A Matter of Trust (2 page)

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 playing over his face.

“Sorry,” the woman called to him before turning to 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 piercing 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 the devil-may-care grin, deep dimples and all, that had melted many a heart. It didn’t seem to have this effect on Michael Lassiter, however. Her ice blue eyes and perfect features showed not the slightest hint of warming as she returned the handshake.

“Why don’t we get comfortable in my office?” Sloan indicated the double doors at the far side of the reception area. Glancing at Jason, who was watching them with the attention of a Phillies fan at the World Series, she queried, “Coffee?”

It wasn’t a request. Jason knew she was aggravated because she wasn’t prepared for the meeting...or the client. With a sigh, he 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 profile—that was more than enough incentive to schedule the damn appointment. Hell, he didn’t even have time for the usual deep background searches.

In the private office beyond the reception area, Sloan settled behind the antique oak desk that she’d painstakingly moved from her parents’ home almost a decade previously. It had gone with her first to Washington, D.C., then into storage while she’d dropped out of sight for several months, and finally to her company’s office in the section of Philadelphia traditionally known as Old City.

The district had once been dominated by factories but had recently become the focus of highly publicized renovations. Now there were trendy restaurants and much-sought-after loft apartments interspersed with warehouses and historic landmarks. Her building was a four-story converted warehouse, part of the second and third floors serving as office and work space, the top floor as her living area. “Please, have a seat. I just need a minute before we begin.”

“Fine.”

Michael Lassiter chose a leather swivel armchair facing Sloan. Large floor-to-ceiling windows to her left gave a panoramic view across the Delaware River into the state beyond. The office was comfortably functional, a deep blue carpet warming the high-ceilinged space, but Michael didn’t get the feeling that the dark-haired woman seated behind the desk spent much time in the room. The desktop was unadorned by any personal mementos, its surface free of clutter, and the off-white walls were decorated with stylish yet oddly impersonal-seeming black-and-white photographs. There was nothing to give her a sense of the woman who headed Sloan Security, other than she seemed all business.
Which is just exactly why I’m here. If she can do what her reputation says she can, I don’t need to know who she is.

Sloan glanced at the open file folder on her desk. 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 for quick review. She noted that the company name was Innova Designs. In the notation box Jason had typed “CEO, Michael Lassiter.”

Nowhere on the page did she see any indication that Michael Lassiter was a woman. Not that that fact mattered per se, but she 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 but the clients she accepted.

When she looked up from the paperwork, she found the woman in the impeccably tailored suit observing her with unapologetic frankness. Deliberately, Sloan stared back. The double-breasted jacket was open to reveal a 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 she did wear was understated and tastefully elegant. A small gold hoop 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. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she heard herself repeating, wondering what it was about this woman that had put her off her stride.

She was used to corporate types, although usually they were men. Aggressive, arrogant, habitually engaged in one-upmanship. She wasn’t easily impressed and was even less easily intimidated. And she was neither at the moment, but neither was she completely comfortable. Michael Lassiter was beautiful, like a precious
objet d’art
sequestered in a museum—separated from the observer by velvet ropes, bulletproof glass, and 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 is it, 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 we start with a little bit of background? This involves your company, I presume?”

For the first time, her client appeared uncertain. A brief flicker of something that might have been pain rose in her eyes and then was quickly extinguished. She straightened slightly and met Sloan’s eyes.

“Six years ago, my husband and I founded Innova Designs. We were fortunate to have a number of our early pilot projects picked up by several international corporations, and the collaborations turned out to be gratifyingly successful. 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.
While Michael Lassiter was talking, Sloan had skimmed a recent prospectus Jason had managed to find on short notice, along with synopses of public financial reports for the firm. Innova Designs was a think tank—an array of the brightest and the best minds from industry, technology, the arts, and many other areas. The purpose of such companies was to analyze market trends, predict potential growth, and assist—or convince—others to finance and build new products. Success for a firm like Innova depended on the accuracy and ingenuity of the designers’ vision. They didn’t make products themselves; they created futures.

A knock on the door interrupted Michael’s explanation, and both women waited in silence as Jason served their coffee.

“Go on,” Sloan prompted after he’d left. “What kind of problem are you having?”

“May I assume this meeting is confidential?”

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 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’ve told me will be forgotten.”

It was Michael’s turn to scrutinize. She knew of Sloan Security by reputation, of course, which was why she had chosen the firm. Endorsements from previous clients and various official institutions had all been favorable. Now she studied the woman behind the desk, noting her imperturbable expression, her inquiring eyes. Sloan herself was known to be extremely efficient, resourceful, and highly capable. There were also those who suggested she was competitive and ruthless, but that did not concern Michael.

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 ago. Rumors abounded, with speculation that she had been everything from a CIA agent deep undercover to a criminal engaged in nefarious underworld dealings.

Although young for her position, she was reputed to be at the top of her field. And Michael had a feeling she would need the best. She had no doubt that the woman watching her with faintly hooded eyes was capable of providing the service she required. The question was whether she could be trusted with the confidences.

The silence lengthened, each 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, but in the very near future, I intend to divorce my husband and dissolve our business association.”

It was not at all what Sloan had anticipated. Corporate cases like this were almost always about low-level security breaches—Web site defacements, denial-of-service attacks, or internal glitches. But the urgency of the appointment and this unexpected introduction warned her that this was not going to be an ordinary case.

“Does he know?”

“Not yet.” Michael kept her eyes on Sloan’s face, waiting for some reaction. All she saw was attention. “Innova is currently in the midst of negotiating several new long-range contracts with businesses in both the public and private sectors. Because of that, the next few months are a critical time for us. Obviously, I am concerned that Innova continue to be perceived as a stable enterprise. No one wants to invest in a company that is in flux, and if information such as this were made public before the company has been restructured, we could lose important clients. Businesses have gone under for less reason.”

“I can see why you’re worried about a leak.”

Sloan was beginning to understand the reason for the emergency consultation as well as the signs of stress in the woman seated across from her. Even the rumor of destabilization of a fast-growing company such as Innova would have a major negative impact on Lassiter’s ability to secure new market acquisitions. What Sloan had just been told did not require further comment. The significance of the revelation spoke for itself. Nevertheless, she had a feeling this was only part of the issue.

“I understand that you need to accomplish this transition with as little fanfare as possible,” she said, and waiting a beat, added, “What else do you need?”

“You mean, why am I really here?” Michael asked with a slight smile, very aware that Sloan was waiting for her to reveal the true cause of her concern.
Most people would have taken my explanation at face value. Certainly most men would have. But she knows there’s something else.
I’ll have to be very careful with her or I’ll 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.”

“Physical means?” Sloan asked quickly, her eyes narrowing. “That’s not the kind of security I provide.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael replied just as quickly. “I don’t even think in those terms. I am...” She hesitated, trying to describe what she very rarely thought about—herself. “I am a theoretician, Ms. Sloan. I deal in ideas, concepts. I need to ensure that my current projects and future proposals are protected. Without them, I have no value and Nicholas, my...husband, may very well be able to convince the board of directors that I’m replaceable.”

No value beyond your ideas. Odd way of describing yourself
. 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 before saying quietly, “Let me see if I understand this. You’re presently CEO of one of the country’s most rapidly growing design technology firms. Your husband, Nicholas...Lassiter?”

“Burke.”

“He’s...what? Chief operating officer?”

At Michael’s affirming nod, Sloan continued. “You intend to divorce him and keep the company on an even keel in the process...until you replace him with someone you trust, I presume.” She raised an eyebrow, and again, Michael nodded. “You need
me
to ensure that your internal systems are secure and that your operations are tamperproof. And you expect me to do this without rousing suspicion while you execute 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. It’s just that I’ve always been much better at theory than management. The vision, I suppose you could say, has been mine. My husband’s natural talents have been in recruitment and marketing. I can assure you, I’m planning nothing illegal or even particularly underhanded. I intend only to protect my work from assault, which is exactly what I anticipate will happen as soon as my attorneys contact my husband.”