by Radclyffe
CHAPTER SIX
AT NINE THE next morning, Sloan walked down the brightly lit, cavernous central corridor of Michael's high-tech corporate complex. Small warrens of offices, conference rooms, and lounges branched off at irregular intervals. The hallway terminated on the east side of the building, with Michael's corner suite occupying a large part of that section. Sloan was surprised to see someone working in the outer office adjoining Michael's. A woman stood behind a large horseshoe-shaped reception desk sorting through a deep file cabinet, her back to Sloan.
"Excuse me," Sloan called, assuming that this was Michael's secretary. "Ms. Lassiter is expecting me."
The woman turned, glanced at Sloan, and then uttered a small cry of surprise. Her eyes widened, and a faint blush stole across her attractive features. "Oh my God. Sloan! What are you doing here?"
"Hello Angela," Sloan replied calmly, hiding her surprise with a cool expression. "I'm working. I'm surprised you didn't know that."
Sloan wasn't certain exactly how much Michael Lassiter had confided, and she certainly didn't want to give the impression that an explanation was in order. "I didn't realize that you work here."
Angela shrugged, a slightly bitter smile tugging at her lips. "Considering that I haven't talked to you in almost 2 1/2 years, I'm not surprised. Of course, you were never particularly interested in the details of my life. As I recall, your interests were somewhat more limited."
Sloan thought she probably deserved that, considering that she had rather abruptly ended her liaison with Angela Striker. They had dated a few times after meeting at some local political event. Angela, however, demanded a degree of exclusivity in her romantic partners that Sloan had found impossible to provide. She thought the better part of valor was to end the relationship quickly before both of them regretted it. Nevertheless, she said nothing now. She had learned over the years that attempting to defend her actions where bruised egos and dashed dreams were concerned was futile. It was simply easier to let them believe that she didn't care.
"So, is she ready for me?" Sloan questioned, indicating the closed door behind Angela.
A look of irritation flickered over Angela's face, and then she abruptly shrugged it off. "I don't know. Let me check with her and see."
A minute later Sloan stood once again across the wide expanse of luxurious office space from Michael Lassiter, who was looking casual that morning in beige slacks and a cashmere vee-neck pullover of darker brown. Sloan tried to ignore the obvious fact that Michael wasn't wearing anything of substance underneath the delicate sweater.
"Hi," she said.
Michael smiled in welcome, "Good morning."
Sloan deposited her briefcase next to the computer console, then glanced over her shoulder at Michael. "Have you been here long?"
She looked away uncomfortably. "A while. I had trouble sleeping."
"I'm sorry," Sloan said, meaning it. She had had a rather hard time getting to sleep herself the night before. She had found herself walking aimlessly through her loft apartment, the lights out, patches of moonlight the only illumination. She was strangely restless. She kept thinking about the evening, and the drive to Michael's. It had been a long time since she had spent so many hours with a woman when at least one of them hadn't been bent on seduction. But it hadn't been like that with Michael. There had been something in the air – her skin had tingled with it, but it hadn't been sex. Not the simple phermonally-inspired attraction she was used to. It might have been something as simple as the fact that she liked Michael Lassiter. And she didn't like to think of this quietly self-contained woman alone in the night, awake and worried. She straightened her shoulders, and blew out a breath. "Well, let me get to work and maybe I can give you a little peace of mind about this stuff at least."
"There's fresh coffee," Michael offered.
"Thanks, I'll get some in a minute," Sloan mumbled distractedly, already seated at the central console, rapidly typing in commands.
Michael watched her for a moment, enjoying the look of utter concentration on her face. She was also thinking how relaxed and at home Sloan looked in her faded jeans and slightly frayed at the cuffs white button-down shirt. The battered brown boots looked lived-in and completed the picture of a woman who couldn't have cared less about making the usual professional statement. No power suits in appearance here. Michael wondered if Sloan had any idea what an appealing image her obvious confidence projected. After a moment, she got up and filled two ceramic mugs with coffee and carried one over to Sloan.
"Black okay?" she asked, setting the mug down near Sloan's right hand.
"Huh?" Sloan replied, not looking away from the monitor. Then the aroma of very good French Roast caught her attention and she glanced up at Michael. "You aren't supposed to be waiting on me," she admonished with a winning grin, "but thanks."
Michael smiled. "It's the least I can do to repay you for last night."
Sloan swiveled on the chair to face her, her violet eyes serious. "You don't need to thank me. I enjoyed every minute."
Michael blushed. She had no idea why that pleased her so much. "I'd better let you work," she said softly, turning away.
It was some minutes before Sloan could concentrate on the diagnostics she was running, and even then she was acutely aware of Michael across the room, sketching something out on her drafting table. That undercurrent in the air that made her skin tingle was back again. She diligently determined to ignore it.
"Well, well, well," Sloan remarked almost to herself after a few moments.
Michael looked up from her work, noting the slight frown on Sloan's face. "What is it?"
Sloan held up one hand, indicating for her to be patient while she perused several windows which she had open on the screen. "Last night before we left I added a second level intrusion blocker to the firewall you already had on your system, just to see if there was any activity. It looks like you've got people trying to slip in the back door."
Michael put down her pencil, turned on the high stool and regarded Sloan intently. "Is it something serious?" she asked after a moment.
Sloan shrugged. "Not necessarily. There are literally thousands of people around the world who are constantly attempting to hack into other people's systems, just for the fun of it. They run programs that try to find open networks, either private or corporate. When they do, a scout program is launched that basically opens files on the systems and allows the hacker to read through them. I assume that your entire system is networked, internally and between your other companies."
"Yes, at least most of the areas dealing with marketing and development are." Michael confirmed. "We have so many interdivisional conferences, as well as design overlaps between the various physical plants, that it seemed wiser that way. The financial and personnel divisions are only accessible here, at the corporate headquarters, but to be honest I never inquired as to exactly how they are secured."
"Never mind. I'll be looking at that." Sloan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face with both hands. She needed another cup of coffee, but she was reluctant to ask for it. She had been a little surprised when Michael brought her the first one. She wasn't used to anyone looking after her in that way.
"The way you’ve set things up is probably easier," she continued, "but it makes you more vulnerable as well. What about your home systems? How many people can access the company network from their private computers?"
Michael laughed at the absurdity of that thought. "Oh god, I don't know. Hundreds probably. At first we weren’t even networked, and then as our numbers grew, and we needed to be able to reach each other, we just hobbled things together. We never had anyone overhaul the entire network. Didn’t seem to need to." She slid off the stool and crossed to Sloan's working area, picking up her empty coffee cup. In the small alcove where the very expensive little French bistro coffeemaker was located, she poured them each another cup, then returned to stand by Sloan's left shoulder. She deposited the cup and stared at the screen. "Can you
tell who it is?"
"Given enough time, probably," Sloan admitted. She reached for the coffee gratefully. "Thanks," she said quietly.
"I'm afraid if I make too obvious an attempt to lock others out of the system, particularly Jeremy, it will merely raise his suspicions," Michael mused. "I don't want to do anything until you have my critical data safe."
Sloan nodded, understanding that the urgency for security had to be balanced against the larger issue of Michael's personal situation. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry, but what do you think he's likely to do?"
Michael edged her hip onto the corner of the broad workstation that held the array of electronic equipment. She sighed, her blue eyes troubled. "I don't know."
Sloan looked up at her, confused. How could a woman not have some idea what her husband would do when she left him? Could it be possible that she knew so little of him, or he of her? Suddenly, she had a very uneasy feeling. "As he ever been--," she hesitated, then asked softly, "physical?"
For a moment, Michael looked uncertain, then she blushed faintly. "No, never. He has something of a temper, though generally when he's angry he simply becomes colder and more remote. I believe he thought that the worst thing he could do to me would be to abandon me, shut me out."
There was just a hint of pain and bewilderment in her voice, and Sloan had the feeling that Michael's husband had been correct. He had known exactly what to do to hurt her. For a moment, she despised him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."
Michael placed her hand softly on Sloan's shoulder, saying, "It's all right. It doesn't matter to me anymore."
Sloan nodded, and turned back to the computer. She needed to concentrate on what she had been hired to do, and stop worrying about Michael Lassiter's personal life. It wasn't up to her to erase that shadow of unhappiness in Michael's eyes, or to ease the sadness that was so often present in her voice. "Let me work on this a while, and maybe I can give you some kind of answer to this problem at least."
Michael sat silently, aware that she had been dismissed. She was a little surprised that it hurt. When Sloan failed to look up again, she moved quietly away. They did not speak again except to say goodbye.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER SLOAN LEFT, Michael sorted file folders and disks with the work she intended to finish at home and put them into her briefcase. As she closed the office door behind her, she was surprised to find Angela still at her desk. "What are you still doing here?"
"Foster sent in the summary for the telecommunications project late yesterday afternoon. I knew that you'd want the portfolio to go out to marketing first thing on Monday, so I thought I'd get started. I'm collating the information now. It should be ready to print soon."
Michael smiled, shaking her head in fond admonishment. "You know I don't expect you to work on Saturday afternoons unless it's an absolute emergency." She glanced at her watch. "And it's officially afternoon now. I appreciate it, and you're right, I will need it on Monday. But it can wait until you come in Monday morning."
"I'm on my way," Angela said gratefully. She had a date that night and a million things to do before Karen picked her up. She tilted her head, and studied Michael carefully. Her boss looked weary, and strangely, sad. "Is everything all right?"
Michael stiffened slightly, never comfortable discussing herself. Even though Angela had been her personal secretary for three years, and knew her about as well as anyone, they were not friends. She trusted Angela, but she did not confide in her. "Yes, of course. I'm fine."
Angela accepted the automatic response, knowing there was no point in questioning Michael further. She deftly changed the subject, because she was curious about something else. "By the way, I've noticed you've got a new computer consultant. Is Mayfield leaving?"
Michael hesitated, wishing she could explain. She had confidence in Angela's discretion, but it didn't seem fair to burden her with knowledge that she would have to conceal. Angela rarely worked directly with Jeremy, but they certainly came into contact frequently enough that it could be uncomfortable for her.
"No, it's not about Mayfield," Michael said casually, referring to the systems administrator they employed to handle their ordinary computer issues. "Sloan is just doing some personal work for me."
Angela snorted slightly, "That's definitely Sloan's strength. Up close and personal kind of work."
Michael looked at her in slight confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
Angela only shook her head. Sometimes Michael could be so naive. "JT Sloan is a very smooth operator," she remarked, not bothering to hide her bitterness. "She tends to mix business with pleasure, if you know what I mean, and women are her specialty. Although I guess that's not likely to be an issue with you."
For some reason, Michael felt herself blushing. She knew Sloan was a lesbian, but she hadn't given it any thought the previous night. Perhaps she had been hasty in accepting Sloan's invitation to the Cabaret, although she seriously doubted that J.T. Sloan would take any notice of her in that way. It had seemed harmless enough, and had turned out to be one of the most enjoyable evenings she could remember in a long time.
"I hardly think that Ms. Sloan would have any interest in me in that regard," she said dismissively.
Angela stared at her, wondering if it was possible that Michael really did not know how attractive she was. In addition to being stunningly beautiful, she was intelligent, accomplished, and kind. A rare combination for a successful businessperson. Angela had struggled with her attraction to Michael for months. She knew it was an impossibility, not only because her charismatic employer was married, but because Michael Lassiter seemed to have no clue as to the possible interest that others might have in her. Angela had seen any number of men make fruitless attempts to entice Michael into an office dalliance, and several women too. Michael simply didn't recognize the overtures. She was always too occupied with whatever idea consumed her at the moment.
"With Sloan any woman is a possibility. Just don't take anything she says or does seriously, and you'll be fine," Angela advised, getting up to gather her things.
"Thanks," Michael said dryly. "I'll remember that."
Resolutely, she pushed the lingering sound of Sloan's voice from her mind, and dismissed the fleeting images of that remarkable profile outlined in moonlight from her consciousness. As she did so often, and so unconsciously after so many years, she turned her mind to her latest project. She was unaware that the hollow sounds of her footsteps echoing in the deserted hallway matched the ever-deepening emptiness in her life.
* * *
"I need you to dig out some background for me," Sloan said as she inched her way through the early afternoon traffic on the cross-town expressway.
"Oh yeah? Who are we investigating?" Jason asked on the other end of the phone.
"I want to know what you can find on Michael Lassiter, her family, and Jeremy Lassiter."
"Is there a problem with that assignment?" Jason inquired, obviously surprised by her request. It wasn't typical, particularly with their jobs in the private sector. And despite Sloan's reputation as a playgirl, it wasn't typical for her to date a client either, at least not before the account was completed. She had surprised him showing up at the Cabaret with Michael. Of course, there was always the chance he had been wrong about the way Sloan had looked at Michael Lassiter the night before, and she wasn't really taken with the new client after all.
"No problem. I just have the feeling that the time might come when I need to know everything there is to know about the Lassiters." She didn't see any point in explaining to Jason how uneasy she felt, since she couldn't explain it to herself. She just couldn't envision Jeremy Lassiter folding his tent and disappearing without a struggle. Information was often powerful ammunition in these kinds of skirmishes, and if she could lend Michael Lassiter a hand, she would. She told herself it was simply good business, nothing more. Certainly nothing personal.
"Where are you," Jason asked with a sigh.
"I'm on m
y way to the gym," she offered. "I just finished doing the initial scans of the Lassiter system."
"Sloan, love – it's Saturday afternoon. I bet you have plans for the evening, don't you?'
Sloan frowned at the thought. She did, and for some reason, she wasn't particularly looking forward to it. "Dinner later with Diane Carson."
"Uh huh – well, perhaps I have plans, too. And they didn't include spending the night rifling through someone else's virtual underwear drawer."
She laughed. "Fine. Monday morning will be time enough." She assumed the deep sigh from Jason’s end indicated assent.
"What kind of background are we talking about? Am I going to need to call in favors?" he asked.
"I shouldn't think so. There's nothing to suggest classified information. I just want anything you can find on both the Lassiters, before and after their marriage, personal and professional."
Jason heard the undercurrent of concern in her voice, and suddenly serious, he asked again, "Are you sure there's no problem?"
"No," Sloan said tersely. She and Michael hadn't even talked much the last few hours that Sloan had been there. When she got ready to leave, she hadn't wanted to go. She couldn't explain that either. She had to force herself not to ask Michael about her plans for the weekend.
Impatiently, she brushed her hand through her hair, muttered at some fool who tried to cut her off, and continued, "I just want to know exactly what I'm dealing with here, Jason. Is that too much to ask?"
"Oh, absolutely not," Jason said theatrically, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I live to serve you, almighty one."
Sloan laughed despite her lingering uneasiness. "Just do it, Jason."
