Rulebreaker

by Cathy Pegau

  Her green eyes glinted like they had last night in the back of her car. I knew then I could have her whenever I wanted her.

  If the others hadn’t been there, what would she have done? What would I have done? But we weren’t alone, and Pritchard and Craig probably wondered what was going on. Overt flirting wasn’t prudent, but no one could make allegations of inappropriate behavior when two people merely looked at one another. Okay, not “merely looked,” but as a way to connect with her in an absolute, un-businesslike fashion, it worked. That’s all that mattered.

  The engineer paused in her recitation, and the sudden silence nudged us out of our stare. Zia’s left eyelid twitched as she turned to Pritchard.

  “Anyway,” Pritchard continued as I left the office, “we can increase the bandwidth strength by twenty percent if we tweak the circuits…”

  I tried to shake off the lingering effect of Zia’s touch and shut the door on my way out. I couldn’t deny the physical attraction between us. I just couldn’t let it go beyond that.

  Almost an hour later, the three of them came into the outer office. Pritchard seemed energized; Craig looked downright whipped. Maybe the engineer had drunk all the coffee. The two of them continued to the outer door while Zia stopped beside me. Her hand on my shoulder pulled my attention from the report I was working on. The heat of her palm burned through my blouse and sank into my skin.

  “Liv, I want to schedule another meeting with Miss Pritchard and Mr. Craig.” She leaned down to have a better view of my screen as I called up her schedule. While she continued talking about setting aside at least two hours, her hand slid down my back. I held my breath instead of making the surprised gasp that formed in my chest. My body went rigid when she skimmed her palm along my spine.

  I slowly exhaled to regain control. This close, I was sure she could hear the ragged edge of each breath. Zia’s hand stopped at the small of my back. With a maddening half-tickle half-scratching touch, she traced circles just above the waistband of my skirt.

  Not letting anything untoward show—I hoped—I glanced at Pritchard and Craig. Though they were facing us, from their position by the door they wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing. Oh, God, what was she doing?

  “It looks like Tuesday after the Hudson engineer meetings will work.” Zia kept her eyes on the screen and her hand on me.

  Trembling with the need to either jerk away or lean into her, I noted the meeting and sent the information to Craig’s and Pritchard’s assistants. It took me two attempts to spell Pritchard’s name correctly.

  Zia straightened, taking her hand from my back as she did. I almost whimpered. “I’ll see you two tomorrow,” she said.

  The others left.

  Zia crossed her arms over her breasts and walked to her door. All I could do was watch her, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Before going in, she stopped and turned to me. The look on her face was similar to the one Tonio wore the night we’d kissed: Frustration with a dash of confusion. “Go home, Liv. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She continued into her office, and her door shut with a soft click of dismissal.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face and through my hair. What had that display meant? That she was interested but annoyed I’d given her “a look” in front of Pritchard and Craig?

  I couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep things to ourselves at the office. There were eight sexual harassment regulations at Exeter, though I was sure those rules were broken on a regular basis despite the threat of job loss and/or legal action. People in positions of power used it for all kinds of advantages.

  But our interaction was mutual. Neither of us could claim the other was making unwanted advances. Did she think I’d try to turn things around and get her into trouble?

  No, I realized with sudden clarity. She was telling me she was the one calling the shots.

  I propped my elbows on the desk and cradled my head, rubbing my temples with my fingertips. What made me think I’d had her earlier? I’d let Zia play this out in her way, but I’d hoped to have at least a modicum of control somewhere. What I hadn’t expected was such a strong reaction to her. Something she now knew she could use.

  Residual tingles down my back spurred a flurry of ideas on how she’d use it.

  Get a grip, Liv. This was a job. A job that required I get physically close to Zia, but no more. I had to stay focused.

  Ignoring mental images of fingers caressing naked backs, I finished the report I was working on, shut down my SI and packed my satchel to leave. Zia hadn’t come back out, and I didn’t bother her. We’d do this her way. For now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tonight was the night.

  I’d had to deflect Willem’s harping again after returning to the flat yesterday, but promised him that while the building was essentially empty during the company party I’d access Zia’s computer. I felt a small sense of relief, not at his reluctant approval, but to finally get to the meat of the job.

  Though that didn’t make me any more relaxed when it came to Zia Talbot.

  I started fielding comm calls almost from the moment I walked in the door. Zia arrived an hour later with a nervous-looking project manager at her heels. She nodded to me as she passed. Anyone seeing it would have noted the curtness of the movement, but when our eyes met, hers held the same heat as the day before.

  Something must have shown on my face as well, despite the effort to keep my expression calm, because she smiled. It was almost predatory, entirely exhilarating, sending a tingly wave rolling through me.

  I jerked my gaze from her back to my screen and swallowed hard into my comm mic. “Miss Talbot is with someone now, Miss Carrington. I’ll put you through to her message folder.”

  Zia and the project manager disappeared into her office as I tapped icons. When the door clicked closed I let out a ragged sigh. It still startled me a little every time I reacted to Zia as I did. But I couldn’t let my body undermine my brain and screw up this job. If all went well tonight, I wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.

  By unconscious effort or deliberate design we spent little time alone the rest of the day, but both of us knew what the other wanted. Well, on the surface she knew what I wanted. If Zia ever learned what I was really after, her desire would have been more along the lines of seeing me in orange detention garb than in her bed.

  With the shindig scheduled for 1900, most of Exeter’s upper echelon quit early to get ready. Being a mere assistant, and the one responsible for setting up the party, I’d brought my clothes and makeup with me that morning, knowing I wouldn’t have the chance to go back to my flat. I changed and applied my makeup in the office lav. By 1810 I was on my way up to the ballroom to direct caterers and arrange table settings.

  Chaz Grey and another guard stood at the main doors when I got off the elevator. Chaz looked and acted very official and didn’t make any sign to indicate he knew me, but his cold eyes followed me as I went in. Despite the fact we were working together, I had a feeling he was merely waiting for me to screw up so he could snap my neck.

  Shuffling Chaz to the back of my brain, I tottered around on eight-centi silver heels, dodging hired help and trying not to sweat as time for the party drew near. The bare-back-and-slit-to-the-thigh, five-hundred-credit, silver-on-silver silk embroidered halter dress I wore kept me cool under pressure. This night reflected on Zia more than on me, and everything had to be just right. Besides, I couldn’t afford to have anything crop up and interfere with my plans.

  At exactly 1900, the lights in the ballroom dimmed to a gentler glow and the live four-piece band began playing an up-tempo tune to welcome the guests. The double doors opened, admitting dozens of shareholders and their companions, the Exeter CEO, COO, CFO, senior and junior VPs and their assistants. Two hundred forty-two chattering folks made a beeline for the servers bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.

  Satisfaction blossomed in my chest watching them mingle and munch.

  “A
ll’s a go,” said a fluid tenor at my right shoulder.

  I turned and looked slightly downward at a swarthy, hawk-faced man in a dapper black suit. His close-cropped hair was as black as his eyes, and his perfectly straight, ultra-white teeth could only have been achieved by dental enhancement.

  I didn’t know the face, but the voice made me smile. “Diego. How did you know who I was?”

  “A gentleman never gives away his secrets.” He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Liv. You’re as beautiful as your voice.”

  I couldn’t say the same for him, but he was charming. “I’m glad to finally meet you too.”

  He glanced around the ballroom as he released me. “Go enjoy your party,” he said beckoning a passing server. She offered a tray of small glasses of a golden-hued aperitif. Diego removed one glass and handed it to me as she moved on.

  “I should keep an eye on things,” I told him, holding the glass but not drinking. There would be many rounds of alcohol offered tonight; I had to keep my head clear.

  He stepped closer. I caught a whiff of his citrusy cologne. “Liv, you’ve worked hard to arrange this, and it will all go well. I guarantee it.”

  I laughed. For a thousand-credit gratuity, he’d better guarantee it.

  “Besides, I think someone else wants you to have some fun.” He inclined his head to our left.

  Following his line of sight, my eyes locked on Zia’s. A pair of older men stood with her, all three conversing about who knew what, but she glanced at Diego and me as she spoke with them. She’d changed into a crimson knee-length dress, cut low to show a hint of cleavage and reveal the gold chain around her neck. Her hair was still in its office upsweep, with soft tendrils framing her face.

  My heart triple-timed, and my cheeks warmed. Zia raised her glass. I responded in kind.

  “My boss,” I said, tearing my eyes from her to watch the other guests.

  “She’s quite beautiful.”

  “I know.” I clamped my jaws shut when I realized I’d said it out loud with more feeling than was appropriate.

  Diego propelled me forward with a gentle hand on the small of my back. “Go. I’ll take it from here.” He moved off, melting into the crowd, to earn his pay.

  I didn’t go directly to Zia, though we caught each other’s eyes across the room now and again. I mingled with the others throughout cocktails and dinner, learning something very important: Most suits and the folks they associate with are boring as hell.

  Be that as it may, I did my best to appear interested. I also did my best to keep tabs on Zia, making sure she was engaged before I could leave. Luckily she was often surrounded by a bevy of ass-kissers or shareholders, one of whom asked, as I passed early in the evening, about what Exeter would be doing in five years. Did he not read the report we’d worked so hard on for the past few weeks? Bastard. Chances were he was just trying to get under Zia’s crimson, fitted dress. Couldn’t blame him there.

  People were enjoying themselves and a little inebriated. It was time for me to make my move. I set my half-empty goblet on a passing tray and headed to the nearest side door. As I weaved my way through the crowd, Henry Clemens, COO, stepped in front of me, a glass of ruby wine in his hand.

  “Miss Baines,” he slurred.

  Great. Just what I needed, a drunk exec. But he seemed steady on his feet, his inebriation only evident in his speech.

  I forced a smile. “Mr. Clemens. How are you enjoying the party, sir?”

  “‘S excellent.” He dropped a meaty, sweaty hand on my bare shoulder and leaned toward me. “You’re doing a bang-up job here, Olivia. When James gets back, you should be primed for taking the place of any assistant in the company.”

  Even with the slight slur, his voice pinged recognition in my brain. Was he the man on the recording talking to Pritchard? As Chief Operations Officer, it made sense that he’d speak to the Chief Engineer, and Zia had included him in whatever was going on with the filters.

  I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is someone leaving?”

  “No,” he said, and winked. “But it can be arranged.”

  I almost preferred the Greys’ method of personnel management. It was messier, but direct.

  Clemens’s palm skimmed over my shoulder and started down my arm. So that was the kind of assistant he was talking about. Discomfort, disgust and a general feeling of “ick” prickled across my skin.

  “Mr. Clemens—”

  Someone bumped into the corpulent COO and jostled his other arm, sending his glass of Nevarro pinot noir into the bodice of my dress. We jerked away from each other and stared down at the dark, damp stain on the silvery silk. Damn. I loved this dress, and now it looked like I’d been shot.

  “Sorry…” Clemens moved his hand from my arm, his thick fingers coming forward as if to brush the wine away. Fortunately I noted his aim was a few too many centis above the stain—in line for direct contact with my breasts—and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

  “That’s okay, Mr. Clemens. I’ll take care of it.” I patted his clammy hand as I lowered it and turned away from him.

  Jerk.

  But at least I had a good excuse for leaving the party. A quick glance over my shoulder showed no one but those in the immediate vicinity had noticed my encounter with the COO. Better yet, no one was paying much attention as I slipped through the side door and into the corridor.

  After being in the noisy ballroom, the quiet of the hall throbbed in my ears. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In spite of my usual disregard for fashion, I looked down at the palm-sized stain on my dress and hoped I’d be able to get it cleaned.

  But laundry troubles had to wait. Wearing an expression of consternation, I followed the corridor to the elevator. Chaz and the other guard on duty at the doors of the ballroom said nothing as I pouted over the ruins of my dress and searched inside the little silver purse slung over my shoulder. I found my ID and waved it at the access panel. The elevator doors opened immediately.

  “Floor, please, Miss Baines,” the pleasant voice requested.

  “One thirty-five,” I replied when I stepped inside.

  Chaz gave me an almost imperceptible smile as the doors shut.

  With the party in full swing, I met no one in the corridor on my way to Zia’s office. I waved my card over the outer door’s latch. If anyone cared to check the time stamp on the door, my excuse of having to change clothes then being struck by a blinding headache and needing to go home would hold up. I could forgive Clemens his jerky behavior if it provided my alibi. But explaining why I was in Zia’s office would require a little more imagination.

  The lights in the outer office were lowered, but I didn’t bring them up. I headed right for her door. My ID opened it, and the click of the latch sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

  Zia’s office lights were dimmed. The window hadn’t been opaqued, but even from one hundred thirty-five stories up the city lights offered adequate illumination of her desk. The brilliant glow of the Hub Station dominated the southeast quarter of the city to the right. Beyond the city, the dark shadow of the keracite-rich Pandalus Range, dotted with the blue of mining site floodlights.

  I crossed to Zia’s chair, put the ID card inside my purse and removed the black matte data stick. Holding the little yellow button down, I plugged it into an available port. I released the stick when it was in place and turned the computer on.

  Nothing happened.

  Damn it.

  Just as I was about to wiggle the data stick, the screen glowed to life and an odd ticking sounded from the console. The normal “ready” icons filled half the screen, and the black screen with the white box filled the other half.

  I typed “K-73” in the white box. The unit whirred; an agonizing minute later a second box appeared with a list of ten or so files with K-73 in the file names. There were another half dozen files without K-73 in their tags, but I assumed the app had found my keyword in the file itself, whether outrig
ht or encrypted. I highlighted all the files and double-tapped the Enter key to copy.

  As the app worked, and sweat trickled between my breasts, I kept an ear cocked toward the door. I’d left it open, praying I’d hear the click of the outer door should someone come in.

  When the appliance’s cursor blinked ready for the next directive, I repeated the search using “filter” and again with the names Talbot, Pritchard and Craig. Those last two would likely add a lot of useless files, but surely there would be something on Zia’s computer connecting them to the filter system. I added Brighton and Clemens to the list, as well. Better too much information than not enough.

  The little black stick worked its magic, and I leaned forward to urge it on. Over ten minutes had passed since I left the ballroom. Would anyone miss me? What if Diego had a question?

  My toes tapped impatiently under Zia’s desk, but at the same time I was relieved to finally be doing what I’d been brought in to do. After tonight I could let Willem, Chaz and Tonio do the bulk of what came next, which I assumed was contacting some Exeter suit and threatening to go to the CMA with proof they were withholding safety equipment.

  I’d be finished with the daily grind. I’d never have to make nice with some overbearing executive like Clemens or admin like Richard. I’d be on my way to collecting fifty million credits and never have to see Nevarro again.

  Or Zia, a little part of my brain said. And if it ever comes out that the files were stolen from her office, her career will be over.

  I shook off the flicker of guilt. Someone always got the short end of these jobs, whether it was the bankers who were responsible for the money in their safes or executives with incriminating files. Besides, I assured myself, Zia was a smart woman; any company in the ‘Verse would be glad to have her, even with a black mark on her record.

  The appliance finished copying my latest request as I heard the soft click of the outer office door.

  “Liv? Are you in here?”

  Zia.

  I was out of the chair and reaching for the data stick before I realized I was standing. I pressed the yellow button in and yanked the stick out of the port. The console beeped—I swear it was louder than an aircar blowing a lifter at 200 kph—as the computer shut down. My heart pounded so hard my hands shook.