by Unknown
He glanced into her office. The room and the position he'd created just for her was as empty as his stomach.
Where was she? She was as reliable as the sunrise, as the fact that it would snow in March.
"Get a grip," he mumbled. She must have gone back to her apartment for something he forgot to pack. He held that as a talisman against the worry that nagged at him. He turned on the computer. Soon he was engrossed in reading and answering email.
On the edges of consciousness he was aware of the sounds of the building waking up around him. He grunted his thanks as his assistant put his ritual morning coffee at his elbow. By that time he had the stock market quotes displayed on the screen. He studied what he saw there, then switched to the company stock system.
Something was wrong. More shares of private stock had been manipulated than when he last checked yesterday. An expert had shuffled them. He was being undercut.
He needed to talk to someone.
He needed Miranda.
* * * *
"He's a pig-headed jerk," Miranda said to Alice over coffee. She didn't care that she was late to work. She only knew that she needed to touch base with someone familiar.
Alice smiled around the steam from her mug. "Because he wants you to be comfortable in his house?"
"You're on his side?" Miranda asked. Her voice squeaked a notch higher.
"I am not taking sides, my dear. Just trying to see both of them."
"It's just that everything is moving too fast. And now," she stopped. As far as Alice knew the last time Drake and Miranda had slept together had been on their so-called wedding night. Miranda thought of it in capital letters, The Night of the Missed Conception.
Now conception was a definite possibility. Unless she wanted to spill her guts, admit her less than appropriate behavior, to Alice, she'd better stop talking about Drake. Except that Alice probably thought she and Drake were still married because Miranda wanted them to be. After all, why the month long commitment if it was unnecessary?
Now it was necessary. She didn't want to admit that to her best friend.
What a mess.
Alice patted Miranda's hand. "It will work out just fine. Drake seems like a reasonable man. Just talk to him."
Miranda sighed.
"Tell me about this stock thing again," Alice prompted.
Miranda was only too happy to change the subject. She hated telling the part about Lucy's possible role. The part about her own broken engagement and how she'd learned about the reasons was embarrassing. But a funny thing happened as she told Alice everything she'd learned since that night in Las Vegas. She no longer felt protective of her little sister.
Her heart twisted at the thought that Lucy's choices, while not ones Miranda could approve of, were her own. Miranda's sympathies were fast approaching Drake.
Lucy had manipulated both of them.
"But," Miranda said to Alice as she had insisted to Drake, "Lucy doesn't have the technical or financial knowledge to manipulate stock or to steal technology."
Alice tapped her chin. After several silent minutes staring at the wall, she said, "You said something about this Bob person. He and Lucy had been involved and now he wants to have lunch with you?"
"He was lusting after lunch with me, until I spilled a glass of wine all over him," Miranda remembered with heat.
"A little spilled wine is nothing to a man who thinks he can still get what he wants. And if that something is in the form of his rival's wife and control of his rival's company, he'd probably forgive a lot more."
"You're right. It's important to get his guard down so I can find out what he really wants." She suppressed a shudder. "I suppose I can call him and offer him lunch as an apology for that accident."
"Good girl. What does Drake think about all this?
"It's a big game to him. He's going to wire me like in spy movies."
"That's an excellent idea." Alice nodded. "Have you thought about how you will steer the conversation once you and Bob are alone?"
"Well, no."
A grin twitched at the corners of Alice's mouth. "I'll bet Drake has."
"Maybe. You sure are enjoying this." Miranda glanced at her watch. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been less enthusiastic about going to work. "I need to get to the office. I left the house before Drake woke this morning. If I know him, I'll have more explaining to do."
"I'll come with you," Alice said. She retrieved her coat from the closet. "I have a little experience with this 'spy stuff.' Going into lunch with a script will help you be more convincing. I’ll see what I can gin up."
Even though she was pleased with Alice's offer, Miranda was still anxious about seeing Drake. Would he be angry that she'd left without more than a note? Worse, would he not care at all?
The second possibility worried her more than the first. Any emotion was better than none.
Drake's receptionist directed them into his office as soon as they stepped from the elevator. If Drake was anxious about Miranda's earlier disappearance he had a funny way of showing it. He sat behind his desk, telephone clasped to one ear while he hammered at the keyboard of the computer with his free hand. The only emotion he showed was a gleam in his eyes as Miranda and Alice entered the room.
Brief silence followed the end of his phone call. Then Drake directed his gaze at Alice. "Good morning. How's the book coming along?"
Miranda sank into a chair. What book?
Alice answered Drake, "I'm close to the end. The bad guys are about to get what's coming to them." She sat without waiting to be asked and crossed her ankles, the epitome of proper. "I'm here with practical advice today. Miranda tells me you plan to wire her for a meeting?"
Drake moved around his desk, leaning a hip against the edge. "Yes, but we didn't have a chance to pound out the details."
"I have some experience in this area; it may as well be put to use. Don't ask how I know. If I tell you," she smiled with grandmotherly sweetness, "I'd have to kill you."
"A woman after my own heart," Drake replied. "I have an expert on the way to set up the equipment. Your advice on the actual operation is appreciated."
"Good." Alice pulled a notebook and pen out of her voluminous purse.
"First, Miranda needs to make the phone call to Jones asking to meet her for lunch so that she can apologize for dumping her glass on him." Drake handed Miranda a three by five card. "I've made some notes on what you should say."
Miranda studied the words on the card. Heat crept up her neck. "No way. I can't say this to that creep."
Alice craned her neck so she could see what Miranda was reading. "Oh, very good, Drake. Treat him has such a seductive ring to it. Miranda, you must practice cooing a bit more."
"I don't coo," Miranda grumbled. She read a bit further. "The Oyster Palace? Why there?"
"Because, my naïve wife, oysters are sexy food," Drake drawled. "He'll be drooling and willing to tell you anything if you follow my script."
"What, exactly, do you want me to get out of him today? I'm hoping this is the one and only time I'll have to play this game. Spying is bad for my nerves."
"You have nerves of steel," Drake stated. He crossed his arms. "One more thing, I've got a special outfit for you to wear. One that will both carry the mike and make up for any verbal mistakes you make during your face to face."
"Not another tight red number, I hope. Maybe some sensible shoes this time, too."
Drake's eyes gleamed. "You're going to love it."
The level of deceit Drake was prepared to rise to in order to nail this guy astounded Miranda. Not only that, he didn't seem at all put out that it was Miranda's reputation he was putting on the line.
"Again," she said, "what exactly do you intend to accomplish from this meeting." Though she'd been eager to get to the bottom of the stock and technology scheme, she needed to know just what the stakes were now, today, and to her.
"Wheedling," Drake said. "See if you can get him to admit that his relati
onship with Lucy was more than just in the sack. And try to find out if he has any connection with Jack."
"What should she offer in return," Alice asked?
Drake turned to her. "I wanted your advice on that, seeing as you've dealt with this kind of thing before."
Miranda listened, feeling more and more like a lamb being led to the slaughter. Alice and Drake were deep into their discussion when a discrete knock on the door announced the wiring expert. When he joined the conversation, Miranda sneaked out.
Kevin met her in her new office suite. She looked around, pleased that earlier chaos had been replaced with the shining order she preferred.
Kevin handed her a small sheaf of telephone messages. He said, "I've made lunch reservations at The Oyster Palace, per Mr. McLain's instructions."
Miranda stared out the window. Kevin's reflection stared ghostly from behind her. "Get Bob Jones on the phone for me, please." She could see him open his mouth, and then shut it. The door snicked shut when he left.
The card with Drake's notes was crumpled in her fist. The bright winter sunshine failed to warm her. The intercom buzzed. Show time.
"Mr. Jones on line one, boss."
"Thanks, Kevin." She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
"Bob," she cooed; she could do it if she wanted to. "I'd love to buy you lunch. My treat."
Chapter Twelve
Miranda wanted a shower after that conversation. Talk about an acting job. She pushed the intercom button. "Please tell Mr. McLain that everything is set. He'll know what I mean."
"Right away," Kevin's voice came through.
Miranda turned back to the window. The spectacular view failed to cheer her. The bright winter sunshine failed to warm her. Marrying Drake had changed even these simple pleasures for her. The job change was a nice change, not so the change in her relationship with her sister. Up until now that had been the most important relationship in her life. Her marriage had thrust her into a situation in which Lucy was the enemy.
Family … Lucy was all the family Miranda had. She patted her flat stomach. Maybe that had changed, maybe not, but the whole incident was putting a whole new spin on how Miranda looked at her life. A child, the possibility made her warm with a type of pleasure that came as an unexpected gift.
She shook her head and turned her thoughts back to the company problem and how to discover the nature of who was buying stocks and how.
Her company stock might be the key to derailing Jack and Lucy and Bob. How much of it, how much of her future, dare she put on the line? Who would take the bait?
Most importantly, should she tell Drake her idea?
After her lunchtime espionage she'd decide. She'd also see Lucy again. There had to be more going on than met the eye. Lucy had lied about her role in the divorce, why stop there? Her motivation, that's what had Miranda puzzled because she couldn't figure it out.
A knock disturbed her reverie. Alice entered with a hanger of clothing draped over one arm and a nest of wires cascading from the other.
"What's all this?" Miranda asked.
"This is your lunch time illusion, Mata Hari." Alice's eyes twinkled.
"What's wrong with my suit?"
Drake strolled through the doorway, hands in the pockets of his slacks, tie loosened. Sexy, Miranda thought, and damned happy with himself.
"Your suit is fine for business." He looked her trim winter wool suit up and down. "But this will get you the results we need from lunch." He swept the plastic from one of the garments. A deceptively simple black dress with an extraordinary designer's label was thrust at her.
"You have just enough time to change," Drake said. "Then they'll wire you." He turned to Alice. "Come back in fifteen minutes."
When Drake and Miranda were alone, she fumed at him. "I'm tired of being pushed around. Get out so I can change."
He tossed the expensive dress across the back of a chair and closed in on her. "Wouldn't want to send you into the face of danger without a reminder of who I am and why you're here."
She leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "Reminder?" The intent expression on his face took her breath away. She hoped her knees would hold up.
Drake stopped inches from her face. Heat emanated from him. It coiled around Miranda. She fought its mesmerizing spell.
"Stop," she gasped.
He blinked. "Why? Aren't I good enough unless you've had a drink or two?" His lips tightened.
Was it possible she'd hurt him?
"Hardly." She slid around him and went to the dress. Picking it up she appreciated the drape of the cloth, the simple, elegant cut. She hoped she could live up to it.
"I would have locked the door." Drake faced her, his hands in his pockets again as if nothing had happened. Miranda felt the shift in his mood. The change in his posture, his blank expression, told her a lot.
"That's not the point." She lay the garment back down. "The purpose of our marriage is to use both our strengths to flush out the evidence against Jack and Lucy about the technology espionage and the stock buy-outs. Not to continue to add to the period of time we're married by a month here and there."
"You deny the attraction?"
Frustration boiled out of Miranda. She slapped the top of her desk. "Attraction is not the point." She paced like a trapped animal. "I plan to live a lifetime with the man I marry, committed to him and our life together for more than a finite, prearranged period of time. You cheapen it with your stupid innuendoes. I agreed to stay with you on a very slim condition."
She stopped her angry pacing and whirled to face him. Her voice dropped. "Wouldn't you prefer a marriage based on love and trust than whatever you thought you had with Lucy?"
A muscle along his jaw jerked. Other than that she couldn't see that anything she'd said had made an impact. Silence stretched between them, taut. At last he held up the dress.
"Regardless of your feelings, you have a job to do. When you're changed I'll send Alice in." He sauntered out of the office.
Miranda drooped into a chair. Talk about a confrontation. That one had fixed nothing. Wasted breath. Fine. She'd play spy girl as agreed. But she refused to stay another night under the same roof as him. Let people talk. She didn't care. She'd swallowed her pride more than enough of late. It was past time to stand up for herself. The place to start was with Drake.
Twenty minutes later Miranda thought she looked more like somebody's mistress than a spy. The dress had just the right combination of tightness and drape to look sexy yet approachable. Dignified yet seductive, and blessedly much less obvious than the red cocktail dress. How could Bob Jones refuse this bait?
"You'll do," was all Drake said through tight lips as he circled her after Alice and the electronics guy finished the wiring job.
"The microphone is in my necklace. These earrings hold a tiny receiver," she babbled. The way Drake stared, hungry and angry at the same time, unnerved her. "Let's get this over with," she demanded.
Drake nodded. She waited for him to help her into her coat but he walked out in front of her.
Now what was wrong? She couldn't figure this guy out. He ran hotter than the Sahara, and then colder than the Antarctic. If anyone had told her a month ago that she'd be in a personal relationship with him, she'd have laughed so hard she'd be crying. No one could get close to this man. She knew better, now. She'd do her damnedest to deny further intimacy between them.
Self-knowledge was supposed to liberate. Why did she feel so miserable as she followed Drake to the elevator?
* * * *
Alice chatted nonstop during the short drive to the restaurant. In a way it soothed Miranda's tattered nerves. Drake maintained his icy silence.
She shrugged off the vague unease caused by his attitude. She needed to focus on lunch and her role.
Role, she snorted. Between last night's red dress and today's simple elegance she felt more like an actress than an executive. Perhaps she was in the wrong profession.
She considered how
the roles might be reversed had they been on their way to meet a female instead of Jones. But this outfit would look silly on Drake. Her mind drifted with that piece of idiocy until she caught Alice glancing at her, one eyebrow raised. Miranda smothered a giggle.
Drake broke his silence. "Glad you find this so funny."
How much more clipped could a man's voice be without cutting off his tongue?
"It's either laugh or cry at this point," she replied. "The details are fuzzy, but wasn't this your idea?"
His hands white-knuckled the steering wheel. "It'll work." The words came close to strangling him. "But," his eyes blazed as he took his gaze off the road for an instant and skewered her. "I swear I won't be as nice to you as I was to your sister if things progress further than we planned."
Miranda saw twenty vivid shades of red. How dare he? "Stop the car this instant."
"Is something wrong?" Alice asked.
"Damn right there's something wrong. Drake says he trusts me. He put me into this situation and now is putting conditions on a scenario I may have to improvise. Yes. Something is definitely wrong."
She put her hand on the door handle. "I swear, if you don't stop right this instant I will open the door while we're moving and jump into the street." Her breath came in deep gasps.
Was it possible for a face to become more mask-like? Drake ignored her demand.
"Think of the scandal, Drake. Won't that be good for business--new bride can't stand sitting next to her husband and jumps out of a moving car?"
"Miranda, dear, don’t do anything rash," Alice counseled. She reached forward to touch Miranda's arm.
"I agree, don't do anything rash," Drake said, his voice switched to that irritating drawl that made Miranda want to scream.
"Oh Drake, I'm not sure that was the best thing to say," Alice said.
"Rash is what got me into this mess to begin with," Miranda retorted. "I'm sure my dear husband knew exactly what to say," she said to Alice.
"My hand is on the door, Drake."
Drake sped through a yellow light.
