Great Exploitations: Sin in San Fran Read online

  “What happened to that lively girl I met last week who convinced me she deserved a name like Fiona Fiend?” he asked, watching me like he was just waiting for her to burst to the surface.

  “The one you literally and figuratively beat out of me?” I raised an eyebrow, keeping my smile in place. “I thought you’d be pleased to see her gone.”

  “I’m pleased to see you showing me the respect I deserve, but you can show me that in more than one way.”

  “In what other kinds of ways?” I asked, genuinely confused. One minute he wanted the lowered gaze, obedient woman I was pretending to be, and the next he wanted the barracuda takes-no-shit-but-has-no-issues-giving-it woman that I actually was.

  “For starters, knowing what I want when I want it,” was his intelligent reply.

  Instead of rolling down the window and leaping from it like I wanted to do, I forced myself to crawl onto his lap. “And what is it you want right now?” My low voice reeked of desire, my expression hopefully matching. “Because if you don’t have any ideas . . . I might have one.” To hint at what that idea was, I circled around on his lap.

  His eyes clouded over with that unmistakable surge of want, and the next instant, I was flying across the bench seat. Thankfully he didn’t shove me away hard enough to knock the wind out of me, but it hadn’t been gentle either. The back of my head throbbed from where it hit the window.

  “What was that for?” I had to work at keeping my voice controlled. I had to work harder to keep from going at him with my fists and high heels.

  “For getting wrong what I want right now,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “What did I get wrong? I don’t remember answering.” I adjusted both my outfit and myself, keeping a careful amount of space between us.

  “You didn’t answer in words. Your answer came in the form of a second-rate lap dance.” He chuckled, smoothing the wrinkles out of his slacks left by my “second-rate lap dance.”

  I bit my cheek. “What is it that you want then?”

  “I can tell you what I don’t want, and that is for a second-rate lap dance to progress into a second-rate screw.” His gaze swept down me like there wasn’t a scrap he found satisfactory.

  My eyebrows came together—I was deep in confusing territory again. “So you don’t want to—”

  “Let me clarify,” he interrupted. “I don’t want our first time to be inside of a limo when you look like some shabby housewife. I want our first time to be somewhere special, when you’ve put on something nice and look like the eleven I know you are. We’ve come through this much; if I can wait another day or two, so can you.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but his finger covered it.

  “This conversation’s over. Not now, but soon.”

  When he lowered his finger, I resisted the urge to snap it or bite it. I’d been shushed, and if that wasn’t unforgivable by itself, I’d been shushed with an index finger smashed against my lips. I could say with certainty that I preferred his fists to do the quieting, because it didn’t get much more demeaning than a finger against the lips.

  Thankfully, he was quiet for a few minutes after that. If he had opened his mouth and expected a response from me, he wouldn’t have gotten what he was expecting. I didn’t doubt I’d start spewing steam if I opened my mouth.

  When another few minutes passed in silence and my rage dimmed just enough so that I could reclaim a scrap of reason, I recognized that I was letting Rob get to me. I was letting him go five layers too deep, and if I didn’t find a way to buffer him, I wouldn’t wrap up the Errand in seventy-two hours. Yes, Rob Tucker might have been a thorn on humanity’s stem, but he wasn’t the first I’d dealt with. Even though he was the largest, sharpest one to date, I knew how to deal with thorns. I knew how to deal with his type of man. Why was I letting him unravel me?

  Was it because he was especially heinous? Was it because he made my skin crawl from just thinking about him? Or was it because after being around Henry and letting him break through my iron gates, it was that much easier for all my other Targets? And what the hell was I doing contemplating that when I was at a critical point in my Errand?

  “Have you got any plans for tomorrow night?” I asked, shifting in my seat so my legs were angled at him.

  Rob continued to stare out the window, but I detected a smirk working its way into position. “I don’t know. Have you got any plans for tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got plans with you tomorrow night.” I filtered some of the confidence from the Fiona he’d met on the car lot back into my voice and expression since he seemed to be missing her. Typical man—he wanted a meek and obedient woman when he had a headstrong one, and vice versa. Basically? He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

  “And what would those plans be? Exactly?” He twisted so he was looking at me straight on.

  “Do you want a detailed diagram drawn for you, or would you like to use your imagination?” My smile was back in place, but it wasn’t a sweet one.

  If Rob minded, he didn’t show it. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  His smirk spread. “How good are your diagrams?”

  Keep going, Eve. It’s a job, not who you are. Bring this bastard down.

  “I flunked art. Plus I don’t have a pen or paper with me.” I molded my hand above his knee. “So you should probably use your imagination. Or you could just meet me at my hotel room tomorrow night, and I could show you what I would diagram if I could draw worth a damn.”

  Rob sighed. “Are you always this forward?”

  After he graced me with a look of mild disgust, I was left reeling. Last week at the car lot, he’d been so hot for my “forward” act that I could have had him horizontal with a snap of my fingers. A week later, he was almost repulsed by it. Either Rob Tucker had multiple personalities and one self liked forward Eve while the other part liked servile Eve, or he was a far more complicated man than I’d given him credit for.

  Perhaps part of the fun for him was the back and forth, the fire with the ice. Maybe Rob Tucker was more attracted to the game than the actual conquest. Maybe, just maybe, Rob Tucker got off on beating a woman down then watching her bounce right back up so he could beat her down again. Perhaps the fun was all gone once she succumbed to him and his ideas of respect and obedience.

  Perhaps . . .

  “We’re here,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “Your hotel.” He nudged me when I stayed lost in contemplation.

  As I considered where to move my next pawn in our complicated game of chess, I decided to test my theory. Fixing that syrupy smile back into place, I lowered my gaze. “Would you like to come up?”

  If he didn’t take the bait, I’d know what he wanted. If he did, than I’d better find some way to get out of my offer because if I had to get into bed with him, I only wanted to do it once.

  I might not have been looking at him, but I felt his look of disgust slide back into place.

  “Some of us have to work. Go to your room, get some rest, and I’ll be in touch.”

  He took the bait. Thank you, Rob Tucker, for being the least complicated complicated creature I’d ever dealt with.

  “No worries. I’m sure someone else will be able to keep me company.” Lifting my gaze back to his, I raised an eyebrow and slid out of my seat when the limo driver opened my door. I knew better than to stay within arm’s reach when I fired something back at Rob. My entire ribcage pulsing with pain as I stood was a solid affirmation.

  “Excuse me?” He sounded as outraged as I’d hoped he would.

  Might as well up the outrage level to full-on enraged . . .

  Lifting my index finger, I dug around in my purse until I pulled out my phone. One of them. “Henry?” I greeted no one on the other end in a lively voice. “I was just thinking about you.” I paused for a few seconds, letting Rob guess at what might be being said by my mystery Henry. “I’d love to see you too. Stop by whenever. My schedule’s wide open.�
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  Then a strong hand grabbed mine and practically tugged me back into the limo. If I hadn’t braced myself against the door, he would have pulled me all the way inside.

  “No, it’s not,” he stated.

  Quirking an eyebrow, I said, “Hold on a second, Henry.” I gave Rob an expectant look. “No, what’s not?”

  “Your schedule. It’s not wide open,” Rob asserted.

  “It’s my schedule, and since you don’t have any plans of filling it, it is, in fact, wide open.” I was walking a fine line. I could sense Rob’s fist twitching, practically begging to be released. That was okay—I did most of my best work walking fine lines.

  Rob’s fingers formed a cuff around my wrist. “And you are mine. Therefore your schedule is also mine. If I say it’s not wide open, then by god, it’s not. Now be a good girl and say good-bye to your ‘friend’ before I say good-bye to him.”

  Just like that, I had him back on my leash. But I wasn’t giving in quite that easily. Or quickly. Five seconds went by, and Rob’s grip on my wrist went from firm to painful.

  “Am I going to have to count to three?” he threatened.

  I glanced purposefully at his hand. “Am I?”

  His eyes narrowed. My heart raced. The last time he’d looked at me that way, I’d woken up in a hospital a day later. I wasn’t looking forward to a repeat.

  “Tomorrow night. You and me. I’ll pick you up at nine. Wear something nice.”

  “Is that a request?” I asked, hoping Mrs. Tucker could get her Contact ready by tomorrow night.

  “No, it’s a demand. Do you have a problem with that?” That was when the glint in his eyes returned. That glint told me he was putty in my hands, but it also told me if I wasn’t careful, I’d be putty in his hands. The broken-bones kind of putty.

  “You didn’t say please.”

  He huffed and pulled me farther into the limo. “I don’t say please. I’ll leave the begging to you tomorrow night.”

  I let a coy smile move into place. “Is that a promise?”

  “That’s a promise if you get off the phone with that boy right now.”

  Rob’s eyes narrowed on the phone I held against my shoulder. Lifting the phone ceremoniously, I pretended to hit the end button before slipping it back into my purse. When he let go of my wrist, I crawled out of the limo and headed for the hotel.

  “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Tucker.”

  I’D BEEN NERVOUS on Sheet night before. My first one the worst, the second one still, and by the third, most of my nerves had been replaced with a sense of duty. I thought that on Rob Tucker’s Sheet night, my nerves would be back in all of their overwhelming glory because, as far as Targets went, he was the slime at the bottom of the bucket. But the last thing I felt was nervous. Vindication and anticipation seemed to be the theme of my mood.

  It was a quarter to nine, and with luck, my hands would be washed of Rob Tucker by midnight. I wouldn’t have to wake up to another morning of wondering when and if I’d close his Errand. Because I was closing it tonight. I’d made damn sure of that, too.

  Rob had told—demanded—I dress nice, but to describe how I was decked out as nice would be an insult to the work I’d gone through all afternoon and evening. Just because I was ninety-nine percent certain I had Rob exactly where I wanted him didn’t mean I would ignore that remaining one percent. I didn’t believe in leaving anything to chance.

  When the stylist at the department store across from the hotel asked what I was shopping for, I told her I needed a dress that would make a man think of sex the instant he saw it and every instant after until the dress wound up in a heap on the floor. She smiled mischievously and said she knew exactly what dress to put me in. She guessed my size, brought the dress in a size smaller, and matched the scarlet sex-in-satin dress with a pair of strappy heels. She also selected a few lingerie items that I promptly rejected. I didn’t do lingerie or anything else under my dress on Sheet night, and Rob wouldn’t be the exception to that rule. The less time I spent with him, the better.

  I was applying a final layer of lip gloss when one of my phones rang. I didn’t recognize the ring, which meant . . . A stream of curses rang through my head as I rushed over to the table of phones, and an actual curse came out of my lips when I confirmed which phone was chiming.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Tucker?” I said as soon as I answered. After I put the fear of God in them at the Meet, Clients knew better than to call me. Mrs. Tucker was one of my best Clients in terms of following all of the rules and filling out her paperwork . . . so for her to call me minutes before her husband picked me up for our “big night” could only mean one thing. Emergency had struck.

  Apparently the Tucker Errand could get more complicated.

  “There’s a . . . a . . . problem,” she got out. She sounded like the scared, cornered woman I’d seen hiding in the shadows outside her house. I suppose I’d be scared too if I was contemplating spending the rest of my life with Rob Tucker.

  “Yes, I gathered that there’s a problem given you’re calling me on Sheet night,” I said, trying not to snap. I didn’t succeed. “What, exactly, is the problem?”

  “My contact. Well . . . he . . . I guess . . .”

  If I could have screamed a cacophony of Shits without making the entire hotel think I was being killed, I would have. “What about your contact?”

  Mrs. Tucker exhaled, sounding as deflated as I was becoming. “My Contact fell through.”

  “SHIT!” I hollered, managing to cover the phone just enough to keep Mrs. Tucker’s eardrums from ringing. So much for not alerting the entire hotel . . .

  “I’m sorry. I thought he was reliable. He guaranteed he’d be available on short notice, and barring death, he’d be where I needed him, when I needed him.” From the sound of it, Mrs. Tucker was about to break into tears, but she managed to keep it in.

  If she could keep her tears contained, I should at least try to keep my anger and profanities contained as well. I needed a few deep breaths before I could say anything else. “So let me clarify this…” I took one more breath for good measure. “Your Contact fell through, and by that, you mean your Contact won’t be there tonight. Correct?”

  It took her a couple of seconds to answer. “Correct. My Contact will not be there tonight.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from dropping another S-bomb on the greater Tampa area. “I’m just going to throw this out here because, well, we’re up shit creek . . . but you wouldn’t happen to have a back-up Contact would you?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pounded the sofa table with my fist. We were so close to closing. We’d both endured so much, and inches from the finish line, we were going to be disqualified on a technicality. It wasn’t fair.

  I was about to make not fair my bitch . . .

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Tucker. I’ll figure something out,” I said. I’d had a Contact bail at the last minute before, and I’d managed to save that night, but everything about the Tucker Errand was trickier. I would be lucky to not wake up in the hospital tomorrow and have the incriminating evidence Mrs. Tucker needed without having to play dual roles of Eve and Contact.

  “Maybe you should cancel? We can try again on another night with a new Contact,” she suggested.

  I admired her problem-solving chops, but the only night I had left in Tampa was tomorrow. I didn’t need to have been in the business for years to know that finding and arranging a Contact took longer than twenty-four hours. “No, tonight’s the night. I can do this. We’ll both be free of him after tonight.” I didn’t know who I was trying to encourage more, her or me, but we shared a sigh.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  I shook my head. “No. Don’t apologize for things you can’t control. Instead, let’s focus on the things we can.”

  Mrs. Tucker was silent for a moment. I could almost feel her roll her shoulders back and lift her head. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

  �
��I need you to be packed and ready to get out of that house the instant I text you the V for victory tonight. I need you to make sure you follow through on divorcing him. And I want you to find some peaceful corner of the world and spend the rest of your life there.”

  “Anything else?” From the sound of it, she was almost smiling.

  “Yeah, I want you to get the best divorce attorney in the state, and if he can take your bastard of a husband for more than half, let him. Have him take a bit more for me, too.” I checked the time again. I had a few minutes before Rob expected me in the lobby, so I did a final check in the mirror, made sure I had everything I needed in my purse, and left the room.

  “Consider it done,” she answered. “And thank you . . . I’m not sure you can imagine how this will change my life.”

  The Tucker Errand was just chock full of firsts—I’d never heard a heartfelt thank you from a Client before. “I know it sounds trite, but you’re welcome.” I smiled as the elevator doors closed. “Good luck, Julie.” It was the first time I’d referred to a Client by their first name, but I couldn’t stand to address her by his last name anymore. She didn’t deserve that name, and he sure didn’t deserve her.

  “Good luck to you as well.” Her voice held a hint of something, almost the equivalent of a nudge, but I didn’t have time to decipher it.

  The elevator doors whooshed open, and I saw the limo pulling up to the hotel doors. For the next three hours, I had a part to play, my most challenging role to date. That’s what I was thinking as I made my way through the lobby. Nothing like feeling the pressure.

  As I stepped through the sliding glass doors, before the driver could come around and open my door for me, Rob opened it and crawled out. I couldn’t decide what was more amusing: his mouth hanging open or his eyes as wide as pancakes. Both reactions meant I deserved some kind of award.