A Matter of Trust

by Radclyffe

  A MATTER OF TRUST

  By

  RADCLYFFE

  Ebook by

  PDAFiction.com

  A MATTER OF TRUST

  CHAPTER ONE

  "SLOAN SECURITY."

  "I'm sitting in a two mile jam-up on 76. Is the client there yet?"

  Jason glanced across the room at the glacially cool countenance of the 9AM appointment. "Uh huh."

  What he should have said was Oh oh. His boss did not like surprises, and it was supposed to be his job to prevent that. He seemed to have dropped the ball.

  "Damn," Sloan said with a sigh, slowing for yet another bottleneck on an expressway that hadn't been express for twenty years. "Not much I can do about it. Get him a donut or something." With that, she pushed 'off' on the cell phone, tossed it onto the front passenger seat of the Boxster next to a battered leather briefcase, and tried for an end run around the long line of nearly stopped traffic in front of her. Just what I get for not driving home last night.

  But the dinner meeting had run late, and her companion had been charming, and the invitation to stay had been so eloquently phrased. With the project nearly completed, all systems up and operational, she saw no reason not to mix a little pleasure with her business. Not exactly routine, but hardly out of the ordinary either. And, she thought with a grin, she could hardly complain about the hospitality. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned on an early morning meeting, expecting instead to drive home, shower and change before going in to her Center City office. Being her own boss had many advantages, not the least of which was setting her own hours. However, when she had checked her messages from Diane’s bedroom phone, Jason’s cheerful tenor informed her that he had scheduled an emergency meeting for her. After cursing colorfully under her breath for ten seconds, she had cleaned up in Diane’s spacious bathroom, pulled on a clean tee-shirt her hostess had provided her, and set out into rush hour traffic.

  With a low growl and a quick turn of the wrist, she angled out and around a stalled SEPTA bus. She did not like being late. The client she was meeting had requested an urgent appointment, and even though it usually took Jason weeks to find time in her schedule for a new project, he had informed her that this one was an exception. He hadn't even had time to send a fax to her laptop with the usual summary he prepared for her before an interview.

  "High profile corporation, big-time connections, and money is not an issue," was precisely how he had phrased it in his 'do not argue with me' voice. She trusted his judgment completely, which was why she let him manage everything about her business except the work she actually did. He handled the details behind the scenes and occasionally assisted her with larger projects on site. He was an able technician himself and they didn't need a large staff. She was the talent they brokered, and any additional help she needed they subcontracted out.

  "You'll want this one," was what he had said.

  * * *

  Michael Lassiter looked up from the New York Times business section as the office door banged open and a black-haired woman in a casual leather blazer, snowy white tee shirt, and blue jeans hurried in, halting across the room from where she sat. Michael took stock. Well-built, five-ten, one forty or so – maybe a couple of years younger than her own thirty-three.

  The slender blond man behind the wide walnut desk swiveled away from his monitor toward the commotion, a mixture of faint disapproval and reluctant fondness warring on his elegantly attractive face.

  "Sorry," the woman called to him, turning in the middle of the room to face Michael. An instant's confusion skimmed over the surface of her sculpted features, then she stepped forward, her right hand extended. "Ms. Lassiter? Sorry to keep you waiting. I'm J.T. Sloan."

  The unexpectedly low melodious voice, the piecing deep-violet eyes, the strong clear planes of her striking face startled Michael for a second. Just as quickly, she recovered. She stood, automatically smoothing the slight creases in her navy silk skirt. "No trouble, Ms. Sloan."

  "Just 'Sloan'," Sloan replied with a devil-may-care grin, deep dimples and all, that had melted many a heart. It didn't seem to have much effect on Michael Lassiter, however. Her ice blue eyes and perfect features showed not the slightest hint of warming.

  "Why don't we get comfortable in my office," Sloan said, pointing toward the double doors at the far side of the room. She looked at Jason, who was watching them with the attention of a Phillies fan at the World Series. "Coffee?" she queried, her tone suggesting it was not a request.

  He sighed and rose to brew a fresh pot. How was he supposed to know that Michael wasn't a Michael? All he’d had time to do was check the corporate profiles. He hadn’t had time for the deep background searches he usually did.

  In the next room, Sloan settled behind the antique oak desk that she had painstakingly moved from her parents' home ten years previously. It had gone first to her office in Washington D.C., then into storage while she dropped out of sight for several months, and finally to the loft space that served as the central office for her company in what was affectionately known as "Old City". Her client had chosen a leather swivel armchair facing Sloan's desk. Sloan glanced at the open file folder that Jason had placed on her desk earlier that morning. It contained the data intake sheet for new clients - basic information such as name, company address, reason for initial interview, and a box for notations at the bottom of the first page where any unusual or particularly salient information could be added. Sloan noted that the company name was Lassiter and Lassiter. In the notation box Jason had typed 'CEO, Michael Lassiter'. Nowhere on the page did Sloan see any indication that Michael Lassiter was a woman. Not that that fact mattered per se, but Sloan liked to have as much background as possible when she was interviewing a prospective client. Information was power, and she was the one deciding if the client was worthy of her attentions – not the other way around. Another advantage of working for herself. She could choose her projects, and answered to no one.

  She glanced up to find herself being openly appraised by the woman in the impeccably tailored suit. Unconsciously, Sloan stared back. The double-breasted jacket was open to reveal a creamy silk shell that was fashionable without being flashy. She checked Michael Lassiter's hands, which were folded loosely in her lap. No wedding ring. In fact, no rings of any kind. What jewelry there was was understated and tastefully elegant. Small gold hoops in each earlobe reflected the highlights in her naturally golden, exquisitely styled collar-length hair, and gray pearls accentuated the smooth pale skin of her neck. Sloan's gaze moved upward until their eyes met. The look on Michael Lassiter's face suggested she was used to being studied.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Sloan found herself repeating. She was used to corporate types, although usually they were men. Aggressive, arrogant, habitually engaged in one-upmanship. She wasn't easily impressed, and even less easily intimidated. She was neither at the moment, but neither was she completely comfortable. The woman was beautiful, like a precious objet d'art sequestered in a museum - separated from the observer by velvet ropes and bulletproof glass. Discreet but formal signs reading "Hands Off" posted nearby.

  "That's quite all right. These things happen," Michael conceded with a small shrug.

  But not to you, I'll bet.

  To break the silence that felt strangely hypnotic, Sloan pulled a lined yellow legal tabletfrom a stack near her right hand and picked up her fountain pen. "Tell me what it is, precisely, that you need?"

  Michael Lassiter smiled, a small tight smile that did not reach her eyes. "I believe that's what you'll need to tell me."

  "Fair enough. Why don't you start with a little bit of background? This involves your company, I presume?"

  For the first time, her client appeared uncomfortable. A brief flicker of so
mething that might have been pain rose in her eyes, and then was quickly extinguished. Michael Lassiter straightened slightly, and met the questioning violet eyes squarely.

  "As you may know, my husband and I founded Lassiter Designs approximately six years ago. We've been fortunate in that what we conceived of as a pilot project interfaced rather well with the expansion of current technology. The company has - grown - shall we say, rapidly over the past three years. We now employ several hundred people and have satellite offices in New York, Chicago, and Washington."

  And you're threatening to break into the Fortune 500 if you keep escalating at your present rate of growth. Some information Jason had thought to provide her, along with recent prospectuses and financial reports for the firm. Lassiter and Lassiter was a think tank. They conceived of the future and convinced others to finance and build it. The firm’s success depended on the accuracy and ingenuity of their designers’ vision.

  "Go on," Sloan prompted as she made a few supplementary notes.

  "May I assume this meeting is confidential?" Michael asked.

  Sloan raised her head slowly, noting for the first time the subtle signs of strain – the too rigid posture, the slight clenching of a very lovely jaw, the faint lines of fatigue around her searching blue eyes. "I'm not an attorney, Ms. Lassiter, or a priest. But client confidentiality is my business. If at the end of our discussion, we decide our needs are not compatible, whatever you tell me now will be forgotten."

  It was Michael's turn to scrutinize. She knew of Sloan by reputation, of course. Previous client reports of Sloan Security and endorsements from various official institutions had all been favorable. Michael studied the other woman, noting her imperturbable expression, her inquiring eyes. Sloan was known to be extremely efficient, resourceful, and highly capable. There were also those who suggested she was competitive and ruthless, and Michael had no doubt that Sloan was capable of providing the technical services she required. The question was whether she could be trusted with the confidences.

  Personal information regarding the head of Sloan security was more difficult to ascertain. Sloan's past was a cipher, and even those who purported to know her well had no knowledge of her history prior to her first appearance in the city several years previously. Rumors abounded, with everything from speculation that she had been a CIA agent deep undercover to a criminal engaged in nefarious underworld dealings. At 29, she was young for her position, but reputed to be at the top of her field. And Michael had a feeling she would need one of the best.

  The silence lengthened, both of them watching the other carefully. Violet and blue, fire and ice – they each sought something in the other’s gaze. Finally, Michael spoke. "This is not yet general knowledge, and will not be for some time to come. I'm in the process of leaving my husband and dissolving our partnership."

  Sloan showed no reaction. She was not interested in the social or political ramifications of the news, although they were substantial. More importantly, the potential destabilization of a high-profile company such as Lassiter and Lassiter would have significant impact on a sizable chunk of the financial market. Stock values could fluctuate wildly if word of reorganization at such a high-level were to become common knowledge. If information such as this were made public before the company had been restructured, it could seriously impact on the future of both the institution and its stockholders. She wasn't surprised that Michael Lassiter was worried about a leak. What she had just been told did not require comment. The significance of the revelation spoke for itself. Nevertheless, Sloan had a feeling this was only part of the issue. Sloan merely nodded, her eyes steady on Michael Lassiter's face.

  Michael smiled slightly, very aware that Sloan was waiting for her to reveal the real cause of her concern. She had a feeling that a less experienced person might have taken her explanation at face value. Certainly most men would have. But she sensed that Sloan intuited that there was something more. It occurred to her then that she would have to be careful, or she would have no secrets left.

  "The reasons for confidentiality are obvious. However," she continued smoothly, "the reason that I need to engage your services is that I expect my husband will attempt to take control of the company, by any means available to him."

  Sloan dropped her fountain pen on the legal pad and leaned back in her leather swivel chair. She steepled her fingers in front of her chest and thought for a moment. At length she said quietly, "Let me see if I understand this. You're presently CEO of one of the countries largest and most rapidly growing design technology firms. Your husband is –" she hesitated, thinking. "He is the chief operating officer if I recall." At Michael's affirming nod, Sloan continued, "You intend to divorce him and somehow expect to maintain control of the company. You need me to assure that your internal systems are secure and that your operations are tamper proof. And you expect me to do this without rousing suspicion while you plan this coup?"

  Michael smiled thinly, her blue eyes troubled. "I'm not sure I'd call this a coup, Ms. Sloan," she said somewhat testily. "This company was my conception, and was primarily funded from my personal resources. I have always been much better at theory than management. The vision, I suppose, has been mine. My husband's natural talents have been in recruitment and systems organization. I can assure you I'm planning nothing illegal or even particularly underhanded. I intend to protect my company from assault, which is exactly what I anticipate will happen as soon as my lawyers contact my husband."

  Sloan leaned forward, picking up the pen again. "What's the timetable?"

  Michael shrugged. "I believe that may very well be up to you. I don't want to proceed until I'm certain that ongoing projects and the blueprints for future growth cannot be pirated. Until that time, I intend to continue with the status quo."

  At that, Sloan looked up, studying the cool composed woman across from her. Despite the small signs of tension, she was remarkably controlled. What she had so calmly outlined amounted to nothing short of war within the arena of the financial world. It was the kind of confrontation that could lead to personal ruin, and had in many instances. The fact that she was married to the man she was about to engage in all out conflict did not appear to trouble her. Sloan wondered briefly if Michael Lassiter would also continue the personal relationship with her husband as if nothing were amiss as well. She quickly reminded herself that that was certainly none of her business. Nevertheless, it gave her pause to think of this woman compromising herself privately for the sake of eventual financial supremacy. It struck her as merely a form of prostitution, and somehow much too demeaning for this obviously accomplished woman. Sloan forced her mind back to the issues at hand, and her own interest in it.

  "You'll need a cover story as to why I'm spending so much time in your corporate headquarters. I'll also need to visit each of your branch divisions; I'll have to meet with your present systems operators; and I'll need unrestricted access to all levels of program applications and data acquisition."

  Michael Lassiter seemed to relax infinitesimally, a small sigh escaping her. "Am I to take it that you accept?"

  Sloan shrugged. "We haven't talked about my contract conditions or fees yet."

  Michael Lassiter stood, and stretched out a slim elegant hand. Sloan rose, taking it wordlessly. Michael said, "Those details are inconsequential to me. What I require is your discretion and your talent."

  "Of that I can assure you," Sloan responded. The hand in hers was remarkably firm, and she felt a slight reluctance to relinquish it. When she did so, Michael Lassiter turned and left the room without another word.

  * * *

  Jason stood in the open doorway, leaning one slim hip against the door jam, his arms crossed over his chest. His tailored trousers, monochromatic shirt and tie, and glossy European loafers screamed aspiring businessman-on-the-rise. "And should I ask where you spent last evening?"

  Sloan looked up from the report she was finishing. "No, I don't think so."

  She rubbed her face with both h
ands, aware for the first time that she was tired. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep. If anything, sex usually relaxed her. Unfortunately, such pleasures often came at a price. Diane Carson had made it very clear that she wanted to see more of Sloan. That idea wasn’t an altogether unpleasant one by any means, but the intensity in Diane’s voice had worried her. She would have to be very certain that the ground rules were clear before things became unnecessarily complicated.

  The tall, impeccably turned out young man tried unsuccessfully to hide a frown. "Did we at least get the new contract this morning?"

  "Yes, we did," Sloan answered somewhat churlishly, and then immediately regretted it. She saw the hurt in his eyes. "Look," she sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't get much sleep."

  "And I suppose that's my fault?" He flopped down in the chair Michael Lassiter had occupied earlier that day. He decided from the homicidal look on her face to change the subject. "So tell me about the Ice Queen."

  Sloan fixed him with a stare meant to do damage. When he squirmed a bit and mouthed a silent, "Please", hands clutched to his heart, she finally laughed.

  "She's a client, Jason, not a date!"

  "Oh please, like there's a big difference!" Jason retorted.

  Sloan shook her head, still smiling. "So now and then I see one of the clients – ah, socially, shall we say. It’s never interfered with business. Besides, I can assure you that won't be happening with this one."

  Jason wondered if he didn't detect a slight hint of regret in Sloan's voice, but he wisely chose not to comment upon it. Instead, he asked playfully, "And why exactly is that?"

  "First and very foremost, she's straight," Sloan said with finality. Although she probably deserved her reputation as someone who never lacked for female companionship, and never made a long-term commitment, she did have some limits. Dating straight women was definitely one of them.