DrillingDownDeep (12 page)

Crying out pretty damn loud herself.

Well, actually both of them were.

He fell heavily on top of her, breathing hard.

“You’re not very disciplined about that condom thing.”

He glanced down at her and then rolled over onto his back,
staring at the ceiling.

The recessed mirrored ceiling.

His predecessor was starting to grow on him.

“I usually am, as a matter of fact.” Forget about holding
off on an orgasm. Hell if he knew why he couldn’t seem to wait long enough to
even put a condom on half the time with her. Then he thought of something. “Why
did you keep shushing me?” Probably the first time he had ever asked that
question of anyone.

He couldn’t remember ever being shushed before. Especially not
during sex.

“Well, isn’t your secretary out there still?”

“So what?”

“What if she can hear us? I wouldn’t want her to think we
were in here doing what we’re in here doing.”

Not that it mattered one bit, but he said, “There’s an
office between us and her and two sturdy oak doors.”

“You’re not some kind of pervert, are you? She’s not
listening in through a hidden microphone or with her ear at the door or
anything, is she?”

“No, but in a minute I’m going to go out there and bring her
in so she can testify to it if it’ll make you feel better. Look, it doesn’t
matter what she does or doesn’t think we’re doing. She would never interrupt
us.
Never
. Miss Prentiss is too good an executive assistant for that.”

The knock on the door made her jump.

“Mr. Reynolds, I’m sorry to disturb you, but your father’s
on the phone.”

“Take a message,” he barked to the closed door.

“He’s quite insistent.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Vanessa whispered. “Miss
Prentiss is fired.”

“Possibly. On the other hand, it’s extremely difficult for
anyone to say no to my father, even Miss Prentiss.”

“If she
is
fired, can I have her job?”

“I have the cell right here, sir,” the voice through the
door said. “I can just hand it to you. It’s about the
Treasure Driller
.”

Vanessa sat up straighter and pulled her jeans back on.
Michael put on his pants as well then went to the door. He opened it slightly
and took the phone, slamming it shut again.

“This isn’t a good time,” he said into the phone.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me there had been a bomb on
one of the rigs?” his father asked from the other end of the line.

He glanced at Vanessa. “Who told you that?”

“Unfortunately, the anchorman on the national evening news
did. Or at least he said ‘unconfirmed reports have indicated it’.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know how they got that. We evacuated the rig but
only a few people knew the true reason why.” And one of them was sitting right
in front of him.

“I don’t have to tell you that this is very bad publicity,
Michael.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

When he hung up, he said, “Who did you tell about the bomb?”

“Me? Nobody! Except my dad of course.”

“Well, somebody told the media and now it’s all over the
news.”

“Don’t look at me. Why would I tell anyone?”

Why indeed. “Miss Prentiss,” he called, grabbing his shirt
and putting it on.

“Sir?” she said through the door.

“Come in please.”

Vanessa got up from the bed as she did.

“Get me Linda Culver. She’s the head of our communication
department,” he explained to Vanessa.

“She’s already on the conference line in your office.”

“Fine. Remind me why I bought an oil company again?”

“I believe Mr. Fischer suggested it, sir.”

“Please have a car take Miss Donald to my apartment,” he
instructed Miss Prentiss without looking at Vanny. Miss Prentiss, though, was
actually looking at him rather oddly, almost as if…no, she wouldn’t
question
his instructions, would she? Was everything in his damn life turning upside
down suddenly?

“Your apartment, sir?” Miss Prentiss repeated slowly.

“Yes, my apartment, my apartment,” he said testily. “Call a
car and put her in it and give her my keys.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he realized
why Miss Prentiss may have been, well, not
questioning
him, but
confirming with him. He never, ever, allowed a woman in his apartment when he wasn’t
there. It gave them all sorts of proprietary ideas he never meant for them to
have.

But it was his damn rule. He could break it if he wanted to,
couldn’t he?

“Can I speak to you alone for a minute first?” Vanny asked
him.

Great, another country heard from.

At his nod, Miss Prentiss left, closing the door behind her.

“What is it? My mistress hangs out at my apartment until I
can get there,” he lied readily in preparation for her refusing to go for some
reason, or, being Vanny, for no reason probably.

“I’m not a member of your harem, handsome. What’s the
Stepford Secretary to you?”

He fought down a smile at the use of her term. “Look, don’t
worry about it. I’m what you might call a serial monogamist.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I only like to be with one woman at a time.”

“Too confusing otherwise?”

He ignored that.

“I thought you were staying at the Four Seasons anyway.”

“I was while we were negotiating the deal. When we bought
Transcoastal, I got an apartment since I’d be in Houston more often. I just
said the Four Seasons when we were on the rig to needle you. See if you’d
confess to being Shelly.”

“Were there a set of complicated instructions at the Four
Seasons in case I showed up there?”

“Yes. Miss Prentiss has undoubtedly already canceled them.”
He kissed her, hard. “Just go, Vanny. I have to deal with this. I’ll come home
to you as soon as I can.”

Shit, the words “home to you” had just slipped out. What the
hell was he doing? Home to the woman he’d just fired for planting a bomb? How
screwed up was that?

“I don’t have any clothes there.”

That made him feel a little better about the whole thing.
“You won’t need them,” he promised with a grin.

“My truck’s here.”

He opened the door deliberately to get her going. “Just give
Miss Prentiss the details. She’ll have it taken wherever you want.”

When she was gone, he went into his office and put the open
line on the speaker phone. “Lin. What’s going on?”

* * * * *

What did a person say to a Stepford Secretary?

“You seem pretty efficient,” Vanny offered as they walked to
the elevator.

“Thank you. I do my best.”

Now that was even creepier. There was a sci-fi TV show that
Vanny liked—canceled after two seasons of course—where all these gorgeous women
were “dolls” and went around saying they “tried to be their best”.

“You’re not a doll by any chance, are you?” she asked in an
aside under her breath, but apparently loud enough for Miss Prentiss to catch
it.

“No, but sometimes I play one on TV.”

She darted the woman a surprised glance and found her
smiling slightly.

“I liked that show too,” she said.

“I’m surprised Michael allows you to watch television.”

“Well, as I’m sure he’s already explained to you, despite
our joined-at-the-hip working relationship, we’re not
quite
that close.”

“Is that your standard ‘new mistress assurance’?”

Why beat around the bush? Miss Prentiss probably ordered his
condoms for him too, even if she couldn’t ensure he use them. Why pretend she
didn’t know what Vanny was doing here or why she was going to his apartment?

“No.” Miss Prentiss didn’t press the button to open the
elevator, even though they were standing in front of it now. “I guess I’m being
a little more forthright than I usually am. As a matter of fact, I make it a
policy to be as superficial as possible with Mr. Reynolds’ lady friends. Since
they lend themselves to that approach, I don’t find the effort particularly
taxing.”

“I’m sure I’m not his usual cup of tea,” she muttered,
looking down at herself.

“You’re a refreshing change.”

Vanny considered how to take that. “You’re really very good.
Telling the new kid on the block exactly what she wants to hear and all.”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself, Vanessa. If I may
call you Vanessa,” she added.

“Vanny.”

This was probably all part of some devious new mistress
initiation and Miss Prentiss was going to start grilling her on her knowledge
of sexual positions or lock her in a dark closet.

The reminder of Michael’s one weakness—or the one weakness
he’d revealed to her, if he hadn’t been lying about that in the first place,
she reminded herself—softened her a little.

“What do I call you?” she asked.

“Miss Prentiss. After eight years, I don’t think Mr.
Reynolds even recalls my first name. So let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“I bet your next line is ‘he’s really not so bad when you
get to know him’.”

“I’m not sure anybody
does
, least of all me. Maybe
you can change that.”

Vanny grinned at her. “Stop it. You’re just too good at
this.”

Miss Prentiss grinned back, probably the biggest surprise
she’d given Vanny in this whole conversation, and pushed the button to open the
elevator. “Actually, I am. But I’m not using my incredible executive assistant
skills right now. And the name’s Andrea. But don’t tell him that, okay?”

* * * * *

Vanny gaped at Michael’s apartment, setting the keys Andrea
Prentiss had given her in a fancy bowl by the door. Cavernous didn’t do it
justice. Thirty stories up, the windows in the front room looked out onto a
twilight Houston and were two stories high in themselves at least. Maybe more.
Polished oak floors seemed to stretch for a mile, a strategically placed chair
or coffee table here or there. No cozy little living room for Michael Reynolds.
Pure
Architectural Digest
.

The apartment itself was bigger than any house she’d ever
been in. She wandered around it in awe. There was a library, a game room, a
kitchen that would do Julia Child proud and a half dozen other rooms of one
sort or another. Five bathrooms by the time she stopped counting.

And the bedroom. The jumbo-sized bed could have accommodated
an orgy. She’d kicked her shoes off automatically when she’d come into the
apartment and the wood—no carpet in here either of course—felt cold against her
bare feet.

Chilly. The whole place was so…chilly.

Sitting on the bed, she reached for the remote and absently
flipped the television on. Mounted on the wall like a piece of art, when it
turned on she damn near swore it was, the picture was so sharp and clear.

“Our sources indicate Federal regulators have been
anonymously contacted about the potential incident and are considering issuing
an injunction against Transcoastal from reopening the
Treasure Driller
pending further investigations.”

She turned the volume up and listened to the local
newscaster.

“It’s speculated that authorities could also levy fines
against Transcoastal and its parent company, Reynolds Industries, citing
failure to report this incident for proper investigation. Linda Culver, a
spokesman for the companies, had this to say—”

Vanny switched it off, surprising herself. Something about
that whole incident made her feel a little guilty, though she had no idea why.
Just as she’d said to Pops, the troubles with that oil rig had nothing to do
with them.

Of course as a result of those troubles, she happened to be
sitting on Michael Reynolds’ massive bed, casually waiting for him to come back
to have sex with her—
again
.

“Working in the coal mines,” she muttered.

Oh she did not like this. She didn’t like it at all. This
was…overwhelming.

She wished, in retrospect, that she’d been able to draw out
from him more of the details of what was expected of her in this arrangement.
She’d launched into the conversation tongue-in-cheek and he had responded to
her that way probably, but she really wanted to know.

She had a sudden idea, and a feeling the chauffeured car that
had brought her here was still downstairs waiting at her beck and call. She
pushed the penthouse intercom to the front desk and asked. It was.

She headed out.

Back within the hour, packages in hand, she kicked the front
door to Michael’s apartment closed with her foot. She’d only ever been to the
store she just visited as a joke, but somehow she wanted to make a statement
tonight.

What, she had no idea. She went into the bedroom to first
take a hot soak in the whirlpool tub in the adjoining bathroom.

Then she’d get dressed in her purchases. And wait.

* * * * *

Michael inserted the key in the front door to his apartment.
It had taken him longer than he’d expected dealing with the leak about the
Treasure
Driller
. By the time he left the office, he had the situation well in hand.

Vanny, though, was another matter. It was late now anyway.
She’d probably be asleep. He vowed that if she was, he would just snuggle up
next to her and not wake her up.

“Snuggle,” he muttered disgustedly, as the door was yanked
open before he had even turned the key.

He looked at her in the faint light of the fireplace she
must have switched on.

She wasn’t sleeping. And there’d be no snuggling. Not ’til
much, much later.

“What have you got on?” His voice was a little more hoarse
than he would have liked as he pulled his key out of the lock and dropped it in
the bowl by the door, closing the door behind him.

“So what do you think?”

He’d seen Vanny in coveralls. He’d seen her in jeans. He’d
even seen her in a tasteful business suit and black silk underwear. She was
sexy in all of them.