The Commitment (12 page)

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.

"Drake, don't you think you should slow down and talk about this?" Alice's voice of reason sounded from the back seat.

The tension left Drake's shoulders. Through her anger Miranda recognized his "I've almost won" posture.

No way. Not this time. She fumed in silence until they reached a cross street where Drake had to slow down.

She jerked the door handle, prepared herself for the fall, and pushed.

Chapter Thirteen

Nothing happened.

Miranda pushed again, and again, and finally used both fists on the door that stubbornly refused to open. He'd locked her door with the switch on his side.

She watched a grin curl around one side of Drake's mouth. "I hate you," she muttered.

Alice settled back into her seat. "That's better."

"It's not better." Miranda subsided against the door, seething and giddy at the same time.

The restaurant was just ahead. Drake pulled into the parking garage and turned off the engine. Against the ticking of the cooling car Miranda struggled to control her heart rate. Whether or not Drake trusted her, she had to go through with this. Her future was at stake as much as Drake's or that of Millennium Tech.

She glared at him. "The next time I tell you to stop, I expect you to listen."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She took a deep breath, one battle at a time. "Let's get this over with."

At Drake's push of a button all the car doors unlocked. He nodded to Miranda. The grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes caused that knot to form in her stomach again.

"I'm glad you're buying me lunch," Alice remarked as she opened her door. "Espionage and marriage counseling is a tiring business."

"Dangerous, too," Drake added. He led Miranda and Alice to the entrance of the restaurant. "We're early, as planned. Alice will go in first. When Miranda enters she will insist on a table nearby. That way Alice can provide assistance if needed. It will be a bit more handy and natural than me storming through the door.

Miranda nodded. Too late for second and third thoughts now. It was crunch time. Her hands were clammy inside her gloved even thought the temperature hovered near the freezing mark.

She said to Drake, "You'd better leave now. If Jones sees you hovering, all bets are off."

Alice agreed. "Once Miranda is seated I'll do a sound check." She patted Drake's arm. "Don't worry. Everything will be just fine."

"Fine," Drake repeated, his face a mask again.

Miranda shook herself as Alice entered the restaurant and Drake turned to go back to the car.

He didn't get far. "One more thing." He pulled her to him and kissed her hard and fast. When he set her away from him, his eyes blazed at her. Their breath hung in little puffs between them. "I trust you."

Stunned, Miranda watched him stride away. His kiss did more than take her breath away. It sent her mind reeling. It took every ounce of will power she possessed not to follow him.

He did trust her. Being told that was nearly as compelling as the kiss. Both combined to weaken her knees.

She glanced through the restaurant window. From this vantage point she could see Alice seated at a small table near the center of the cozy room. In order for this to work, she had to focus. Hard as it was, she must shake off the enigmatic spell Drake kept binding her with.

With an effort she closed her mind to everything except the required conversation and actions she must take over the next ninety minutes.

Breath, she commanded her lungs. Then she opened the door - Act one, Scene one.

* * * *

Drake started the car's engine. Both the radio and recorder were tied in to the car battery. This way he could keep it charging and stay warm.

With one ear he listened to Alice and Miranda's sound check. He heard Miranda tell the maitre 'd that she was meeting a friend. She ordered a cup of hot tea. Then the real wait began.

He glanced at the clock on the dash then at his wristwatch. Jones was late. Would he show up or back out at the last moment?

Just as Drake was beginning to think this was one of the worst business decisions of his career, he heard Miranda whisper, "Here he comes."

During the next hour every demon Drake thought he had exorcised after Lucy's betrayal haunted him. The receiver attached to Miranda's microphone made every word she uttered sound breathy and seductive. Bob Jones came off as slick, arrogant, and overconfident.