done wrong would be totally willing to dish on the guy. How long would it take? Was Amy right? Would Marissa have something on him before the day ended? And if so, how could she use it to her advantage . . . and make him pay? women say about Trent? Surely he had something embarra.s.sing on him, too, right? Odds were that a woman he'd done wrong would be totally willing to dish on the guy. How long would it take? Was Amy right? Would Marissa have something on him before the day ended? And if so, how could she use it to her advantage . . . and make him pay?

"You think I'm right, don't you?" Amy asked.

"Maybe," Marissa admitted.

"Well, the way I see it, if we do get something juicy on Trent Jackson, we can either broadcast it like crazy over the Net, or"-Candi looked thoughtfully at Blake's post on the screen-"or, we could bargain with the creep. Tell him we'll remove the offensive stuff from his page, when he removes the crying c.r.a.p from Marissa's. A trade of sorts. And all we have to do is wait for one of his loves-done-wrong to post."

"I hate to say it, because I'd love broadcasting his dirt, but that might be the way to go, Marissa, especially if you'd rather everyone not know about the crying thing," Amy said.

"Everyone's going to see it anyway," Marissa replied, wis.h.i.+ng she were wrong, but knowing she was right.

"At least a bargain would get it off Trent's site," Candi said.

"Yeah, that's true." Marissa cradled Petie, who'd started whimpering again, then stood to take him out. "I'll think about it. But really, men don't typically get bent out of shape over mere rumors. Why would he care? And every time his name gets out there, whether for a good reason or a bad, he's getting publicity."

"That's a good point," Amy said. "But then again, every time your name gets out there, you're getting publicity, too. And so are AtlantaTellAll and TheGuyCheats. It is publicity, and it's free."

"And it's humiliating," Marissa added.

"Yeah, that, too." Candi followed Marissa across the room and grabbed Petie's leash by the door. "But one thing's for sure, you said you wanted excitement in your life, and you've got it now."

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Marissa said, snapping the hook on the end of the leash to Petie's collar. "Are you going out with us?"

"Yeah, I can use some fresh air," said Candi, turning toward Amy, who was still moving the mouse as she flip-flopped between the information on the two sites. "You wanna come?"

Amy shook her head. "No, I'm going to keep an eye on our cheater page about Trent and see if anyone posts a comment. And I'll check our email address for TheGuy Cheats.com, too. I'm betting we get plenty of emails today."

"Maybe all of them won't ask about my cryfest during s.e.x," Marissa said.

Amy took a breath, apparently debating whether to say what she was thinking, then, being a bull-by-the-horns kind of girl, she did anyway. "For the record, I cried, too, the first time Landon and I made love. Was that it? Did you believe you were finally making love?"

Marissa's sigh was breathy . . . and sad. "Yeah."

"Well, h.e.l.l, I guess I still haven't made love," Candi said. "'Cause I've never cried once, and Cal and I were married for eleven years. Maybe I'm the one you guys should be worried about." She took Petie from Marissa. "I'm thinking more and more that women should be satisfied taking care of their puppies. They're loyal, they're cuddly, they don't talk back, and they don't cheat."

Amy laughed. "Hey, I have living proof at home that there are perfect guys out there. I've actually got two of them, the big and the small version, so don't go dissing all men. You just haven't found the right ones."

"Still say a dog is the way to go," Candi said, as she and Marissa took Petie out and slammed the door.

Typically, there's no such thing as bad publicity; however, having all of your exes discuss you on the Internet may be the exception to the rule.

-KEITH P PARKER

Chapter 6.

Ted Turner has over two million acres spread out over seven states and seems to have plenty of time for all of his other enterprises as well," Trent said, entering his office to find Keith waiting. Never one to waste valuable time, Keith obviously hadn't been deterred when Trent was fifteen minutes late and had already withdrawn his laptop and started checking the most recent stats on DieHard Atlanta. "I'm late," Trent acknowledged.

"No problem. I started billing you when I got here." A slight smirk played on Keith's face in spite of the fact that he wasn't lying. Business was business, and if Keith Parker was here for business, Trent was paying for the services, whether he showed up for the meeting or not.

"A true friend." Trent removed his tie and tossed it onto the leather sofa that was centered along one wall. He'd put a couch in the office simply because his father had one before, but unlike his father, Trent didn't plan on spending nights at work. Until last night, he hadn't, but the monthly meeting of the Jackson Properties division had started yesterday at 8:00 A.M A.M. and had still been going strong at midnight. Then this morning they'd started bright and early again and finally-finally-adjourned at a quarter past noon. If that meeting was any indication of things to come, Trent could very well begin spending all of his time in this building.

Not his goal, and definitely not his dream. He wanted to run a successful business, wanted Jackson Enterprises to continue to dominate in all areas, but he wanted a life, too. And he'd prefer to run the business of his choosing, that is, DieHardAtlanta. Unfortunately, corporate responsibilities were forever pulling him in other directions, as they'd done the past two days, when he really wanted to concentrate on all of the terrific press his personal business venture was getting.

"For the record," Keith said, "Ted Turner's properties are primarily used as ranches for bison, with some commercial hunting and fis.h.i.+ng thrown in for good measure. Turner works hard to keep that land as pristine as possible, in its natural state. On the other hand, Jackson Properties are primarily located in and around Atlanta, with almost all of the land either already developed or in the development stage. You're talking apples and oranges."

Trent removed his suit jacket and tossed it near the tie, then dropped into the chair behind the desk. "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a lousy-a.s.s job."

Keith smiled, way too broadly for Trent's current mood. "I'm trying to tell you that you're in a different arena here, but even so, the reason Turner has time for so many business ventures is that he hires good people to run each division-"

"I've got excellent people running all Jackson Enterprises divisions," Trent interjected. "h.e.l.l, some of them have been here longer than I've been alive. They know the company as well as I do, if not better."

"What I was going to say, if you'd let me finish, is that Turner has time for so many business ventures because he hires good people to run each division, and then he lets them do their job."

"A Jackson has always been involved in all aspects of the business," Trent said. "My grandfather started Jackson Properties, but my father remained a key player in the decisions for that portion of the business; however, he also stayed on top of Jackson Investments, the part that was his pa.s.sion."

"There," Keith said, nodding. "You've hit the nail on the head. Your grandfather's pa.s.sion was land, and he did very well in that arena. Your father, however, had a pa.s.sion for investing, and he pursued that avenue, also doing very well. However, your pa.s.sion isn't in either of those areas, yet you're trying to stay involved in both of them instead of wholeheartedly going after your own goal, formulating DieHardAtlanta as another worthy branch on the Jackson Enterprises tree."

"I'm not arguing with you," Trent said. "I'm spreading myself thin, I know that."

"Well, at least you're acknowledging the problem. The way I see it, where you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up is trying to keep a finger in all of the pies. Let the capable people running the existing Jackson Enterprises divisions do their thing, and you do yours. Sure, you can stay aware of what's going on in the others, but concentrate on leaving your personal mark on your family's legacy. Isn't that what you want your son or daughter to do one day, if they decide to go yet another route in building the empire started by Erskine Jackson?"

His son or daughter? His His son or daughter? Trent didn't comment. He had been thinking about that lately, his legacy, his heirs, not that he had any heirs yet. But at thirty-three, shouldn't he at least begin to think about the possibility of procreating? His father had waited to settle down, wanting to get Jackson Investments on its feet and running before he brought an heir into the mix. While Trent was sure Collin Jackson thought that was a good plan, Trent didn't agree. The result of his father's waiting until the time was right was a son who lost his parents way too soon, and a son who intended to start his own legacy-in business son or daughter? Trent didn't comment. He had been thinking about that lately, his legacy, his heirs, not that he had any heirs yet. But at thirty-three, shouldn't he at least begin to think about the possibility of procreating? His father had waited to settle down, wanting to get Jackson Investments on its feet and running before he brought an heir into the mix. While Trent was sure Collin Jackson thought that was a good plan, Trent didn't agree. The result of his father's waiting until the time was right was a son who lost his parents way too soon, and a son who intended to start his own legacy-in business and and personally-much sooner. Problem was, in order to do that, he'd need a woman, and no ordinary woman. personally-much sooner. Problem was, in order to do that, he'd need a woman, and no ordinary woman.

"I mean, tell me. How many hours did this meeting about the Suwannee acquisition take? You started yesterday, right?" Keith continued, completely unaware of the s.h.i.+ft in Trent's thoughts, which were traipsing over the many women who'd held his attention momentarily. Several had been ready for commitment, but Trent just couldn't see it, not with any of them. His father always said, "For Jacksons, only the best will do. Don't settle . . . with anything." His father had never remarried after Trent's mother pa.s.sed away, saying he had had the best, so no other would do. Collin Jackson remained single until he died. Trent had never settled, professionally or personally, but that didn't mean he shouldn't at least start thinking about starting a family, in more than a one-day-when-it's-right kind of way.

Keith frowned, c.o.c.ked a brow. "You realize I'm charging you for this time, right? And I asked how many hours you spent on the Suwannee deal."

Trent ignored the first question and moved to the second. "Twenty. Sixteen yesterday and four this morning."

"And ultimately, who made the final decision on whether the land would be purchased and developed?"

"The board, but they were naturally very receptive to my input."

Keith nodded and clicked a few computer keys. "And you got your advice from whom? Because, truthfully, land isn't your thing. So who did you turn to for recommendations on the pros and cons of this expensive undertaking?"

"William Stallings," Trent said easily.

"Your president for Jackson Properties," Keith said, not even looking up from his monitor.

"What's your point?" Trent asked, though he knew.

"My point is that if you want to sit through twenty hours of a meeting so you can listen to the ins and outs of why they made their decision, that's fine. Or you could handle things the smart way."

"Which is?"

Keith rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, cracking his neck with each twist. "If I were to give you my recommendation, I'd tell you to request the minutes and outcome of the meeting, verify that their decisions meet with your approval, and in the meantime, have twenty hours to pursue your your personal business pa.s.sion, DieHard Atlanta. h.e.l.l, you might even find time to have some fun on the side, like, say, playing baseball." personal business pa.s.sion, DieHard Atlanta. h.e.l.l, you might even find time to have some fun on the side, like, say, playing baseball."

Trent shook his head. Keith had been trying to get him to play on his recreational league for three years, but Trent simply hadn't had time. He was glad Keith had found something he enjoyed after his wife left. When Melia turned to her boss, Keith turned to baseball. And women. But while the women had come and gone, baseball remained true, and he sincerely wanted Trent to give it a try.

"We could use a center fielder. You have a good arm."

"I had had a good arm. Past tense. High school has been gone for a while, and I haven't played since." a good arm. Past tense. High school has been gone for a while, and I haven't played since."

"It's like riding a bike."

Trent laughed. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. When DieHardAtlanta really gets going, I'll play ball."

Keith looked over the top of his monitor. "And by the way, your subscribers have doubled since Sunday's article hit the paper, not that you'd know that, since you've been cooped up in that meeting."

Trent's brows edged upward. "Doubled? In two days?"