"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 tablet from 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 something 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 hands, 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.
"Things can always change," Jason commented.
"Not this time."
It was clear to him that for the moment at least, the
matter was closed. He also knew that if he continued to push the issue,
Sloan was likely to lose her famous temper. He'd been on the other end
of that enough times not to want to provoke her. Instead, he opted for
a change of subject. "So, are you coming tomorrow night?"
"Of course I'm coming," she said emphatically. She
loved to watch Jason perform, and still found it hard to believe that
the sultry, sexy siren he became on stage was actually the man she had
first spied years ago, buttoned-up and straight-laced in the esteemed
Halls of Justice in DC. She often wondered which was the true
personality, Jason or Jasmine. She like them both, and she had to admit
to a slight bit of sexual provocation when Jasmine flirted with her. It
was bad enough that Jason worked for her; the fact that he was straight
made it even more confusing.
"Good," he said as he rose and carefully shook out
the perfect creases in his trousers, "because Jasmine just bought a new
dress." He winked at her and for a second, Jasmine flickered beneath
the surface of his handsome male face. "And I just know you'll
like it."
Sloan laughed again. "Why don't you go pretend to be
my assistant for a while?"
He left without a word, and for a few moments she sat
staring after him, thinking about her interview with Michael Lassiter.
It wasn't the most difficult job she had ever undertaken. Now that all
the major corporations and most small businesses were computer
dependent, computer hacking and software piracy was becoming a daily
occurrence. Most people who had systems installed knew almost nothing
about them, and even those who did rarely took the time to ensure that
they were totally tamper proof. Sloan had recognized the need for
Internet security services well ahead of the pack. Now that the ease
with which systems could be entered and altered was gaining publicity,
computer security was a hot area. She had foreseen the need, and her
previous experience made her perfect for the work.
What both intrigued and troubled her about this
particular assignment was her employer. Michael Lassiter struck her as
a woman who was completely capable of living with the consequences of
her decisions. But once or twice, Sloan thought she saw a flicker of
fear in the other woman's eyes. For no reason she cared to explore,
that bothered her.
