by Unknown
He delved deeper, holding her arms against him to keep her from pulling away. She gasped. He took it as an encouraging sign until a hard hand descended on the back of his neck and yanked him away.
"I think it's time you left, mister," the behemoth snarled. He spun Drake around and out the door before anyone else had a chance to speak.
Wow, Drake thought, you really do see stars before you pass out.
Chapter Four
"Tough weekend, boss?" Nicole asked.
Drake ignored his executive assistant’s question. An echo of a headache throbbed from the bruise on the back of his head. He was glad Miranda had a protector in Ted; he just wished Ted didn’t feel the need to protect her from him.
"Make these changes to my personnel records, please. Fax the change in beneficiary to my insurance company today." He tossed Nicole the address and telephone number changes then angled away, keeping her face in the corner of his eye to judge her reaction.
Her double take followed by a tiny gasp gratified his warped sense of humor. The news would be around the building within minutes of him entering his private office. No need to send out a staff memo. Nicole’s efficient use of e-mail, fax, and telephone would get the job done in half the time.
Whistling, Drake sauntered into his office and shut the door. He mentally ticked off the "get the news to the office staff" memo on his virtual priority list. That should shake up a few people around here. Maybe flush out just the person he wanted--whoever had been working with Jack.
* * * *
In Miranda’s department a floor below the executive level, a rising and falling wave of excited voices filled the vast room. Only "pod" dividers broke up the sound. As she entered, heads popped up and down past the orange and blue dividers. An even more remarkable silence replaced the babble.
Miranda narrowed her eyes and strode into her office. Kevin, her assistant, stood just inside with a mug of her favorite hot coffee in one hand, a stack of papers in the other, and a curious gleam in his young brown eyes.
"Thanks." Miranda took the coffee and papers to her desk.
Kevin shut the door and waited.
She flipped through the stack of memos and hoped he’d go away. Nope, still there. Rats, she’d have to tell him something.
"I supposed you’ve heard the news?"
"I heard a rumor. Any truth to it?"
Miranda sighed and waved him to a chair. Though only twenty-three years old, Kevin had been with her long enough to know she could count on his reticence. He wouldn’t betray a confidence.
"Tell me what’s going around," she invited.
"Scuttlebutt is that you eloped with the boss."
"Eloped," Miranda repeated. "That’s too romantic a term for what happened."
Kevin leaned forward. A frown marred his handsome features. His hands clenched the arms of the chair. "He didn’t hurt you, did he? I don’t care if he is the boss. If he laid one finger on you, I swear I’ll–-"
Miranda held up a hand to stop his sputtering. His defense of her was touching, but under the circumstances, embarrassing. "He didn’t hurt me, Kevin. It’s true, we are married, but only for a little while."
"Why? I thought you hated the guy." His nostrils flared as he leaned back in the chair.
Heat rushed to Miranda’s face. She turned to the window hoping he couldn’t see her flush. "I suppose you heard what happened with Jack?"
"The broken engagement?" Kevin’s voice gentled behind her. "I never liked him, anyway."
A feeble laugh escaped Miranda’s lips as she watched fleecy clouds speed across the winter-blue sky. "I thought I liked him enough to marry him, and that he felt the same about me. We all thought wrong." She turned back to the room and flashed what she hoped was a reassuring smile at the young man. "To tell the truth, I’m relieved that the engagement is over. Did you ever notice that Jack is a chinless wonder?"
"So, you’re okay with that?"
"What, his weak chin? I could care less."
"I mean that rumors are going around that Jack is already involved with someone else."
Cold fingers traced across Miranda’s neck. She sank into her chair before her knees gave out. Good thing she’d drained her coffee mug, otherwise the thud she gave it would have spilled what was left. She rubbed the tight spot between her eyes. "You listen to too many rumors." A lame try at humor, but the pained expression on Kevin’s face told her this was yet another rumor that was all too true.
"My sources are pretty accurate." Kevin’s voice both sympathized and implied a question.
Miranda made a quick decision. "Don’t tell me who your sources are. I don’t have the time or energy right now to deal with it."
Kevin leaned his hands against her desk. His dark eyes searched hers as if trying to decipher her mood, trying to decide how far he could stretch the comfort of their working relationship. After a moment, he straightened and stepped back.
"Sure, boss. Whatever you say. Would you like me to send a formal memo to your staff stating your new name and position?" His voice became the brisk, efficient one of the man she relied on to keep the office running smoothly.
The last part of his statement caught in her mind. "New position?"
"According to my source, not only did you marry McLain, a promotion to Vice President of Acquisitions is yours as well. Congratulations. Looks like you’re moving upstairs." With an almost military crispness, he turned and left the room.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Miranda picked up the phone. How dare Drake promote her without her permission? She punched the numbers that would put her through to his office. What was he thinking?
"Mr. McLain’s office. This is Nicole. How may I–-"
Miranda cut her off. "This is Miranda Symons. Put me through to him."
A full three seconds of dead air vibrated across the telephone line before Nicole said, "I’m sorry, Mrs. McLain. Mr. McLain is unavailable at the moment."
"Tell him I need to talk to him as soon as he becomes … available," Miranda snapped.
The minute she returned the phone to its cradle she regretted being so irritable to Nicole. After all, it wasn’t Nicole’s fault if McLain was busy. But, what if he’d told Nicole to tell Miranda that so that he wouldn’t have to talk to her?
"Arrogant, son-of-a –" She stalked across the room. If the mountain wouldn’t come to her, she’d take herself to him.
She got as far as the door before she realized what she was doing–-giving him the advantage. The action of seeking him out rather than waiting for him to come to her implied need. Or at least, she considered, his arrogance would interpret it as such.
Her hand twitched on the doorknob. No. She added up the scores, his and hers. The marriage itself, his. The consummation, she grimaced. His, if that videodisk offered proof. Living arrangements, at last a point in her favor. She smiled at the vision he’d presented just that morning. Sprawled across her living room couch because she refused him her bed, he’d been distractingly sexy …. Until Pumpkin had licked Drake’s chin. His expression of wide-eyed horror had brought another giggle to her throat.
She relaxed her shoulders as she strolled back to her desk. Letting the office know before she had a chance to break the news was a non-issue, no points. The people they worked with would have to know sooner rather than later.
So far, Drake led two to one. Time to get busy.
"Kevin," she called into the intercom. "Let’s get to work."
She’d start by ordering that new stationary and making sure accounting knew about her promotion. It may not be permanent, but she intended to make as much use of it as she could. An office on the penthouse level … that had a nice ring to it.
Kevin entered, folders and steno pad in his arms. Miranda rubbed her hands together and grinned at him. "Let’s look at those samples; after that, get me the manager of space in the executive suite. You and I are moving up."
Kevin hesitated for just a second, and then sat in his usual cha
ir. He gave her a small salute. "Whatever you say, boss."
Several hours later, Miranda rubbed the back of her neck. Boxes and papers covered her desk and the surrounding floor. Moving the contents of her office was proving to be more of a headache than she had anticipated. More so when it coincided with juggling phone calls, faxes, and personal visits of congratulations.
Flowers from business associates held sway on the credenza. She’d have to hold a moratorium on accepting any more until she moved. Flat surfaces were at a premium.
Compound that with interviewing the several people in her division she thought deserving of the promotion to her current office, and keeping business going as usual …. No wonder she pulsed from her head to her toes.
She closed her eyes and wondered if it was too soon for another couple of ibuprofen. She heard the door open behind her; it rustled as it brushed against cardboard boxes.
Without opening her eyes, Miranda said, "Kevin, why don’t you go to lunch. Bring me back soup and a bagel, please."
Strong hands stroked her shoulders, caressed her back.
"Stop it, Kev–" She spun around, tripping on slippery packing paper. Drake’s devilish grin caught her off-guard. She promptly fell to the floor.
Drake knelt to offer her a hand. His eyes glittered. "Does Kevin make a habit of massaging his boss’ back?"
"Don’t be an idiot." Miranda brushed off her skirt. Her blouse was askew; she knew her hair was a mess.
"I’m thinking that you should leave him here to help the new department chair. You can hire someone new when you move upstairs."
"No way. Kevin comes with me." She glared at him. "What do you want?"
He folded his arms, tightening the fabric of the well-fitted suit across his shoulders. "I want a lot of things, but I’ll settle for lunch with you."
Miranda moved back to the relative safety of her desk. She waved at the chaos surrounding her. His suggestion made her snicker. "You’re kidding, right? I’ve got a full day even without the moving hassle you forced me into."
"Forced?" Drake raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t hear you object. As a matter of fact, I’ve spent the past hour with my space guy upstairs shuffling offices and executives in order to accommodate you."
"You want to give me a promotion just because I wear you name, then you have to be prepared for an inconvenience or two."
"You have assured my ‘inconvenience’ on several counts. Now, how about lunch?"
He strode towards her. The movement would have been much more forceful, Miranda admitted, if he hadn’t had to skirt boxes and paper every half step. She sat on the edge of her desk swinging one leg and wondering about her next move. His apparent pique had to be from more than just her piddley little move upstairs.
A frisson ran up her spine. The sensation set the small hairs on the back of her neck on end. The fact that she hated him had nothing to do with how he made her feel. Fragile, needy, emotions and feelings that were out of character with the image she sought to project at work. She’d never be able to keep up with the competition if she allowed him to see her vulnerability.
When he reached her, she lifted her chin. "Sorry, Drake. As I said, I’ve got too much to do. Look around. I’d be shirking my responsibility if I just left."
He stood close, too close. Her foot brushed his pants with an intimate swish each time it swung out and back. He leaned in. Her nostril quivered with the scent of him, pine and musk and, she stifled a giggle, dog.
"You’re a vice president now. Hire this chore out and come to lunch with me."
His voice gentled as it twined through her. His mouth, a bare whisper away, the warmth of his breath touched her lips when he spoke.
She couldn’t help leaning closer. Mesmerized and hating herself for allowing the temptation, she put her hands against broad expanse of his chest.
"I … I can’t," she gasped.
"You can." His mouth captured hers in a brief, heat-seared kiss. She trembled as he straightened. His eyes, she couldn’t meet his eyes. Could not let him see how hatred warred with lust within her. Because it couldn’t be anything more than lust, this heat that shot through her each time he closed the distance between them.
"Well?" His voice cooled.
Kevin answered from behind Drake, where Miranda couldn’t see him. "Phone call for Ms. Symons, I mean for Mrs. McLain."
Miranda strove to keep her voice cool, businesslike, but the sounds came out uneven, like an adolescent boy whose voice was changing. "I told you, not unless it was important, Kevin."
She struggled to find a clear path around Drake. He didn’t budge, making her want to shove him out of her way. Except she didn’t dare touch him for fear of the reaction he caused in her.
Kevin persisted. "She said her name is Alice and that you would want to talk with her."
"Alice?" Drake looked from Miranda to Kevin.
"Alice?" Miranda echoed. There was only one reason Alice would call her at work. She flashed Kevin a grin. "Thank you, Kevin. I’ll take the call. Why don’t you go have lunch now."
He left the room, closing the door with a discrete thud.
Miranda forged a path back to her desk and picked up the phone. She kept her back to Drake as she listened to Alice’s dry voice.
"I’ve borrowed a video disk player, Miranda. You’d better come have a look as soon as possible. I suggest you leave your husband out of it for now."
Miranda kept the anticipation out of her voice. "I’ll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Let me guess," Drake drawled, ice replacing fire in his eyes. "She managed to find a disk reader. Did she tell you what it showed?"
"I’ll let you know." Miranda grabbed her purse, slung her coat across her shoulders.
Drake stepped into her path. "You mean you’re going to leave in the middle of this chaos?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice.
Miranda waved a hand. "Of course. I’ll just leave word for Kevin to hire movers for the job. That’s what vice presidents do, isn’t it?"
"I’m coming with you."
On her guard, Miranda made a darting motion around him. The cramped space was to his advantage. She could not get by unless he wanted her to.
"No. I don’t want you with me when I watch this." She kept her voice firm but felt her chin tremble.
"Why not? I think it would be fun."
Anger flared through her. "I think it would be a travesty of what a wedding night should be." Her words sliced the air between them. Hurt and embarrassment were sure to be pictured on the video. The last thing she needed was Drake watching her every reaction as she viewed him seducing her. She was done being humiliated by Drake McLain.
"Sorry you feel that way, darling. I remember it much differently."
She gritted her teeth. "Get out of my way." If she didn’t get away from him soon she was either going to scream or cry or hit him. None of those actions would do anything but amuse him and lose points for her.
Drake opened his mouth again, but a hammering at the door followed by Nicole and a flood of other employees stopped his response.
Nicole, breathless, managed to gasp, "Mr. McLain, all the internal communications in this part of the building are dead. We can't find Mr. Beardsly."
Beardsly was the chief of internal communications. The phones, intercoms, everything must be down for Nicole to rush in like this.
Miranda took advantage of the opportunity.
"You'd better go clean up this little emergency, dear," she cooed at Drake. "I'll be waiting at home." She waded as gracefully as possible through the stuff on the floor.
"Miranda," Drake growled.
Miranda turned in the doorway and flashed him her best sultry smile. Employees stared at their bosses.
"Don't be late." She winked then made her escape.
* * * *
Fifteen minutes later she sat on the leather sofa in Alice's neat apartment clenching her nervous hands together. Alice fiddled with some fancy electronic equipment she'd placed on
top of her television set. Wires snaked from the video camera Miranda had taken from her "honeymoon suite" to the box on the TV.
"Did you watch it already?" she asked as Alice came to sit beside her.
"Just enough to see that it had recorded something. I thought you'd better be with me. Just in case there's company business on here, not just Drake's monkey business."
Miranda felt her face flame. For some reason the whole situation took on a tragi-comic color. She laughed and relaxed. "Thanks, Alice."
Alice gripped one of Miranda's hands. "It's what friends are for, dear. Now." She pressed a button on the remote.
Chapter Five
White, black, and gray visual static filled the television screen. The scratch of electronic white noise rustled from the speakers. She blinked, and as if the camera blinked with her, the screen snapped to a wide-angle view of a bedroom. The round bed and garish colors matched the hotel room in Las Vegas where Miranda had awoken from her "wedding night."
The camera angle looked down on the bed from behind where the pillows would be. It encompassed a clear view of the two doors, one leading to the corridor, the other to the bathroom.
The picture blinked again. Now Miranda saw the door to the corridor open. Drake, carrying a large bundle, walked into the room. Toga Boy, or his twin brother, followed with a single small suitcase. He kept glancing at the bundle in Drake's arms. Miranda looked closer. She gasped. The bundle was her.
"Are you sure she doesn't need a doctor?" Toga Boy's voice came through high and thin.
Drake deposited the sleeping Miranda on the bed with a care that made the watching Miranda swallow hard. "My bride over-indulged in champagne. Don't give it another thought." He reached into his pocket then handed the boy what Miranda assumed was a tip.
"Yes, sir. Congratulations, sir. Thank you, sir."
A big tip.
Toga Boy handed Drake a key card and exited.
Miranda watched Drake turn the extra locks on the door home. A fierce jitterbug commenced in her stomach as he approached the figure on the bed.