by Cathie Linz
Striker felt like a heel for being so hard on her. Maybe that’s why she had that Ice Queen routine going on. To protect herself from guys like him. He could understand that.
Jeez, now he was analyzing her. Not like him at all.
“Why are you interested in Kate?” Tony asked him.
“Because we’ll be working together for the two months I’m here. She’s advising me on the extent of Hank’s estate and business holdings.”
“She sure left here in a hurry the other morning,” Tony noted.
Striker shrugged and poured himself another mug of Consuela’s delicious coffee.
“She must have walked all the way over to her parents’ house. Must be over a mile,” Tony said.
“That was her choice. She could have waited and gotten a ride from you or me.”
“Bah!” Consuela exclaimed, entering the conversation for the first time. The housekeeper’s dark hair was held back with a wide silver clip as she glared at them both with indignant brown eyes. “Men! They have no idea.” She lifted her eyes heavenward before returning her gaze to them. “Señorita Kate would not wait after you put her to bed.”
Striker gave Tony an accusing look.
Tony just shrugged. “I cannot lie to Consuela. She asked me why the guest room bed was used and I had to tell her.”
“What did she threaten you with?” Striker retorted. “Coffee withdrawal?”
“Worse. She threatened not to make me any of her sopapilla. It is even better than her mother’s.”
Striker remembered the incredible fried pastry dessert served with honey that Maria used to make. “How is your mother?” Striker asked Consuela.
“Bueno. The eye surgery went well. She will soon be seeing better than ever before. Better than you two men who cannot see that a woman would be embarrassed by having to face the man who put her to bed the night before.”
“Nothing happened to be embarrassed about. Other than Tony here wearing bunny slippers when we showed up.”
Consuela was not distracted by Striker’s comment. She stuck to her guns. “You cannot put yourself in her shoes?”
Striker shook his head.
“No way. She’s a woman. I’m not.”
Consuela grabbed their empty plates and marched off, muttering under her breath in rapid Spanish.
Put himself in Kate’s size-six shoes? What did he know about how women thought? And he was certainly no expert in the love department. Give him something simple, like covert tactical maneuvers, any day.
Thinking about tactical maneuvers reminded him that he needed to deal with upper management at King Oil this morning. He’d be wise to keep his thoughts firmly centered on that and off of a certain lady lawyer who kissed like a sexy angel.
“What did you do to her?” Tex demanded as soon as Striker arrived at King Oil.
“To who?”
“To Kate. She lit out of here yesterday as if her hair was on fire.”
There had definitely been some fire involved. When they kissed it had been instant combustion. Like a land mine, hitting you when you least expected it.
Striker should have known better. He’d felt the chemistry between them from the moment he’d first seen Kate back at Quantico. He’d chalked it up to resentment about her ritzy, bossy ways. But there had been more to it than that.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Tex impatiently reminded him. “What did you do to Kate?”
He wasn’t about to admit that he’d kissed her. Instead he said, “You don’t have to worry about Kate.”
“I do worry about her. I’ve known her and her family for a coon’s age.” Tex fixed him with a laser look. “You do anything to hurt her and you’ll have to answer to me.”
“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior with her. Now can we get back to business? I want you to gather the executives together so I can talk to them.”
“They’re already together,” Tex said. “In the large conference room.”
“How did you know that’s what I was planning for today?”
“I didn’t. They had this meeting scheduled before you showed up. And they’re having it without you.”
“Who called the meeting?”
“Charles Longly, V.P. of Finance.”
Striker remembered briefly meeting him yesterday, a tall man with a receding hairline and greedy eyes. Striker had overheard the guy talking to another executive, not realizing he was being overheard. “I think it’s ridiculous that we have some grunt from the Marines coming in here and pretending to run things for two months,” Charles had complained.
Oh, yeah, this grunt from the Marines remembered Charles Longly all right.
“Give me a quick wrap-up of your opinion of this guy,” Striker told Tex.
“The sneaky sort of maneuverer. A weasel who prefers vice to advice,” Tex noted tartly.
“Well now, if that isn’t just too bad. Because I definitely feel like giving out some advice today. And I do believe I’ll go do that right now in the large conference room.”
“Here.” She slapped a file folder in his hand. “This is their agenda for the meeting.”
Charles was sitting at the head of the conference table, with his back to the door when Striker burst in unannounced. “You can’t go in there…” a frazzled secretary guarding the outer doors said.
Striker ignored her. The huge conference room had the same view as his grandfather’s office. It also had tons of food laid out. No paper cups of coffee for this crew. Only fine china and silver.
“Ah, there you are, Striker,” Charles said as if he were in charge of things. “Since you’re not familiar with business procedures, you might want to just sit down in the corner there and observe today’s meeting until you’ve learned more about the company.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Striker said, strolling over to the catered goodies and popping a strawberry into his mouth. “It looks like you have all the luxuries here. And the executive head down the hall looks like something out of a palace,” he noted, using the Marine terminology for bathroom. “Is that marble in there?”
“Finest Italian marble on the floors and walls as well as the counters,” Charles noted proudly.
“Must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Your grandfather believed in having only the best.”
“At the expense of his people?” Striker countered.
“Excuse me?”
“I saw the annual reports. Now as you said, I’m not familiar with business procedures, but I saw that many of you received huge bonuses despite the fact that the company’s net worth is lower now than it has been in years.”
“The company is just going through a rough patch right now,” Charles said defensively.
“And whose fault is that?” Striker said.
“There are a number of reasons for the economy…”
Striker interrupted him. “I’m not talking about the economy, I’m talking about this company. And about the policy of those at the top getting fat at the expense of the little guy at the bottom. You laid off workers as cost-cutting measures and you’re threatening to lay off more.”
“No offense intended, Striker…” Charles was using that condescending tone again, the one that made Striker want to punch his lights out. “But business management really isn’t your field of expertise.”
“Leadership is my field of expertise.”
“Perhaps, but we aren’t in the Marine Corps.”
You wouldn’t last ten minutes in the Corps, Striker thought to himself as he moved to stand at the head of the table. “FYI, several books have been written about the links between Marine Corps philosophy and successful business management.”
“So you’re going to treat us as if we were in boot camp?” Charles said, his voice mocking.
“An excellent idea.” Striker’s voice changed to that of a leader giving an order. “Hit the deck and give me twenty push-ups.”
Charles blinked at him uncertainl
y. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About the push-ups, yes. For now. But not about boot camp management.”
“That’s not realistic. The management of King Oil is a very complex issue, not something you can walk in off the street and comprehend.”
“Unless you’re a Marine.”
“Again, no offense intended,” Charles said in that condescending voice again, “but being a Marine doesn’t give you superhuman abilities.”
“It might. It definitely gives me the experience of dealing with complex situations. Successfully undertaking multiple missions. Handling a flood of raw information, or conversely a shortage of information. These things are our specialty. Marines thrive on multiple threats, situational ambiguity and rapidly changing conditions. What’s the matter, Charles? You appear to be surprised by my comments. You didn’t think a grunt from the Marines knew big words like situational ambiguity?”
Charles looked ready to swallow his tongue.
Striker looked around the room, his narrow gaze a challenge. “Anyone else care to comment? No? All right then. Another thing Marines are good at is taking complex issues and breaking them down to their essence. So tell me, what is the purpose of King Oil?”
He was greeted with dead silence.
“Come on, people,” Striker said. “Give me some answers here.”
“To make money,” Charles stated.
“What else?” Striker said.
“To discover, manage and utilize our oil resources.”
“What else?” Striker repeated.
“To be the best at what we do.” This response came from a woman toward the back of the room.
“And how do we go about accomplishing those things?”
Again silence.
Striker sighed. “Let me tell you a little about the Marine Corps Officer Candidate School training. They don’t just read a bunch of books or sit around and listen to lectures. They do that in addition to being herded from ten-mile marches to grueling calisthenics to crawls through the mud—without much sleep. Now I don’t plan on having you do all that. Not literally. But I want you to think outside the box. I expect you to know what goes on in this company, to be able to put yourselves in your workers’ shoes. I want fresh answers to old questions. I want to see what kind of team you have going here. What is this company’s goal?”
“To make money,” Charles repeated.
“I thought that was one of our purposes,” Striker countered.
“That can’t be a goal and a purpose?”
“You tell me.”
And so it went, with a majority of the old guard remaining stubbornly silent in their disapproval of such goings-on.
But some of the younger members spoke up, brain-storming ideas with relish as to creative ways of making this company work without any further layoffs.
All the while, Striker stood back and observed how the old guard continually shot down each new idea.
“We’ve never done things that way before,” was a mantra to them.
By the end of the day, Striker was ready to blow something up. Seeing the top dogs’ intractable insistence on hanging on to the old way of doing business, Striker was even more determined to speak to the rank-and-file members of the company to get their input on things. One idea that had come up today was instituting an employee suggestion box program, one that would be more than just lip service.
Striker checked with Tex to schedule a meeting with low-level managers and then arranged for visits to King Oil’s offshore oil rigs the following week.
“I heard you got a skunk by the tail,” Tex told him.
“Is that your colorful Texas way of saying I stirred things up at the meeting this afternoon?”
Tex nodded.
“Then yes, Tex, I reckon I do have a skunk by the tail,” Striker drawled. “It sure stinks like a skunk and walks like a skunk.”
“Well, you’d best get ready for more skunk chasing.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the Oilman’s Club is throwing a Texas barbecue in your honor this Saturday.”
“Send my regrets,” Striker said.
“I’ll do that the day after a rooster lays an egg.”
It took him a moment to translate that into a no. “Look, it just doesn’t feel right given my grandfather’s recent death to be out celebrating at a barbecue.”
Tex laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s what Hank would have wanted.”
Her comment irritated Striker instead of consoling him as she’d no doubt intended. “Do you think that’s how I make my decisions, by doing what my grandfather would have wanted?”
“I think you could teach the folks around here a thing or two,” she admitted. “If you don’t blow them up first. Not that a few couldn’t use a good demolition job.”
Striker had to smile. “You know what? You’d make a fine Marine, Tex.”
“And you’ll make a fine Texan someday,” Tex replied. “With enough coaching from me.”
Chapter Five
Kate waited until Monday to drop by King Oil and check in with Striker. She wasn’t avoiding him. She did have other cases that demanded her attention. But it was hard to focus on them, just as it was hard for her to sleep at night.
All because of that kiss. That one clear-off-the-Richter-scale kiss.
That was the reason she’d spent the past few nights tossing and turning in her bed, ending up with the luxurious 400-thread-count Italian damask top sheet wrapped around her body. It had taken her five minutes to untangle herself. Untangling her thoughts had been impossible.
And then there were the dreams. Not one but a series of them. All about Striker. She’d wake up and force herself to sit up and read an article from the latest issue of the Texas Bar Journal. Then she’d turn off the light again and fall asleep, only to pick up her erotic dream right where she’d left off—with Striker kissing her, his hands traveling over her body, exploring her with his fingertips, with his tongue, leaving no inch of her bare tingling skin untouched.
So here she was. Entering King Oil’s headquarters. Wearing a burgundy suit by one of her favorite designers to give her confidence. Not to get Striker’s attention. She didn’t want or need that.
Her game plan was to remain calm and professional in order to hide the fact that she was rattled. That shouldn’t be a problem. After all, Kate had been concealing her innermost emotions in one way or another for so many years now that this should be nothing new for her.
But, oh, this was new. Totally unchartered territory. And all because it involved one sexy, danger-loving Marine.
Not her forte, at all.
No, Kate’s strength lay in keeping things under control, in following the rules and doing what was expected of her. And she was expected to make sure that this transition period between Striker and King Oil went smoothly. So here she was, doing her job.
Tex greeted Kate as she approached the company’s inner sanctum. “You’re looking a little better today.”
“Is Striker in?” Kate asked.
Tex nodded.
“Is he still using that small conference room instead of Hank’s old office?”
Tex nodded again.
“Okay if I go on in?”
“You tell me,” Tex countered. “Will you be okay?”
The older woman’s question caught Kate off guard. “Of course I’ll be okay,” she automatically replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you lit out of here the other day as if you were on fire. I tried talking to Striker about it, but he sidestepped me and shut up like a morning glory in the afternoon.”
Kate had to smile at the outrageous idea of likening Striker to a flower of any kind.
“Okay, so the man doesn’t really resemble a morning glory,” Tex admitted, “but you know what I mean.”
“Occasionally Striker and I have a difference of opinion about various matters,” Kate said. “But that’s all it is.”
<
br /> Tex’s expression was clearly disbelieving but she didn’t press Kate any further, for which she was grateful.
After Tex’s interrogation Kate escaped into the ladies’ room, needing to make one final check to reassure herself that her makeup was perfect and that her expression showed none of her inner turmoil.
The outfit she wore was a power suit intended to make her feel invincible. A quick comb of her hair returned any wayward strands to obedient smoothness. And a dab of lipstick freshened her look.
Studying her reflection, Kate decided that she didn’t look like a woman hiding secrets, like a woman at war with her own heart.
Too bad her outward appearance couldn’t change her inner reality. But it did boost her confidence…being able to maintain the facade.
Even so, Kate’s heart took a little leap when she entered the small conference room and first saw Striker, wearing jeans and a denim shirt as he had the other day. She vividly recalled the feel of the material beneath her fingertips.
She slammed the door on that train of thought and pretended to have her act together as she quietly closed the conference room door behind her.
“Hello, Striker.” She sounded calm, which was a good thing. “How did your first week on the job go?”
“I survived it. I’m not sure the executives will ever be the same.”
Kate didn’t think she’d ever be the same, either, not after their kiss.
Objection. Illegal thought.
Sustained, her inner judge decreed.
“So you just dropped by to see how I was doing?” Striker asked. “Checking up on me?”
Kate didn’t appreciate his suspicious tone. “No, that’s not the reason for my visit. I have a few papers for you to sign regarding the estate.”
When she handed them over to him, she noticed how he read every single word before signing his name at the bottom.
“You’re not a man who trusts easily, are you?” she said.
“I’m a Force Recon Marine,” Striker replied. “My survival depends on being constantly on guard for the worst.”
In a strange sort of way, Kate knew how that felt. Because she was accustomed to being prepared for the worst as well. She was also accustomed to being prepared to do everything she could to maintain the status quo, to avoid disasters.