As stereotypes went, Mr. Tucker threw the general curve by several points.
After spending the majority of the night perusing the file, I got up early to send Henry a quick email to let him know I needed a week to wrap up something before I could start at Callahan Industries.
Not even two minutes after hitting send, his response pinged in my inbox:
Vacation requests already? What have I gotten myself into? Have fun wrapping whatever-that-something-is up. -HC
Henry didn’t have a clue what he’d gotten himself into. Not a clue. That was my first thought after reading his reply. My second was to let a smile creep out right before I hit reply.
How’s it going on the other side of the world?
Before I could type anything else, I rushed to slip on my heels, grab my purse, and head for the door of my hotel room. Another ping from my laptop stopped me. I should keep going and check it later. My focus needed to be on and stay with the Tucker Errand, not exchanging pointless emails with Henry.
I hurried over to check my laptop. My focus wasn’t as ironclad as I’d always believed.
Let’s just say I’m going to need another Guinness the instant I step foot on U.S. soil again.
Poor Henry. The days where his infectious smile and shrug could fix just about any problem were over . . . and what was I doing thinking Poor Henry? If that wasn’t the last time I put those two words together, I would wrap a rubber band around my wrist and snap it each time I even thought about pairing Henry’s name with the word poor.
G had booked another penthouse for me, so after making my way down thirty floors, I stepped out of the elevator and headed for the rental car that was already waiting for me at valet. My car was nice, but not as nice as I was accustomed to. That was because I was about to go shopping for a really nice car at a nearby car dealership.
Tucker Automotive Group.
Yes, the abusive bastard had named his company after himself. Not exactly the surprise of the century. Or even the hour.
According to Mrs. Tucker’s notes, Mr. Tucker didn’t work directly with the customers anymore. He mainly stuck to running the business and screwing the conveyor belt of young assistants he had rotating through his office. But he made an exception for clients who were deemed “high profile”—aka wealthy ones shopping for cars in the six-figure range—or customers who were . . . of the XY chromosome and genetically blessed.
My plan was to shop those high-ticket cars from the get-go to alert the big man that a deep-pocket customer was on the lot . . . and I might have worn a skirt that was shorter than the typical one, a pair of heels higher than the average pair, and a blouse a bit tighter than most. Basically, if he didn’t get the message that a high profile customer was there, I hoped he’d catch the other message.
I pulled up to Tucker Automotive to find a semi-sized sign with the tagline Shop the rest, then come visit the best alongside a photo of Mr. Tucker himself. I resisted the temptation to plow my rental car right through the billboard and proceeded to the parking lot. After I finished the Errand, if I still wanted to destroy that monstrosity, I could. That wasn’t exactly the way I was hoping to catch Mr. Tucker’s attention.
A small herd of salesmen in white dress shirts and red ties stood around the main building when I pulled up. I’d no more than put the car in park and every one of them was staring at me as if they were ready to pounce. I was contemplating how to steer clear of the rabid white-shirts when a flashy red sports car pulled into the spot beside me. A flashy red Corvette.
Bingo.
If that was a sign as to how the rest of the Errand would go, it would be a breeze. As I slid out of my car, I grabbed my purse, gave my hair a quick rumple, and played oblivious to the man crawling out of the hard-to-miss car beside me. I started up to the main building, but before I’d gotten to the curb, a low whistle came from the turd of a human to my left.
“This is a car dealership, sweetheart, not Heaven’s gates, you know.” Mr. Tucker’s voice was, as suspected, overly confident and had a deep baritone quality to it.
I already knew where he was going with this whole “wow” greeting, but I played along. “What makes you think I’m looking for Heaven’s gates?” I glanced at him as I stepped up on the curb.
“You’re an angel, aren’t you?” Mr. Tucker settled his hands on his hips as a slow smile moved into place.
I had dark sunglasses on, so I allowed myself an eye-roll. His eyes, however, weren’t hidden behind sunglasses, and he wasn’t shy about checking me out hardcore. His gaze circled my breasts long enough I was tempted to remove my sunglasses and zero in on his crotch to see how he liked a stranger checking his goods out for that long. Then I realized a slug like Mr. Tucker would probably get off from a young woman checking out his (anti) goods.
“That’s the first time anyone’s ever called me an angel,” I replied, knowing the role I needed to play, and it wasn’t getting offended because the Target was eye-motor-boating my boobs. That he was doing that so early was a good sign that I wouldn’t need much time or persuasion to get him into a “compromising” situation.
“Oh? What do they usually call you?” Mr. Tucker came around the front of his Corvette and stopped a few feet from me. “Because a guy can’t help but want to call you something, sweetheart.”
Other than sweetheart, you un-original creep? “Fiend seems to be in the top running.”
Mr. Tucker lifted an eyebrow, his snaky smile still glued in place. “And why would people call you a fiend?”
I gave him a tilted smile. “That’s a question for my ex-lovers to answer.”
Mr. Tucker stepped closer. “I’ve always been more of a fiend fan than an angel fan.”
“Then it’s nice to meet you . . .” I extended my hand and waited.
“Rob Tucker. CEO, President, and Owner of this dealership, as well as six others. Soon-to-be seven when the Miami store opens next month.” He wrapped his hand around mine tightly before giving it a powerful shake. We were barely out of the gates, and he was already asserting his power over me. Classic beater behavior. “And what’s a girl like you named? Other than fiend?” His index finger stroked the inside of my wrist, but the rest of his hand stayed locked around mine.
“Fiona. My name’s Fiona.”
“Fiona Fiend, eh?” Rob pulled on my hand to bring me closer to him. When I was close enough to detect his spicy cologne, he leaned in. “Now that’s the kind of name a man wants to curse when he’s fucking a girl.”
Humanity never failed to amaze me. There I was, a stranger one minute ago, and he was whispering about fucking while a half dozen of his employees watched us with rapt interest. Employees who knew he was married with two kids. I doubt he’d care if they watched him bend me over the hood of his fancy car if I gave him the green light.
All of the men I worked with deserved what they had coming, but some deserved it most. Rob Tucker had just earned the blue ribbon for most deserving. I couldn’t wait to bring the bastard down.
“You’re right.” I slid my sunglasses on top of my head so I could lock onto his eyes. “Fiona does have a certain ring to it when a man grunts it out as I come around him.”
Rob’s pupils dilated as he wet his lips. The Target was mine. I owned him. Just like that, in a handful of words and looks, along with a tower of innuendoes, I could name the time and place, and he’d be there an hour early.
“And where do I sign up for that ride?”
“I don’t know. Do you think you meet the minimum size requirements to ride that ride?” I lifted my eyebrows before glancing at his zipper.
“If you’ve got a maximum size requirement, that’s where I might be in trouble.” He popped his hips forward so I could make out the tell-tale bulge behind his khakis.
I realized Rob wasn’t only a dickhead, he was practically dickless. Maximum size requirements my butt. “Before we go any further discussing that ride, I need a different kind first.”
Rob’s eyes went wide
again as his twisted mind started jumping for joy at the possibilities. Time to rein him in. Two steps forward, one step back. It was a game of finesse, and knowing when to pull back was just as critical as knowing when to surge forward.
Shifting my gaze to the car lot, I pulled my hand free of his. “I need a new car. Something nice, expensive but understated. Not exactly like the head-turner you drive.”
“You turn enough heads without the car.” Rob nudged me as he slid beside me. “You certainly turned my head. Both of them.”
Too bad my sunglasses weren’t back in place—I really could have used an eye-roll. “Are you going to sell me a car or keep trying to seduce me?”
“That depends. Is the seducing working?”
If that’s what you call seducing, you need to fire your seduction instructor. “No, because seducing doesn’t work on me. When I see what I want, I take it. Whether I want a man or not has nothing to do with his ability to seduce me. I’m un-seducible.” I smiled to myself. That was true. I couldn’t be seduced by any man—because I knew every last trick in the book. Identifying a seduction angle was easy when I’d worked every single one multiple times.
“And what about me? Am I one of those men you want?” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in his voice. It was barely a question.
I glanced at him as I headed for a gunmetal Aston Martin. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
Rob followed me, sliding his hands into his pockets. Probably attempting to disguise a hard-on that didn’t really need to be disguised since it was barely detectable. “You don’t need to let me know anything, Fiona. You can just rip off your clothes and fuck my brains out when you’re ready to admit that you feel the same animal attraction to me that I feel toward you.”
Men used the term animal attraction as an excuse for wanting to screw a woman they’d just laid their eyes on. It wasn’t animal attraction. Animals had more discretion than that. It was nothing more than a case of a degenerate human wanting to add another mark to his tally. In his imagination, he’d already scratched that mark into his bedpost.
“I want to test drive this.” I stopped beside the Aston and crossed my arms.
He waited, probably hoping I’d go a few rounds on the animal attraction topic he was so eager to discuss. A few moments later, he accepted defeat. “That’s a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollar car.”
I tilted my head. “Do I look like I’m flinching?”
“Gorgeous and wealthy? My dick just grew another inch.”
What Rob Tucker called inches, the rest of the world called millimeters.
“I’ll run and grab the keys so we can take this baby out for a spin. You want to wait here or come with me?” Rob asked as he started across the lot.
“I’ll wait here. Something tells me if I went with you, your interest in getting the Aston keys would shift to getting my skirt up around my waist.” I leaned my hip into the Aston and gave him a hint of a smile.
“Skirt at your waist, panties at your ankles. That’s the way I like my girls.”
Twisting to the side, I lifted my skirt just enough to show off the side of my leg from hip to ankle. “Too bad I don’t wear any panties. I hope that doesn’t mess with your panties-at-the-ankles fantasy too much.”
He did an exaggerated shiver before jogging toward the main building. “Only makes it better.”
As I waited for Rob to return, I slid the Callahan business phone Henry had given me from my purse. I didn’t know why—I needed to concentrate on the Tucker Errand since I’d just been exchanging sexual advances with the Target—but I was checking for messages before my better judgment could wag her finger at me.
Could I change your title from R&D Program Manager to CEO? I’m over it.
Despite trying not to, I smiled. I convinced myself that the only reason I was smiling was because Henry was texting me from Korea when he was supposed to be asleep. That meant I was getting to him. I certainly wasn’t smiling because I enjoyed our game of back-and-forth.
I suppose. But I’ll only assume the power and wealth of the position. I won’t take on the headaches and obviously sleepless nights.
Rob was crossing the parking lot toward me, so I put the phone back and tried to wipe the caught-with-my-hand-in-the-cookie jar expression from my face. The instant I slipped the phone in my purse, I heard a new message chime.
“You think you can handle this baby?” Rob patted the Aston’s trunk as he approached me. “There’s a lot of power underneath that hood. It might be hard for a girl to handle.”
If he called me girl again, I might have to knock out his front teeth. I grabbed the key as I headed for the driver’s side. “Not this one.” I didn’t wait for him to buckle up before starting the car and punching it into gear.
“You ever driven a car this nice?” Rob clicked his seatbelt into place, sounding a bit unsure. It was the first time he’d sounded anything but arrogant. That probably had something to do with me zipping out of the dealership at forty.
“I’ve driven nicer. Much nicer.”
I sped down the road the dealership was on, weaving in and out of traffic. By the time I’d hit the interstate, Rob was gripping the armrest as if he was about to die. I grinned.
“Nicer than this? That’s hard to do,” Rob said a while later. He’d finally relaxed enough it didn’t look as though he was about to tear off the armrest.
The interstate was fairly quiet, and I really wanted to wrap the Errand up quickly. Those were the two reasons why I did what I did next.
Slipping a mischievous smile into place, I glanced at Rob, who was back to checking me out. Apparently he was convinced I knew what I was doing behind the wheel of a vehicle, and he was back to his usual dog self. Removing a hand from the steering wheel, I lowered it onto his lap.
“I don’t know. It could be harder.” I cupped my hand over him, eliciting a low moan from him.
“You keep that up, and harder’s going to be the least of your worries.”
And size isn’t exactly the least of yours. Fitting my hand tighter around him, I slid it up and down until he was back to gripping the hell out of the armrest.
“I take it you’ve made up your mind when it comes to me,” Rob panted, cupping his hand around mine and guiding it in a more frenzied motion.
Flipping across three lanes of freeway, I took the next exit and sped back toward the dealership. Mind you, I did that all one-handed while my other hand controlled a much less impressive “driving machine.”
“I’m still a long ways from making up my mind about you.” Total lie. I made up my mind about you before I hopped on the plane from San Fran to Tampa. “But there’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves while our minds are figuring things out.” Yet another total lie. As far as enjoying myself goes, I’m on the other side of the galaxy.
Rob’s face was going a shade of purple, and his breathing had morphed into something that more resembled grunting when I whipped into the dealership. I couldn’t have timed it better. From the feel and look of it, Rob was two seconds away from singing the alphabet. I wanted him to know what I was capable of, but I couldn’t give him the full wham-bam-thank-you-hand-ma’am yet. All men—as big of a stretch as it was to ascribe that designation to Rob Tucker—were hunters. If I gave Rob the hand job equivalent of the gold medal, there wouldn’t be much left for him to chase. Sure, there’d be something, but I wanted as many “somethings” for him to chase as possible because I wanted to make sure he’d chase me into bed.
“Nice ride,” I said as I stopped and slipped my hand off of his lap.
“Why, thank you,” he said, adjusting his pants.
“I was talking about the car.” Shoving the door open, I slid out of my seat.
His hand whipped out and grabbed my forearm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
When he tugged my arm, it wasn’t gently. In fact, I came close to wincing. So that’s when it started—thirty minutes after meeting h
im. I’d worked other Errands with wife-beaters, but Rob Tucker was the first one who’d tried it on me.
I stared down at him, demonstrating that I wasn’t scared or intimidated or whatever he wanted me to feel. “Wherever I want to go. Now be a good boy and let go of my arm before I make you let go of it.”
He didn’t listen right away, not that I’d expected him to. As I kept my eyes locked on his and my expression strong, his grip loosened.
“You make a habit out of leaving a man high and dry?” That menacing gleam was back in his eyes as he leaned over to stare up at me.
“Only the ones I’m undecided about.” I wanted to shake my arm—Rob’s grip had been that painful—but I couldn’t let him see he’d gotten to me—physically or mentally.
“You’re a tease.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You have no idea.” Turning around, I walked away. I’d barely made it five steps before I heard his door slam and hurried footsteps following me.
“Dinner tomorrow night. Me and you.”
Rob fell in line beside me, so I picked up my pace toward my rental car. Not because I was scared of him, but because I wanted him to be aware of his place in our “relationship”: chasing after me.
“If you’d be honest with me about what you really had in mind for tomorrow night, I might actually give you an answer.”
“Fine,” Rob said, reaching for my arm again.
I stepped to the side and tucked my arm out of his reach. If he tried manhandling me one more time, I would show him how I handled a man like him.
“Fucking tomorrow night. Me and you.”
Romance at its finest.
“We’ll see,” was my clipped reply as I opened the rental car’s door.
Rob slammed the door closed, earning a glare. “Tell you what. How about I tell you the time and place, and you’ll be there. I’m done playing your ‘woman in control’ routine.” He stepped into me, so his chest was bumping against mine. Mr. Tucker might have been in his fifties, but he had the muscle-mass and strength of a much younger man. “Why don’t you stop pretending you don’t want me to bend you over right here and take you for all of Tampa to see? We can both cut the act.”
Great Exploitations (Trouble in Tampa) Page 4