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.”
Thank you for reading
GREAT EXPLOITATIONS
(Scandal in Seattle)
By, New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author, Nicole Williams.
Nicole loves to hear from her readers. You can connect with her on:
Facebook: Nicole Williams (Official Author Page)
Twitter: nwilliamsbooks
Blog: nicoleawilliams.blogspot.com
Look for the next installment in the GREAT EXPLOITATIONS saga,
to be coming soon!
Other Works by Nicole:
CRASH, CLASH, and CRUSH (HarperCollins, NYT & USATODAY Bestselling series)
UP IN FLAMES (Simon & Schuster UK)
THE EDEN TRILOGY
THE PATRICK CHRONICLES
LOST & FOUND SERIES (NYT & USATODAY Bestselling series)
GREAT EXPLOITATIONS: MISCHIEF IN MIAMI
Table of Contents
The Beginning
The Meet
The Greet
The (Callahan) Greet
The Heat
The Sheets
The Sweet
Scandal in Seattle Page 7
