Read Online Scandal in Seattle by Nicole Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicole Williams
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backstory, insecurities, or the things that make a person the way they are, but one of the luxuries of my job was that I didn’t have to. I didn’t want, need, or have to know if his mommy had ignored him or if his daddy had packed his bags one night and never seen him again. Backstory wasn’t my job unless it directly related to me closing the Errand. Backstory, more times than not, created sympathy, and that was an emotion I didn’t want anywhere around one of my Targets. That was part of the reason I’d stopped Henry from explaining what had happened that night. I didn’t want to have any smidgeon of sympathy for him. The other part of the reason was exactly what I’d admitted to him: It didn’t change a damn thing. The whys of what had happened couldn’t go back and change history. Backstory was a no-no. Backstory didn’t get an Errand closed in record time.
I sped into Sound Speedway just before eight, and I already knew Ian was waiting for me. The anticipation of banging a girl made a guy eager . . . overzealous even. Ian tipped more that overzealous scale. Then, of course, there was that sixth sense I had when it came to his type. They basically emitted a run-in-the-other-direction frequency; they were that vile. But I was an Eve, and that meant I didn’t run in the other direction. That meant I didn’t even flinch when I was neck deep in vile.
Which was exactly where I was about to go.
Ian was waiting for me at the start line, as expected. Leaning against the driver’s door of a different car than he’d driven last night, his arms were crossed and his expression smug. One of the worst parts of my job, other than having to sleep with those types of guys, was witnessing their expressions ranging from smug to all-out gloat on Sheet night.
My only vindication was knowing that expression was long gone when their ass got nailed to the wall in divorce court a few months later. I’d let Ian have his gloat. He wouldn’t have anything to gloat over very soon.
“You must be scared my winning last night wasn’t some random stroke of luck, eh?” I called out my window as I pulled up beside him.
“Maybe,” Ian replied, his smile tugging high on one side. “But maybe my motivations for winning are especially high in this situation.”
Nothing like getting to screw a girl on the top of a hood to “motivate” a man. I used to believe there was hope for mankind. After the number of men I’d dealt with as an Eve, I’d come to the conclusion that mankind had been screwed from the beginning. “Is that the 2011 or 2012 Saleen?”
Ian peaked an eyebrow. Guys were always surprised when a woman knew about cars, like gearhead knowledge was only reserved for someone with a dick.
“The 2012. And it’s fast.”
“Fast enough to beat me?” I hung my elbow out the window.
“It damn well better be, or I’m firing my mechanic.”
“Well”—I shrugged—“enough talk. Let’s do this.”
Ian shoved off his car and pulled open the door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone’s as eager for me to win as I am.”
On Sheet night, it was all about accommodation. It was all about getting the Target closer and closer to the bed or, in that night’s instance, the hood of the car. It was about saying and doing whatever it took to put it into his head that he simply had to have me. He simply wouldn’t live a full life if he didn’t.
Ian Hendrik’s type, though, didn’t need much handholding. I could pretty much fire insult after insult at the guy, and he’d still wind up with his pants around his ankles.
But . . . better to play it safe. I wasn’t the number one Eve in G’s little black book because I took blatant risks. I followed the guidelines, most of the times, and if a risk was required, I made sure it was a calculated one. “Maybe I am a little eager for you to win. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make you work any less hard for the win.”
Ian slid into his car, his eyes
I sped into Sound Speedway just before eight, and I already knew Ian was waiting for me. The anticipation of banging a girl made a guy eager . . . overzealous even. Ian tipped more that overzealous scale. Then, of course, there was that sixth sense I had when it came to his type. They basically emitted a run-in-the-other-direction frequency; they were that vile. But I was an Eve, and that meant I didn’t run in the other direction. That meant I didn’t even flinch when I was neck deep in vile.
Which was exactly where I was about to go.
Ian was waiting for me at the start line, as expected. Leaning against the driver’s door of a different car than he’d driven last night, his arms were crossed and his expression smug. One of the worst parts of my job, other than having to sleep with those types of guys, was witnessing their expressions ranging from smug to all-out gloat on Sheet night.
My only vindication was knowing that expression was long gone when their ass got nailed to the wall in divorce court a few months later. I’d let Ian have his gloat. He wouldn’t have anything to gloat over very soon.
“You must be scared my winning last night wasn’t some random stroke of luck, eh?” I called out my window as I pulled up beside him.
“Maybe,” Ian replied, his smile tugging high on one side. “But maybe my motivations for winning are especially high in this situation.”
Nothing like getting to screw a girl on the top of a hood to “motivate” a man. I used to believe there was hope for mankind. After the number of men I’d dealt with as an Eve, I’d come to the conclusion that mankind had been screwed from the beginning. “Is that the 2011 or 2012 Saleen?”
Ian peaked an eyebrow. Guys were always surprised when a woman knew about cars, like gearhead knowledge was only reserved for someone with a dick.
“The 2012. And it’s fast.”
“Fast enough to beat me?” I hung my elbow out the window.
“It damn well better be, or I’m firing my mechanic.”
“Well”—I shrugged—“enough talk. Let’s do this.”
Ian shoved off his car and pulled open the door. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone’s as eager for me to win as I am.”
On Sheet night, it was all about accommodation. It was all about getting the Target closer and closer to the bed or, in that night’s instance, the hood of the car. It was about saying and doing whatever it took to put it into his head that he simply had to have me. He simply wouldn’t live a full life if he didn’t.
Ian Hendrik’s type, though, didn’t need much handholding. I could pretty much fire insult after insult at the guy, and he’d still wind up with his pants around his ankles.
But . . . better to play it safe. I wasn’t the number one Eve in G’s little black book because I took blatant risks. I followed the guidelines, most of the times, and if a risk was required, I made sure it was a calculated one. “Maybe I am a little eager for you to win. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make you work any less hard for the win.”
Ian slid into his car, his eyes
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