by Sloan, C. T.
Julie Bandis is struggling to make a name for herself as a journalist. As a recent University of Texas graduate, the 21-year old fears she’ll spend the rest of her life waiting tables if she doesn’t make a splash soon. The young journalist decides to go after the biggest story in the Lone Star state - uncovering the mysteries of the state’s wealthiest man.
Trent Rex is the CEO of Rex Industries. Known as T. Rex by employees and enemies alike, this hulking six-foot, five-inch billionaire’s legend looms large over the Lone Star state. Rumors abound about the alpha billionaire’s hot temper and sadistic sexual behavior -- which only fuel the frenzied interest in the Texas billionaire titan even more.
Julie knows that going undercover at Rex Industries could allow her to find out more about the mysterious Mr. Rex. She changes her name to “Vanessa London” and lands a job as a secretary at Rex Industries’ Global Headquarters in Dallas. Soon the young undercover journalist finds herself face-to-face with the T. Rex himself.
“You seem a little too smart to be a secretary,” Mr. Rex says to the new employee. “Let’s see if you can survive as an assistant in my personal office,” the billionaire boss tells the undercover reporter. Before she knows it, Janice finds herself right in the inner sanctum of Mr. Rex’s personal lair.
Janice spends her day absorbing as much information as possible about Mr. Rex’s secret world. She works late into the night, compiling a story that will bring her instant fame and fortune. Then, just as everything couldn’t get any better, the T. Rex offers the young girl the ultimate inside access. “I want you to do a little overtime back at my estate,” Mr. Rex says to the youthful secretary. Soon the undercover reporter finds herself ready to be completely exposed.
Undercover (Hot Off The Press) Book 1
By C.T. Sloan
The following work is for private use only and may not be re-published, all or in part, without express written consent of the publisher.
Copyright 2012 MC73 Publishing
My name is Julie Bandis. But that is not how everyone knows me at Rex Industries. In this building, I go by the name of “Vanessa London.” And there is a good reason why I am not using my real name. You see, I am an undercover reporter. All right, let me be straight here and say that I am not some hot-shot journalist from the New York Times or Washington Post. In fact, I am a 21-year old recent J-School grad from the University of Texas. During my time at UT, I harbored dreams of winning the Pulitzer before my twenty-fifth birthday. Yeah, it’s a crazy fantasy but that’s what happens when you have more optimism than common sense. Flash forward to one week after graduation. No job offers and no prospects. I have to serve jalapeno poppers at Chili’s just to pay my rent.
In desperation, I plead for a job, any job, at Texas Monthly magazine. Out of sheer luck, I get a lowly mailroom position. It’s not real reporting but at least it’s a foot in the door. While at the magazine, I tried my best to impress the editors. Every pitch I gave them was shot down in the most polite way possible. No matter how much I tried to impress them, I was always going to be nothing more than the mailroom girl.
I started getting depressed and spent most of my time flipping through the various magazines that came into the mailroom. One magazine in particular was the annual list of the Forbes 400 Richest People in the World. I started to peruse the issue just to see who was at the top of the list. Of course, there were large photos of people like Warren Buffett and Bill Gates. But at number 27 was a name that is more than familiar to any Texan - Mr. Trent Rex. Of course, Forbes did not have a photo of the billionaire known as the “T. Rex” of Texas business. Trent Rex is an enigma, even to lifelong Dallas residents. Rumors abound about the fiery 36-year old business titan. Some say he holds a seventh degree black belt. Others claim that he keeps a harem of sex slaves at his palatial Chateau style mansion.
“An expose on the T. Rex,” I pitched to the senior editor at Texas Monthly. The editor laughed so hard he nearly fell off of his chair. He told me that he has been trying to get to the T. Rex for the past 10 years. As the editor tries to shoot me down, I try to think of any way to get the man to reconsider. “He won’t know me. I’ve never had a byline on any article at any publication. I’m 21. I haven’t been in Dallas longer than three months. I can change my identity and get a job as a secretary at Rex Industries,” I explain breathlessly. The senior editor wasn’t laughing anymore. He said he would think about it.
Two long days go by. Then I get a call in the middle of the night. “Alright, you have a green light. Do not come by the office anymore. We will meet at the Denny’s by your house in half an hour.”
I hop out of my bed, get dressed and meet my boss at the Denny’s down the street. There my editor hands me a yellow envelope. “I pulled some strings and got you a new identity. You are now Vanessa London from Boulder, Colorado. Here’s $2,000 to carry you for the next few weeks. Do not call my phone or stop by the office. We’ll set-up some e-mail accounts that you can access from public wi-fi hotspots,” my editor explains. The cloak and dagger routine makes me feel like a real undercover reporter. With my new identity, I apply for a secretarial job at Rex Industries. Due to the incredible growth of the company, there is no problem with me getting hired. After passing an extensive background check - thanks to the fake identity - I find myself within the walls of one of the most secretive companies on the planet.
At 1,113 feet, The Rex Building is the tallest occupied structure in Dallas. I am currently working on the lowly 15th floor while Mr. Rex’s personal office occupies the top five levels of his building. I have only gotten as high as the fifty-first floor and that was high enough to make me nervous. The very thought of coming eye-to-eye with the T. Rex makes me shake in my boots.
So far, I have gotten some pretty interesting info on Rex Industries and Mr. Rex himself. First of all, one can not go above the 80th floor of the Rex Building without a special “Gold Badge.” These are the blessed ones who interact with the T. Rex on a daily basis. Secondly, I have learned that Mr. Rex comes and goes via his personal helicopter. A few days ago, I observed a group of three of those helicopters hovering over the Rex Building. Two of the helicopters acted as escorts. What is intriguing is that the other two “escort” helicopters appeared to be armed with Gatling guns.
When Mr. Rex is on a lower floor, a bell rings out. According to the employee handbook, no one is to approach the elevator during that time. And perhaps the most odd thing about this place is that no employee is allowed to gossip about Mr. Rex himself. That is grounds for immediate termination. This has presented a problem since I was hoping to interview long-time employees for my story. Instead, I have to rely on simple observation and occasional “Snooping Around.”
My home at the 15th floor secretarial pool is a hive of stunning six-foot blondes with long legs and perky breasts whose only real job is to try and lure a well-to-do exec. At five-feet, four-inches, my petite little body simply disappears into the horde of blonde would-be Dallas gold-diggers.
After work, I go back to my place and write up notes on Rex Industries. Right now, I have half a story. Sure, I have some insights into Rex Industries’ rather cultish like work environment. But without interacting with the T. Rex himself, I have no bombshell expose. Each Saturday night, I communicate with my senior editor via e-mail using the nearby McDonalds complementary wi-fi hotspot. My boss is pretty happy with what I have. However, he is quick to remind me that I need to get into personal contact with Mr. Rex before I can have my story.
“You get to the T. Rex and you are superstar,” my editor writes to me.
“It’s my only goal in life,” I tell him.
“Be brave. But be careful. And, mos
t importantly, don’t get caught,” my boss says before ending our conversation.
I come into work at Monday morning. It’s about 7:00. As usual, I am the first one in the office. No, I am not trying to be a model employee. I’m trying to use this as an opportunity to sneak around and learn as much as I can about Rex Industries and Mr. Rex himself. After getting a cup of coffee, I wander around the secretarial pool and then make my way to the executive suites on the fortieth floor. None of the execs seem to notice me. Possibly because I am not a six-foot blonde with tits pushed up and out for all to see.
At 8:00, I wander back to the secretarial pool. I’m still the only secretary on the floor. As I sit at my desk, I notice my supervisor, Ally watching me. My heart begins to beat rapidly. This has happened a few times before. For the past few days, Ally has been coming in early. She has been noticing my early arrival and I’m afraid that she is going to be suspicious. I sit at my computer and pretend to get busy when I hear the familiar footsteps of my boss approach my desk.
“You are an early bird aren’t you?” Ally says to me.
“Um, yeah,” I say nervously.
“What time do you come on? Like 7:00 a.m.?”
“Yeah. I’m an early riser,” I say as my knees begin to knock together.
“Uh huh,” Ally says as she walks off. I can’t help but notice that she takes another glance at me as she walks off. That’s it. I’m fucked. I think my cover is blown! If there is one thing I know about this place it is that any suspicious activity will attract a hornet’s nest of attention.
I sit there at my desk with my head down. The thought of just running out of the office crosses my mind more than once. As the rest of the secretarial pool arrives for work, I get this hot feeling on the back of my neck. They are on to me. I think I am having a panic attack. I get up and run to the ladies room. That doesn’t help. There are about five girls in there already. So I go for a little walk around the fifteenth floor.
After about ten minutes of wandering around, I make it back to my desk. There are a couple of e-mails for me to answer. I actually get down to doing some real work, which takes my mind off of my own paranoia. Just as I begin to get settled on the day, I spot my boss walking with two sharply dressed men. My boss looks over at my direction. She is looking directly at me. The men are looking at me, too. This is it. I put my head down and consider my options, which aren’t much. I spy a peek out of the corner of my eye and see the group walking right up to my desk.
“Vanessa,” Ally says using my alter-ego name. I look up and see the two men looking down at me. I can tell right away that these are some very senior level people at the company. One guy is a classic “Silver Fox” with slicked back gray hair. The other man looks like his “muscle.” A beefy security looking guy. I can feel the blood vessels throbbing on the sides of my head.
My boss looks at me and gestures towards the senior execs. “These two gentlemen would like to have a word with you.”
My mouth opens but I can not even summon the strength to effort a word out of my mouth. The silver fox looks down at me and says, “Ally tells us that you like to come in here quite early.”
“I am an early bird,” I say while the beefy guy looks over my desk.
“Ally says you are a rather proficient worker,” he says as he looks at some of the other secretaries gossiping down the hall. “And you seem to keep to yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ally also tells me you have worked late. Sometimes after 10:00 p.m.,” the silver fox inquires. Oh fuck. Now, I know I am screwed. That’s when I do most of my snooping around. I am not sure they have footage of me wandering around the other floors of the office.
“I really don’t have an explanation for that,” I say sadly.
“I looked at your resume. You are new to Dallas. So you probably haven’t had time to sample the nightlife of the city.”
“No,” I say quite perplexed.
The two senior execs look at each other and nod up and down. The silver fox motions to the beefy guy who reaches into his wallet. “We want to move you up to the eighty-first floor and make you a part of Mr. Rex’s assistant staff,” the silver fox says. My eyes open wide. The beefy guy pulls out the legendary gold elevator pass, which allows me access to the top five floors of the Rex Building. The floors where Mr. Rex works on a daily basis.
The silver fox grabs my hand. I stand up in what seems like slow motion. I am handed the gold card. I look at the red bold lettering on the card: Restricted Access. The men begin to walk me to the elevators. “Working for Mr. Rex means you don’t work nine to five. That’s why we selected you. Since you seem to prefer long hours, you will feel at home at the eighty-first floor. You will be at the beck and call of the Senior Executive Staff of Rex Industries including Mr. Rex himself,” the silver fox says as the doors open to the elevator.
The silver fox pulls out his gold card and presses it against a scanner. The top five elevator buttons are instantly illuminated. The senior exec presses the “81” button. The elevator car pulls us up into the sky, right into the inner sanctum of the T. Rex!
The elevator stops and the doors open. Right away, I am hit with a sense that I am in a different world. As I step off of the elevator, I notice that the ceilings are much higher. The furniture is custom designed. The floor is made of marble. The walls are made of paneled oak. The staff is dressed in suits that scream wealth. Rarified air indeed! The two men escort me to an open space with eight desks staffed with no-nonsense looking men and women. This is a far cry from the blonde bombshell army on the fifteenth floor. No gossiping. No tacky heels. These people are all no-nonsense in every sense of the word.
“Much like your job, you will fulfill any secretarial duties including answering phones, handling e-mail, snail mail, disseminating various information to the senior executive staff,” the silver fox says as I try my best to keep up. “How is your shorthand?” he asks.
“It’s good,” I lie. I have no idea if I have good shorthand or not. I’m not even sure what that means.
“Alright, you will be taking notes at meetings and then you will transcribe them. We do not record any meetings that involve Mr. Rex. Therefore these notes serve as the only record of information for said meetings,” the silver fox says. Now my heart begins to jump. I am going to be in meetings with Mr. Rex. I am actually going to be in direct contact with him. I will see him. I will hear him. I will be able to take notes. The biggest story of the decade has literally landed at my feet.
The silver fox pulls out the chair for me. “Welcome to your new home,” he says. I sit down at the desk. The two men quickly give me a nod and promptly walk off. And just like that I am now right inside the lair of the T. Rex. I am excited. But I am also scared. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I kind of just sit there for a moment waiting for someone to give me an order. I look down at the stationary in front of me. I notice that the pens and paper are of much higher quality. I also notice that the air feels cleaner. It would not surprise me if these top floors have their own air circulation.
I’m too scared to stand up and walk around. Five minutes have gone by and no one has given me anything to do. I look at the laptop in front of me. Just as I am about to reach over and turn on the computer, I get a tap on the shoulder. I jump. I look up and see a smartly dressed woman with short brown hair. “You are Vanessa London. The new assistant.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Come on. Bring your pad and a couple of pens,” she says as she walks to the elevators. I struggle to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Didn’t anyone tell you? We have daily a.m. and p.m. status meetings with Mr. Rex,” she says as we walk into the elevator. The short-haired woman presses the “85” button. The doors close. All the blood drains from my face. I am going to the 85th floor. Mr. Rex’s Floor. I am going to come face-to-face with the T. Rex!
The elevator doors open on the 85th floor. I look out and see a large atriu
m adorned in crimson and gold. I am almost too scared to step out of the elevator. I walk onto a thick red carpet and begin to follow the short-haired woman across the atrium. We pass by several ancient looking vases and sculptures that must be priceless. Above us is a large metal object hanging from the 25 foot high ceiling. It takes me a minute to figure out what I am looking at. Then it hits me. That’s the Apollo 11 Capsule. Staring at the priceless piece of space history causes me to fall behind. I race to catch up to the short-haired woman. We approach a large set of double doors. Before she opens the doors, the short-haired woman looks at me and says, “Do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your head down and write. And most importantly, do not stare at Mr. Rex.”
The short-haired woman opens the massive double doors. I walk in with my head down. I hear the voice of a man talking about the firm’s Central Asia operations. I immediately find a seat, grab my pad and pen and begin to take notes. My chins stays pinned down to my chest as I dare not look up for fear of staring into the eyes of the T. Rex. I start to write in my best short-hand possible.
“The Central Mongolia plant will be up and running in twelve days. And the pipeline should be done before the winter,” one of the senior execs explains. “That should allow us to complete the project six weeks ahead of deadline.”
