whatever shadow of a woman she is and make her doubt herself so badly, she either flies back to her employer and hands in her resignation or decides to jump out the window of her top floor suite.”
Well, I’d asked for it. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. I want you to put a bullet in her brain if she refuses to be intimated by your superiority. If she doesn’t want to play nice, then neither do we.”
Okay. After working for G for over five years, I knew she was a bitch. I just didn’t know she was a . . . bitch . “So when I’m not seducing men, you want me whacking the competition? Come on, G, get real.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to take that advice.”
Think, Eve, think. You’re smart. Maybe not conniving like G, but smart nonetheless. You can put together a logical argument that will appeal to her bottom-line ideologies.
“I need to finish the Hendrik Errand, G. Not for me, but for you,” I added when I heard her ready to break into her rebuttal.
“For me? And why is finishing some run-of-the-mill Seven all about me and not you? Because when we look at what you make compared to what I make in a year—and believe me, Eve, I look every day—you’ve got a lot more to lose proportionately dropping this than I do.”
I didn’t need the reminder than I made close to seven figures a year, and G cashed in what I guessed was closer to eight figures. “I’m doing this for you, G. You don’t have to believe me, but you and I both know that if word gets around that your Eves are ditching out on Errands, your competitors will gain a larger portion of the market share.” Thank you, Econ 101, for making me sound moderately intelligent. “Plus, I texted the final S to Mrs. Hendrik right before you called. I’m afraid we’re past the so-called point of no return.”
White lies. They weren’t only a part of real life; they were majorly a part of our business. Had I texted Mrs. Hendrik the final S, along with the time and address of her husband’s upcoming demise? No, I had not. Did G need to believe I had so I could save her, my, and her entire business’s reputation? Yes, she did.
“And you neglected to text me the same because . . .?”
“Because you called about one hot second before I hit send.”
“Eve, I don’t like this. I don’t want our biggest Target ever to slip through our fingers because we were so worried about cutting a Seven loose.” G’s voice sounded just as harsh, but I could tell I was wearing her down. She was close to caving.
“Well, I don’t like it either, but it’s too late, G. The Client has been sent the final message that I’m closing the Errand tomorrow night. For all I know, she could have already arranged it all with her Contact. I can’t just give her a ring and say, oops, not so fast, I’m off the case. Oh, and by the way, good luck with your cheating ass husband.”
G almost groaned. “Dammit, Eve. Why does your timing have to be so terrible?”
“Bad luck, I guess. But good thing for you I’m one of the best at what I do. You don’t have to worry about anything going wrong with either the Hendrik or Callahan Errands. I’ve got them both.”
G was silent.
“I promise.”
When G finally did reply, her answer kind of creeped me out. Maybe it was her tone, or maybe it was her words, or maybe it was just because I knew G wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to get on the bad side of. “I hope that’s a promise you intend on keeping.”
BASED ON JUST the hours I was actually in Seattle, that Errand was probably a record. Not that it was closed yet, but I didn’t doubt it would be closed in the next hour. Although it had been expedited, it had been a cut-and-dry Errand. Actually, it had been almost too easy, but when it came to the likes of Ian Hendrik, I’d take “too easy” because that meant spending as little time with him as possible.
It was safe to say I hated the guy. Sure, I didn’t know all of his
Well, I’d asked for it. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. I want you to put a bullet in her brain if she refuses to be intimated by your superiority. If she doesn’t want to play nice, then neither do we.”
Okay. After working for G for over five years, I knew she was a bitch. I just didn’t know she was a . . . bitch . “So when I’m not seducing men, you want me whacking the competition? Come on, G, get real.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to take that advice.”
Think, Eve, think. You’re smart. Maybe not conniving like G, but smart nonetheless. You can put together a logical argument that will appeal to her bottom-line ideologies.
“I need to finish the Hendrik Errand, G. Not for me, but for you,” I added when I heard her ready to break into her rebuttal.
“For me? And why is finishing some run-of-the-mill Seven all about me and not you? Because when we look at what you make compared to what I make in a year—and believe me, Eve, I look every day—you’ve got a lot more to lose proportionately dropping this than I do.”
I didn’t need the reminder than I made close to seven figures a year, and G cashed in what I guessed was closer to eight figures. “I’m doing this for you, G. You don’t have to believe me, but you and I both know that if word gets around that your Eves are ditching out on Errands, your competitors will gain a larger portion of the market share.” Thank you, Econ 101, for making me sound moderately intelligent. “Plus, I texted the final S to Mrs. Hendrik right before you called. I’m afraid we’re past the so-called point of no return.”
White lies. They weren’t only a part of real life; they were majorly a part of our business. Had I texted Mrs. Hendrik the final S, along with the time and address of her husband’s upcoming demise? No, I had not. Did G need to believe I had so I could save her, my, and her entire business’s reputation? Yes, she did.
“And you neglected to text me the same because . . .?”
“Because you called about one hot second before I hit send.”
“Eve, I don’t like this. I don’t want our biggest Target ever to slip through our fingers because we were so worried about cutting a Seven loose.” G’s voice sounded just as harsh, but I could tell I was wearing her down. She was close to caving.
“Well, I don’t like it either, but it’s too late, G. The Client has been sent the final message that I’m closing the Errand tomorrow night. For all I know, she could have already arranged it all with her Contact. I can’t just give her a ring and say, oops, not so fast, I’m off the case. Oh, and by the way, good luck with your cheating ass husband.”
G almost groaned. “Dammit, Eve. Why does your timing have to be so terrible?”
“Bad luck, I guess. But good thing for you I’m one of the best at what I do. You don’t have to worry about anything going wrong with either the Hendrik or Callahan Errands. I’ve got them both.”
G was silent.
“I promise.”
When G finally did reply, her answer kind of creeped me out. Maybe it was her tone, or maybe it was her words, or maybe it was just because I knew G wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to get on the bad side of. “I hope that’s a promise you intend on keeping.”
BASED ON JUST the hours I was actually in Seattle, that Errand was probably a record. Not that it was closed yet, but I didn’t doubt it would be closed in the next hour. Although it had been expedited, it had been a cut-and-dry Errand. Actually, it had been almost too easy, but when it came to the likes of Ian Hendrik, I’d take “too easy” because that meant spending as little time with him as possible.
It was safe to say I hated the guy. Sure, I didn’t know all of his
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