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.”
For “most vile human being ever created,” Rob Tucker had just secured the number one spot.
“This glare isn’t an act. Me about to push you away isn’t an act.” Using my free hand, I gave his chest a hard shove. “Me about to get in my car and run you over if you don’t get out of my way isn’t an act. And me being undecided about whether I want you to bend me over and take me for anyone to see isn’t an act.” Giving him one more shove, I broke free of his hold and slipped into the driver’s seat. Right before I slammed the door, I glanced at him. “So? Are you getting out of my way, or is my bumper going to have to help you with that?”
His expression went from infuriated to amused. “I sincerely hope you’re as feisty in bed as you are out of it.”
“No, Rob. You sincerely hope you get to find out.” Slipping my sunglasses back over my eyes, I slammed the door, started the car, and reversed out of my parking spot so quickly, I left a little rubber behind. When I glanced in my rearview mirror, I saw Rob watching me speed out of the dealership with that same crooked smile on his face. I slammed my palm into the steering wheel a few times and screamed a few dirty words.
As far as Greets go, that one wasn’t ideal. I’d let my emotions get in the way of my job. I’d let the Target get to me. I’d let him ruffle my feathers. Whether it was him asserting physical power over me after barely saying hello or that smirk of superiority he wore like a badge of honor, Rob Tucker had most definitely shaken me.
The whole goal of the Greet was to serve as a gateway to future encounters. I’d all but threatened to run him over, and that didn’t parlay into a ripe environment for wanting to see me again. If I’d said and done the same things to another Target, I would have as good as failed the Errand . . . but something about Rob Tucker led me to believe standing up to him might serve as a kind of catnip. I couldn’t say for sure, and if I told G how the Greet had gone, her head would start revolving, but I had a feeling that instead of permanently alienating Mr. Tucker, I’d permanently ensnared him.
Either way, if he didn’t find me like I guessed he’d try, I had to find some way to work my way back into his good graces. The job wasn’t just another Errand; it was more like a mission. A woman’s life depended on me doing my job correctly and succinctly.
I wouldn’t fail her. No matter the cost.
I HAD A bruise “bangle” on my wrist from Mr. Tucker’s grip yesterday. I wasn’t a person who bruised easily, either.
After returning to the hotel to regroup and figure out where to take that mess of a Greet, I decided I’d wait two days for Rob to come to me. Even though I hadn’t told him my phone number or where I was staying or anything other than my name, I didn’t doubt a man as well connected and ambitious as he was could find out anything he wanted to.
If he didn’t come find me, it would be back to the drawing board until I’d worked out a plan to get the Errand closed. Two days. That was all the time I could afford before I’d have to go after him. I only had five days before I had to be back in California.
My schedule was getting out of control, and I had the lack of energy to prove it.
In an effort to bolster my energy stores, I wandered down to the hotel lounge and ordered an extra cherries cherry Coke while I went through Henry’s file for the three thousandth time. I was looking for something I couldn’t find. I wanted something to pop up that would explain everything. I was searching for the vice that would remind me of the kind of person I was dealing with on the Callahan Errand.
By the time I was almost finished my second soda, I still hadn’t found anything. I’d thumbed through the file start-to-finish for the second time that night. I groaned and resisted the urge to punch something. As far as files went, Henry’s was pristine. Mrs. Callahan’s notes held no hint that Henry was the kind of husband who deserved to be taken to the bank and smeared by a messy divorce. There. Was. Nothing.