Contents
TITLE
RIGHTS
TITLE
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
DEAR READER
PLAYLIST
ALSO BY JESSICA GADZIALA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STALK HER!
The Client
A novel by: Jessica Gadziala
Copyright © 2020 Jessica Gadziala
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.
"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."
Cover image credit: Shutterstock .com/ Photographee.eu
The Client
PROLOGUE
Wasp - Past
"You're a traitor," I grumbled, fingers toying with the fringe edges of the white woven blanket hanging off the side of the couch in Raven's new living room.
"I'm not a traitor!" she objected, scoffing, bright blue eyes dancing as her red-tinted lips curved into a smile.
Raven was the perfectly put-together yin to my wild and messy yang.
Even at seven in the morning, she had her gleaming black hair perfectly styled down her back, her blue eyes lined, her lips painted. Everything from the ice blue color of her silk tank to the white slacks that neither clung nor sagged too much to her high heeled sandals to the simple solo silver bangle on her wrist spoke of carefully curated class. Which was exactly what Raven had been her entire life.
Why she'd adopted knotty-haired, chipped-nail-paint, hole-in-her-jeans me was completely beyond me.
Opposites attract, and all that, I guess.
"You are only supposed to fall into a rich guy's dicksand temporarily," I told her.
"Dicksand?" she repeated, and I felt my lips curving up because it never failed to amuse me to hear her cool confident, ladylike voice say curse words. Though, most of the time, it was only when she was repeating something I said.
"Yes, his dicksand. Like when you meet a guy and he's giving it to you good, and he's pretty to look at, so you get obsessed with him, and he becomes your everything. It's supposed to be a temporary thing, falling into someone's dicksand."
"I didn't fall into his dicksand. I fell in love. I know, I know," she said when I made a hissing noise. "You don't believe in love. But it exists."
"It's not that I don't believe in it. It's that I think it is a chemical reaction. A fleeting one, at that. And women are usually the ones fucked over in the fall out of it. You've worked with me forever. You know how it goes."
"But what if it lasts?"
"It doesn't."
"But what if it does. Shouldn't I be willing to take that chance?"
"You're my soulmate, damnit," I reminded her, smiling.
"I am," she agreed, nodding. "And we love each other as much as two platonic friends with no interest in girl-on-girl sex can. We both need men still, though. We always have."
"For a night. To get that good dicking. That's it."
"He's a good man, Wasp," she told me, sitting down across from me, crossing her ankles, reaching up to mess with her hair. Raven was not, as a rule, a fiddler. She didn't muss her hair or tap her fingers or shake her leg. She was always the image of perfect put-togetherness. But she was fiddling, drawing my gaze up, seeing the wistful, far away look in her eyes.
She really was in love.
And he really was a good man.
I was happy for her.
Truly, I was.
But my heart was breaking a little for my loss as well. As selfish and silly as that sounded.
Raven and I had never been parted for more than a weekend since we were little kids. And as soon as we were adults, we hopped in a converted school bus, and lived on the road together for years.
Until we made a pit stop in Navesink Bank.
And she fell in love with one of its residents.
I had figured it was a fling, something to last the summer. Or even a year.
But that ring on her finger said she was never coming back on the road with me.
"I reserve the right to run a background check or have him followed at any point during your marriage," I insisted, making her laugh, a big white smile on display.
"I think Roman has come to expect that from you ever since you showed up in his office and threatened to castrate him with his letter opener."
"I didn't threaten to castrate him," I insisted, shaking my head.
"Yes, you did! He told me."
"Then he has a very bad memory. I threatened to jam the letter opener up his urethra," I recalled, making Raven snort.
"You did not."
"It had a better visual," I told her, shrugging.
"It's memorable, for sure. He had the good sense to look mildly certain that you weren't being facetious."
"If he breaks your heart, he will learn really quickly how serious I am," I told her.
I had one friend in the entire world.
I would happily seriously injure a man for her.
"I rest easy at night knowing you have my back," she told me. "And he loses a little sleep knowing that too," she added, smiling.
"You're happy, right?" I asked, needing to hear those words. They'd be the ones that would make a clean cut of the tie that had held us so closely all those years.
"I am blissfully happy," she clarified.
Snip.
I felt myself tumbling away, falling endlessly, wondering how I would ever feel grounded again.
Because that was what Raven was.
She was the anchor to my out of control boat.
She was the soft place to land when I jumped out of a plane without a parachute.
Raven was the calm to my chaos.
Without her there, I couldn't imagine what life was going to be like.
But I was going to find out, wasn't I?
"I'm happy for you then too," I told her, meaning it with everything I had.
"I was thinking—" she started, pressing her lips together, unsure if she should continue.
"About?"
"About what you are going to do now."
"I'm going to do what I always do. Hop in the skoolie. Make some men pay for the shit they thought they could get away with. And then get paid for that."
"I know. It's a passion of yours. But... I don't like the idea of you doing it alone, you know? For safety reasons."
That had crossed my mind as well. I might have been wild and a bit reckless, but I wasn't stupid. I understood just how risky the job we—and now I—did was. Pissing off men could lead to all sorts of sticky situations. And I wasn't too fond of the idea of ending up in a shallow grave in the woods somewhere, getting dug up and eaten by scavengers.
I wasn't sure how I would continue to do my job—and do it safely—but I was about to figure that out.
"You know me, Raven. Nothing can hurt me," I reminded her.
"Sting first, ask questions later, r
ight, Wasp?" Roman's voice asked, coming in through the kitchen in his gray suit, looking stupidly handsome and happy. I could see what Raven saw in him. He walked up behind Raven, placing his hands on her shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. And she damn near melted. Hell, my ice-cold heart thawed a bit.
"That's right," I agreed, nodding.
To that, he gave me what I could only call a brotherly smile. One that was amused, concerned, and exasperated all at once. I knew that smile. Because I had two brothers of my own. Reeve and Cyrus, who worried about me more than they needed to.
"I forgot my gym bag," he told us. "I'll be out of your hair in two minutes," he added, rushing off toward the stairs.
"Stop looking at his ass."
"Look, if a man is going to steal away my best friend in the world, I just want to make sure he has all the goods, okay? Trust me, it's not like that. He's asexual to me. You know we've never had the same taste in men anyway."
"That's true. One of the tenants of our friendship."
"Exactly. No bitchy in-fighting because you like them tall, dark, and handsome."
"And you like them silent and good in bed."
"Those are the only good kinds of men," I insisted, getting another laugh out of her.
"Seriously, though, Wasp. Maybe it's time to retire. I'm sure you could find a new passion in life."
It was the easier solution.
The problem was, I wasn't as confident as Raven was that I could find something else to do with my life that I would find halfway as exciting, as fulfilling, as what I did now. Just the idea of staying in one place made my throat feel a little tight. The idea of having to go to a nine-to-five where I had to wear flat shoes all day? That sounded downright torturous.
"I'm not done yet," I told her, shrugging. "I will know when I'm done. And, let's face it, there is a time stamp on this career anyway. No man is going to fall for a wrinkly, droopy-boobed version of me. So I am going to keep going while I'm in my prime. Socking some money away. Maybe investing some of it, so I can have a nest egg. And then retire when I get too droopy-butted to reel them in anymore."
"I thought your boobs were going to droop."
"Oh, they will. Everything is going to droop, Raven. We need to learn to accept that now. We will appreciate our bodies more if we do. Anyway, yeah. I know I can't do this forever. But I have a little bit left in me. But I promise that I will find ways to make sure I keep myself safe on jobs. Okay? Don't worry about me."
"I'm always going to worry about you. Even if I know you can take care of yourself."
"Psh. Give it a year or two. You'll have a baby on your hip and one on the way. You'll forget all about worrying about me."
"You know that's not true."
"I like the idea of you having a couple of little Ravens running around. Then I get to drop in, be the cool, crazy aunt. Corrupt them in an untold number of ways, then take off again to let you deal with the aftermath."
"I trust you are one-hundred percent capable of being that evil," she agreed. "But we haven't really... discussed that yet."
"What? Why? That shit is important. Hey, Cassanova!" I called as I heard feet on the stairs again.
"Yeah?" he asked, brows raised.
"Do you want crotch gremlins?"
"Is that... is that another kind of threat?" he asked, brows scrunching, looking over at Raven for help as she tried to hold in a laugh.
"She means children," Raven clarified.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course. I'm really close to my niece and nephew. I would love a few of my own. Why? Are you plotting ways to turn them against me for stealing Rebecca away from you?" he asked, smirking. And right then and there, I knew he was worthy of her.
"He calls you by your government name?" I asked, grimacing. "Ew."
"You're the only person who calls me Raven," she reminded me.
We'd given each other nicknames when we were kids, deciding our real names weren't cool enough.
She was Raven because of her beautiful hair.
I was Wasp.
Because I could sting once.
And then keep on stinging.
"Alright, ladies. I'm out. Are you sticking around for a while, Wasp?"
"And have to be constantly nauseated by your lovey-doveyness?" I asked, smiling. "No. I have a job, actually. I'm heading out after I leave here."
"I know you have a busy calendar, but we expect you at the wedding," he reminded me.
"The wedding? I will be here the night before to give Raven a bachelorette party she will never forget. It will make the antics in that Hangover movie seem tame."
"I don't doubt that in the least," he agreed, nodding. "So long as you have her at the church the next morning. And conscious enough to say her vows, I have no problem with that. I have to get back. Love you, Beccs," he called, eyes warm. "Fear you, Wasp," he added, giving me a salute before heading out.
"Okay. Fine," I admitted. "He's perfect."
"He is, isn't he?" she agreed, hearts in her eyes. "I'm excited to start a life with him."
I would never tell her this.
But I was terrified to start a life on my own.
But there was no denying that was exactly what I was going to need to do.
For better or worse.
ONE
Wasp
"So what is it that you do, Wendy?" the man at the bar asked me, using the name I used for all my marks. Wendy was a sweet, accessible girl-next-door, or an uber-hot red-headed sex goddess when necessary as well. She was a woman of all cloths.
What is it that I do, Kenny—whose real name I happen to know is Matthew?
I make men fall in love with me. Then I cut their legs out from under them.
And you're next on the chopping block.
"I'm a kindergarten teacher," I told him, knowing from his wife that he liked the good girls, the ones he thought he could corrupt. Like she had once been.
That was why I kept my natural blonde hair color, but tamed it more, kept the makeup to a minimum, put on a sweet, unassuming floral sundress with a little white sweater just for the extra kick to the nuts.
He was an easy mark.
I had been in this for years.
I could spot them a mile away.
The I never lived up to my full potential as a human being, so I am going to live out my childish teenage fantasies of being a stud while I have a loving wife and a handful of kids at home guys.
They were butter.
I was a hot knife.
And I didn't even need him to fall in love with me.
The wife knew he'd been screwing around for the better part of a year, but her PI had never been able to get a good enough angle to prove it. I was just the bait. Who happened to have a room facing the parking lot on the first floor. Where the PI was waiting in his car with a good camera.
They didn't need much.
Him naked.
Me with some of my clothes off.
Make it look really compromising.
I could cut out before it went beyond a little kissing and boob and ass grabbing.
And collect a nice little paycheck to stick into my savings.
I'd learned to get a little more serious about socking money away, about properly investing in my future, when Raven married Roman, and I came face-to-face with the reality of a retirement plan that didn't include the two of us getting a nice little apartment in a busy city, having the time of our lives living the good life.
Also, without Raven, that meant I needed a hell of a lot more money to be able to pull off that plan without her input.
So as much as I loved the long con of making a man fall for me, these shorter ones were paying me more and faster these days.
It would be shocking to the normal woman to know just how many 'devoted husbands' ended up fucking around behind their wives' backs.
Not me, of course.
I was just jaded enough to pretty much think the vast majority of them were trash who couldn't
be trusted.
That said, I knew a man or two in my business who had some choice things to say about the female population too.
In short, we were all mostly assholes.
Which sucked for the good ones.
But, thankfully, people like me existed to make them pay for what they did.
Kenny/Matthew practically had to work to keep the drool in his mouth. I could see the image playing across his eyes.
Us in a room.
A ruler on the nightstand.
Him 'teaching' me to say all the dirty words he wanted to hear.
I wouldn't begrudge anyone their fetish. But you took that shit home. You worked them out in the bed with the woman you swore your future to.
Asshole.
But the smile I gave him was warm enough to toy with my own eyes.
"I have so much respect for teachers," he claimed.
I imagined he did. Since he had three children and a handful of teachers who taught them. I couldn't help but wonder how many of them he had fantasized over during parent-teacher conferences.
"It's hard, but rewarding work," I agreed, toying with the rosé I had ordered. I didn't drink on a job as a rule. You never wanted to lose your response time if something went south. You always had to be prepared to act if it became necessary. Alcohol made it difficult.
Luckily, Kenny/Matthew was probably just taking it as more of my good-girl persona.
If he only knew how not good I was.
He would run screaming.
It was one more drink for him and twenty more minutes of banal get-to-know-you talk at the bar before I was saying I was tired, before he was using that as an in to get himself back to my room.
And then clothes came off.
Hands grabbed.
I could practically hear the pictures getting snapped.
And then, the getaway plan.
"Oh my God. Oh. My. God," I gasped, yanking away, clutching hands to my bra-clad breasts, eyes wild.
"What's the matter, honey?"
Ugh.
Honey.
He called his wife that.
The Client Page 1