Scandal in Seattle (6 page)

He was long out of earshot when I replied. “See you soon, Henry.”

IT WAS THE first day of spring quarter my freshman year of college. The instructor had told us to pair up with someone we could work with throughout the semester. Being the only female in the class, I knew I had as good a chance of getting asked to be someone’s partner as I did of curing world hunger. At least, being asked to be someone’s partner without the expectation of sleeping with him. I’d learned during the fall semester that men had a general sort of entitlement when it came to IT, and the only role in it appropriate for a woman was a receptionist.

I was sitting at my lab table, head propped in my hand, partnerless, when someone stopped beside me. But he wasn’t just “someone.” He was Henry Callahan. Everyone on campus knew who he was. He was notorious with the girls because he was easy on the eyes and had more money than God, and he was a favorite with the guys because wherever Henry went, so did the girls.

We were both majoring in IT but had only shared a few classes. The only times I saw Henry Callahan was in passing or on the other side of the room with the “haves” at a party, while I hovered with the “have nots.”

“Hey, there,” he said, flashing a smile that made my heart drop.

“Hey, there,” I replied, qualifying for the worst response in the history of greetings. While I sat there, pondering why Henry Callahan was standing in front of me with a smile, I tried to come up with something to say. Something other than
Hey, there
.

“Can I be your partner?” he asked.

Even at the time, his words had struck me. He wasn’t only open to partnering up with the only female—even though every other male in the class assumed my gender made me an IT moron—he was asking.
Asking
me if I wanted to be his lab partner, not the other way around.

“If you don’t mind being saddled with a social pariah for the whole quarter”—I eyed the stool beside me—“by all means.”

Henry shrugged and sat. “The only reason I’m not a social pariah is because my granddad’s name is on one of the buildings here, so I think this is meant to be.”

Highly doubtful. Henry didn’t exactly qualify as hottie-of-the-year, but he had an unassuming attractiveness that got a girl’s attention, and he also had one of those personalities that seemed to make friends everywhere he went. Having money certainly wasn’t the only thing that kept social pariah and Henry Callahan apart. The list was long.

Twisting in his seat, he held out his hand. “I’m Henry—”

“I know who you are,” I interjected, biting my tongue a few words too late.

His smile curved into place. “You do, eh?”

My mind, thankfully, worked quickly even back then. “It’s kind of hard to not know the person singlehandedly responsible for throwing the class’s curve. I’m Eve—”

“I know who you are,” he repeated, his eyes gleaming. “We’ve had four classes together, you like to sit in the back row, you’re the best JAVA programmer in the department, and you wear red every Friday.”

To say I’d been shocked Henry knew my name was an understatement. Realizing he actually knew details about me . . . well, that was a bit staggering.

“You’ve never even said hi to me,” I said.

“I know,” he replied, “but today, I’m feeling brave.”

My eyebrows came together. “What does bravery have to do with saying
Hey
to someone?”

That was the moment; the first time his eyes locked on mine in a way that floored me. It left me breathless as it made my heart sputter to a stop.

“When it comes to a girl like you, bravery is always required.”

I WAS RACKING up some frequent flyer miles. I felt like I’d spent as much time in the air as I had on the ground that week. After receiving a clipped call from G to let me know that Henry had to leave on a last-minute business trip (yet again), I was on a plane back to Seattle. I had to close the Hendrik Errand tres vite. G’s expression, not mine.

Given Ian Hendrik was a special brand of douche, getting him into bed would be easier than the Silva Errand. Knowing that was a blessing. And a curse. Seattle was waiting for me just the way I’d left it: bleak and gray. The more time I spent there, the more I understood why so few faces had smiles. The weather really didn’t bolster smiling.

As soon as I stepped foot off of the plane, I hightailed it for the parking garage. I’d been in a rush since my last night in Miami. My heart had been thudding at warp-speed ever since. I knew exactly where Ian Hendrik would be, and in order to get the case closed quickly, I needed to be there, too. If all went as planned, I’d contact Mrs. Hendrik that evening with the ceremonious S so she could get her Contact ready for the where and when yet TBD tomorrow night.

Once I slipped inside of the Acura, I tore through the garage and headed south. Ian wasn’t only a fashion photographer, a philandering monkey, and the cockiest coward I’d met, he also liked to try his hand at the amateur race track in the Sound. So what did that piece of information mean to me?

It meant I was the newest member at Speedway Sound Track and a late entrant to that night’s twilight race. If I’d known going into the Errand that I’d be racing the Target, I would have requested something with more horsepower and faster get-up-and-go. The Acura was fast, but I wasn’t just racing—I needed to win. In order to get under Ian’s skin in a way that would drive him positively nuts, I had to not only “coincidentally” be interested in his hobbies, I had to kick his ass. Men hated that as much as they loved it. A woman beating them at their own game was something they couldn’t quite decide how they felt about. While Ian was trying to figure it out, I was going to help him make up his mind.

It was almost twilight when I zipped through Speedway Sound’s front entrance. There were about a dozen cars lined up at the start line, and a good chunk of the grandstands were occupied with loud fans.

Ian’s car wasn’t hard to miss. It was the biggest and flashiest, plus it had a throng of scantily and scandalously clad women around it. Could the guy get any more cliché?

The answer to that question was always yes.

A shrill siren sounded, and one by one, the car fanatics and the driver groupies made their way toward the stands. Including my Acura, a total of ten cars were racing that heat. All of the other drivers were men. A few of them shot smiles full of schmuckery at me, like it was cute I would even consider myself worthy to race against those giants of men. The ironic thing? Those racing “gods” had been tossed into a middle heat in an amateur racing league on the outskirts of Seattle.

We weren’t in Daytona, people.

I studied the track, rolled my eyes, and decided to have a little fun with them. As the line of cars revved their engines at the start line, I stalled mine. I didn’t
just
stall the engine; I practically gave myself whiplash from the force of it.

In addition to the drivers thinking I was about five rungs out of my league, most everyone in the stands who’d witnessed my rookie mistake was chuckling and shaking their head.

Ian was several cars over from me, so I didn’t know if he’d seen what had happened or who’d been behind the wheel. If he hadn’t already spotted me, he was about to when he crossed the finish line several seconds behind me.

G saw to it that her Eves had some defensive, as well as offensive, driving skills, but I’d learned how to race cars back home. G never hesitated to use my driving skills to her advantage. It was just a hobby, never a passion. That’s why it really ticked off my gearhead guy friends when I’d beat them every single time. Losing to a girl didn’t piss them off as much as losing to someone who didn’t live, sleep, and breathe RPMs and black and white checkered flags.

You could say it was one of those God-given gifts that had seemed like a big waste until I became an Eve. The skill to drive as if all of hell’s demons had just been set loose upon me was going to help me get that Errand done. It would help me walk away and try for the rest of my life to forget Ian Hendrik.

I’d barely made it up to the start line before the siren screamed. I wasn’t the first off the line, but as I powered through the gears and encouraged the Acura to its top limits, I knew I’d be the first to cross the finish line. Ian was a decent driver. He was vying with the number thirteen car for the lead position. They were so focused on each other they didn’t even notice me fly by. Glancing in the rearview mirror, their expressions were priceless. It was an impressive mixture of shock and awe.

As soon as I crossed the finish line, I tilted my head back and hooted. After pulling off to the side of the track, I checked the rearview again. I gave my hair a tease and added a coat of cherry lip gloss before sliding out of the car.

The other cars were staggered along the edge of the track, and every last head was turned my way. When the remaining few who hadn’t witnessed my grand stall out saw I was a woman, their bitter expressions turned more to shock.

Yeah, because a woman kicking your ass in anything is the most inconceivable thing in the world.

If Ian wasn’t there, I would have stuck my tongue out at each one of them. However, Ian was most definitely there and, presently, sauntering my way.

Game time.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises.” Ian’s smile slid into place, the one that tipped the menacing scale. “I didn’t know you were into racing.”

I crossed my arms and leaned into the side of my car. “You know hardly anything about me.”

His eyes flashed in the encroaching darkness. “That’s not true. I know what you look like without your clothes on.”

I almost rolled my eyes. I came
that
close. “What does seeing me in my birthday suit have to do with knowing anything about me?”

One side of his smile tipped higher. “Everything.”

Getting into an argument with him over that was a failed effort. To Ian Hendrik, I suppose seeing a woman naked did tell him everything he needed to know about her.

“So what place did you get?” Time to put the guy back in his place and, from the way that smile of his ironed out, that one question did just that.

“Well, I would have taken first if a late entry bluffing her skills at the start line wouldn’t have shown up.”

“You’re so sure of that, eh? First place if I hadn’t beaten you to it?”

“So certain I’d bet my own life on it.”

Ian Hendrik was a bigger idiot than I’d given him credit for. I’d rectify that immediately.

“Are you one of those people who always take first place or one of those who always thinks they deserve it even when they don’t?”

The twisted smile was back. “Both.”

I exhaled and shook my head.

“Got any tips for how I can keep my winning streak up?”

“Yeah.” My eyes locked with his. “Don’t go up against me.”

A flash of excitement rushed through his eyes as he studied me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but whatever it was, it was intense.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked. The staring match was getting old fast.

“The truth or the filtered truth?”

“The truth. The cold, hard one,” I replied.

Ian’s eyes landed on the hood of my Acura. “Right now, I’m thinking about throwing you down on the hood, ripping off your panties, and giving you the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

At least he was honest.

“Got any truth right in between filtered and cold, hard?” I asked, putting my plan together.

Ian stroked his chin, watching me like I was a rabbit to be snared. “Yeah, I do,” he said, leaning in so close, I could feel the hard and hot truth against my body. “I want to fuck you. And I know you want to fuck me, too. So why don’t we cut this dance early and get it out of our systems already? I’m not the kind of man who does delayed gratification well.”

No man did delayed gratification well. Some just knew how to grin and bear it. The men I worked with hadn’t honed that skill.

“Maybe I do want to fuck you. And maybe I don’t,” I replied, stepping aside to show he couldn’t manhandle me at will. The only way he could manhandle me was if I gave him permission. “But I will make a bet with you.”

“Oh?” That flash of excitement was in his eyes again. “What kind of bet?”

My eyes shifted to the hood of my car. It was a perfect plan, a way to get the philandering Neanderthal out from behind locked steel doors. “I’ll let you fuck me on the hood of my car.”

Ian waited a few seconds. After another moment, his patience ran out. “There was an
if
condition in your tone. So give me the if condition before I convince you you don’t need or want an if when it comes to my dick working its magic.”

Dicks didn’t work magic. The men behind them did. To date, I’d only known one worthy of claiming the “making magic” skill, and that was the same man I hated to hell and back.

“If—
if—
you beat me in our next race”—I quirked an eyebrow as I glanced at the prominent bulge in his pants—“I’ll let you fuck me on the hood of my car.”