Scandal in Seattle (9 page)

And look at me now. Screwing men as a career. Irony, if you’re listening, eat shit and die.

Enough with the ironies; back to the dream. I was working as a computer lab assistant in a work study program since I hadn’t come from a family who’d paid for my entire college education before I was out of diapers. Just like any other day, I was taking my fair share of harassment from the future country club flies. Some days it was nothing more than a vulgar sketch dropped in my lap, and some days it wasn’t so tame. Like that day.

Baron VonStraub—yes, there were actually pricks who named their kids that—was one of the worst offenders. He’d search me out to make my life even more miserable than it was. My guess was that his karma from a former life had given him a misshaped, minuscule dick. Plus he had to go through life with the name Baron. Mostly, he was just a Grade A dickhole.

His comments that day had included something along the lines of informing me if I was still undecided about the kind of “equipment” I liked, he’d be happy to give me the full run-down of his equipment. He said he’d meet me in the women’s bathroom in five because he’d heard I’d spent as much time on my knees in there as I had in class.

Several times that year, I’d come close to punching Baron in the throat. That time, I came the closest. The longer he laughed, even elbowing a couple of his buddies who were laughing just as hard, the more my fists balled at my sides.

Baron VonStraub was about two seconds from being knocked out when in came Henry. The instant he saw me, he grinned and headed my way. Henry and Baron were good friends, but I swore he never noticed Baron two feet to the side when he approached. He didn’t even notice when Baron lifted his hand and said something genius to the effect of
What’s up?
or
My man
.

Henry didn’t stop until he was one step in front of me. I remember I’d tried to act busy, or like I wasn’t flustered having him so close and grinning at me that way, but I hadn’t been very convincing. Without so much as a hello, he told me he’d like to ask me out and asked me if I’d like him to ask me out. Looking back, what he’d said wasn’t nearly as confusing as it had seemed.

After a few moments of proverbial open-mouth shock, Baron said something to Henry about being desperate for a low-rent piece of ass. With his expression perfectly flat, Henry had replied with something about how teasing girls he liked became socially unacceptable after sixth grade. He’d capped it with
Grow up and get lost until you do.
Baron promptly did. The get lost part, at least.

Returning his attention to me, Henry had lifted a brow and waited. I stared at him for another minute, trying not to be fazed by his handsome face or the fact that Henry Callahan appealed to me in so many ways I’d almost become a believer in soul mates. And I was looking at him.

Finally, I was able to give him an answer.

It was no.

Henry walked away that day with his shoulders an inch lower, and him walking away that way broke a tiny piece of my heart. That’s what I used to remind myself why I needed to say no to the Henry Callahans of the world. We hadn’t even been involved yet, and my heart was already breaking. I averted one major heartbreak that day.

Henry didn’t stop asking though and, as we all know the tragic end to the story, I eventually said yes. Falling in love with Henry Callahan was the single most easy and natural thing I’d ever done. In true ying-yang fashion, falling out of love with him was the utter and total opposite.

AFTER WAKING UP from my latest Henry nightmare, I was done with sleeping on planes. I wasn’t sure if it was the planes, or having him thrust back into my life, or what, but I’d rather run on caffeine and no sleep than dream about Henry.

By the time I’d practically crawled off of the plane, stumbled around the parking garage until I found the Mustang, and made it back to the condo without wrapping the car around a street lamp, it was almost two in the morning. I fought sleep off for as long as I could, but I lost the battle thirty seconds later and fell asleep face down and fully clothed.

When the alarm on my phone blasted me awake a few short hours later, I was relieved I hadn’t dreamed about Henry again. That relief was short-lived when I realized I had to get up and ready to go see the real one. He was supposed to be back sometime that day, and given the urgency of beating some other girl to the philandering-punch, G wanted me outside his office door thirty seconds before the start of business.

G didn’t believe in leaving anything to chance. If Mrs. Callahan really had contacted other agencies like ours, G wouldn’t be satisfied until we’d shouldered, shoved, and squashed them out of the way. It was our Ten. That wasn’t an Errand to lose to a competitor.

After hopping out of the shower, I pulled a form-hugging pencil skirt and a wrap silk blouse from the closet. That Errand wasn’t all about cocktail dresses and cleavage. At least not during business hours. Henry believed I was contracting for an IT company. He’d expect to see me in business professional during the day. In Eve language, business professional meant feminine clothing that showed off those feminine curves. Less skin, but not less sexy. It was a fine line, like so much in the business, but one I’d learned to walk.

When the rest of me was ready, I gave myself the standard once-over before heading out. Sultry, not slutty. Just what I’d been going for. Henry was one of the few men I’d ever come in contact with who actually liked a woman dressed in leave-something-to-the-imagination clothes. Most guys didn’t want to use their imaginations; they wanted to see, feel, and do the real thing. That’s what had sent their wives in search of us in the first place. But Henry . . . he was different.

I gave my head a swift shake as I slid into the Mustang. Let me rephrase: but Henry . . . he
had
been different.

It turned out he wasn’t so different after all.

Callahan Concepts was a short drive from the condo. Of course, G had selected the condo based on its proximity to Henry’s office and his house. Nothing was random. Nothing was a coincidence. Not in our business.

From what I’d read in Henry’s file, Callahan Concepts had started out in the one thousand square foot apartment he and I had lived in during college—started
after
I’d moved out. He’d expanded into renting an office in an old building, then into renting an entire floor of one of the newer buildings, and finally to a private mini-campus. Several new, gleaming buildings were staggered around a meticulously kept courtyard where dozens of employees were barefoot and plugging away on their laptops. A couple of espresso bars dotted the courtyard. Employees could just walk up and order what they wanted. Free of charge. A string of valets parked employee and guest cars. There was a Laundromat, a full-sized gym, a food court, a massage room . . . It was its own little world.

As I walked through the courtyard toward the main building, I couldn’t help but compare what Henry had done over those past five years to what I’d done with mine. He’d created an empire that employed hundreds of happy and well taken care of employees. He started a business from the ground up and turned it into that. He
created
. Me, on the other hand? I
decimated
. I took things and tore them apart. What I tore apart might have only been hanging on by a thread, but something about walking around the place that Henry had to show for his efforts made me think about what I had to show for mine.

A burgeoning bank account and a jaded attitude toward humanity, but nothing else.

Not the greatest epiphany to have on your way to see the Target. At least I had the elevator ride to the top floor to clear my thoughts and recompose myself.

Outside and on the main floor, Callahan Concepts had almost felt like a college campus. Everyone was in jeans and tees, high-fiving in passing, and chugging Red Bull, but once the elevator doors opened on the top floor, that changed. At least somewhat.

It was more formal in the executive offices, more business standard. People whisked around, as opposed to meandering. People nodded their recognition, and the only things clutched in hands were files or laptops. The dress code was more in line with what I had on.

The space was bright and clean, and I was about to stop and inspect the board of directors wall when I saw the name I was looking for on the office door at the end of the hall. Henry Callahan CEO . . . here I come.

I ran my hands down my skirt and headed for the door. Since no one was there to stop me and I adhered to the better-to-ask-forgiveness-than-ask-permission motto, I knocked once before pushing open the door.

The chair behind the desk was empty. Henry wasn’t there.

But someone else was.

“Hello? Can I help you?” a woman asked from over by the bookcases. But she wasn’t just
any
other woman. Maybe it took one to know one, but it was as obvious that the competition had already shouldered their way into Henry’s life as it was that her boobs weren’t real. Real ones didn’t form perfect half circles like that, which led me to my next conclusion: Whoever’d trained her hadn’t gone over how to dress the part. Way too much cleavage for the office.

“I’m looking for Henry.” I tried to keep my voice level and my eyes from narrowing.

“Do you have an appointment?” She set down the framed photo—no doubt doing a little recon while Henry was gone—and took a few steps in my direction.

“No. But he’s expecting me.” That might have been a half lie, but Henry had told me I could get in touch with him anytime. That time not excluded.

“Since he’s on a plane from Bangkok now, I don’t see how he could be expecting you in his office right now.” She lifted an eyebrow and waited, and damn if that look she was giving me wasn’t close to one I could make. That the competition had sent in a girl with similar physical features to myself was no big surprise. The Client had given them the exact same information she’d given us, so it wasn’t a shock that a blond, blue-eyed, and busty counterpart stood ten feet in front of me. It was a little creepy that her look of condescension was similar to mine, though.

“When does he get back?” I asked, meeting her gaze. If she thought she could intimidate me with a long stare, they’d sent in the wrong girl. It took a hell of a lot more than some haughty look to get me to put my tail between my legs and retreat. I wasn’t sure if the clone with fake tits knew who I was or had a good guess, but I didn’t care. What she thought or knew of me wouldn’t change the outcome of me finishing the Errand.

“Who wants to know?”

I bit my tongue and took a few moments to think out my next play. “I’m an old friend of Henry’s.” Answered the question without giving away too much.

“Does old friend of Henry’s have a name?” She came closer until she was in front of Henry’s desk. Then she sat on it, gripping the edges with her hands. Okay, that message wasn’t obvious or anything.

“Eve. My name’s Eve.” I took a few steps toward her. “Who wants to know?”

She plastered on an overdone smile. “I’m Mr. Callahan’s new assistant.”

My brain just issued a long string of bad, four-letter words. She wasn’t only working for him, she was his assistant. Not that that meant she’d be the first to get Henry in bed, but as a rule of thumb, becoming the assistant to the Target was pretty much a guarantee of getting him into bed within the month. Men like our Targets hired assistants not for business but for pleasure.

“Does Mr. Callahan’s new assistant have a name?” I repeated with just as overdone of a smile.

“My name’s Kat.”

Of course it was.

“If you’d like to make an appointment, you can come back when Mr. Callahan is available, but unfortunately, you really shouldn’t be in here right now.”

And neither should you. Not if I have something to do with it.

She escorted me to the door and held it open. “Would you like me to make that appointment for you? Mr. Callahan’s booked out for a few weeks, but I can put you into the earliest possible time slot after that.”

I’d never dealt with the competition before, but they were just as big of bitches as I would have guessed they’d be. “Oh, that’s okay. I’ve got his private number. I’ll just give him a ring, and we’ll hook up on our own. No need for any third party intervention.”

I smiled when her eyes narrowed. In that game of ours, whoever narrowed their eyes first was kind of like whoever blinked first.

“Good luck then,” she said.

Before making my way to the elevator, I shot her a wink. “Why don’t you hang on to that good luck? I’m not going to need it.” Without another word, I walked away. My guess was that she knew who I was as well as I knew who she was. I’d played off the over confident card without a hitch, but the truth was that I was shaken.

Up until yesterday, I hadn’t even known there was such a thing as “the competition.” I sure as shit hadn’t expected to walk into my biggest Errand ever with the man I practically bled revenge for to find the competition already dug into his life, looking like every man’s wet dream.

I’d already known the Errand would be exceedingly difficult to pull off. Five minutes later, it might have been upgraded to impossibly difficult. Once the elevator doors whooshed open on the first floor, I slid out my phone and dialed G.

“What is it?” she answered, sounding almost worried. Rightfully so. I rarely, if ever, called G.

“We’ve got a problem, G. A big one.”