Questions

By Jennifer Ferranno

Katrina Roberts accepted the ultimate media challenge from her boss. Interview Richmond Michaels, elusive billionaire president of Michaels Oil. Michaels hates the media and never gives interviews.

Mistaking Katrina for a temp receptionist hes requested, he turns the entire office over to her before she has a chance to ask for the interview. Her ethics wont allow deception and before he is able to confront her with his discovery of her true identity, she confesses. Admiring her honesty, Richmond agrees to the interview on the condition she help him find the terrorist responsible for murdering his father.

Has she made a deal with the devil which might cost her life? Will the sensual attraction they cannot ignore turn both their worlds upside down? Can they expose those behind the terrorist before anyone else dies or anything else blows up?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524685423

Jennifer Ferranno

Jennifer Ferranno has been spinning stories since grade school. Having been raised in a house with a library, she learned to love reading at an early age. She resides with her cat, Page, in Orange Park, FL.

Book preview

Prologue

RICHMOND MICHAELS STOOD TOTALLY STILL, gazing at the skyline through the floor to ceiling windows covering one entire wall in his massive office. Richmond Towers, built and named for his father was one of the tallest in the city. Puffs of white clouds across a soft blue sky promised a bright summer day. He frowned. Sure didn’t match his dark mood. He realized of course that the sky could easily turn dark, spitting torrents of rain and streaks of lightning. But not now. Now, it seemed to mock him. Running his long fingers through his blond hair, he heaved a sigh, his thoughts returning to the issues at hand.

His desk was total chaos covered with stacks of notes he needed to have entered into the computer. Figures from accounting and his investment staff detailing the buyout of Kellerman Oil. Looking at the mess, no one would believe this was the desk of one of the most successful CEOs in the United States. He shuffled some papers into a more organized appearing stack, but facts were facts. He had totally lost control of the mountain of contracts and papers and he wasn’t the type of man used to losing control of anything.

His father had a handle on everything, organized to a fault and Richmond berated himself again for not paying closer attention. Now there was no more time, no more chances. In the blink of an eye, a split second of time, his father had been totally turned to ash. Approximately fifty feet from the number five oil well when the bomb was detonated. A moment in time nightmares were made of. An hour before, they had celebrated the verbal agreement from Jack Kellerman to sell his company. Then there was a phone call. His father said Gotta check number five. Be right back Richmond had nodded and went back to reading the reports on the table in the small office on site in Zambia, Africa. The explosion blew the well shooting flames straight up with a heat that melted everything near it. That was six months ago. Still not one suspect. They were lucky the surrounding wells didn’t blow as well. The irony was that the site in Zambia wasn’t even on their itinerary. If only they had continued on to Paris…

It was on that day, Richmond came to sincerely understand the decision his father had made seven years prior. Having attended private schools and private colleges all his life, Richmond had been sheltered from the media, for the most part. He was six when his mother died and was immediately whisked away from the insensitive and ruthless journalists and their cruel questioning about the nature of his mother’s illness and death. When he graduated with a degree in business management, his father brought him into this very office where he was told that as the future owner of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate he would always be hounded by ruthless reporters. The men in the oil fields would not trust him as they should because they knew that he had led a sheltered and secretive life and knew very little about the actual business. The working part of building, drilling, getting hot, sweaty and filthy. That needed to change. His father told him that he needed to know that part as well, because how could he begin to run a company that he knew nothing about? As an only child, he was the heir to the entire multi-billion dollar conglomerate that covered the entire globe. Therefore, Richmond Senior had created a totally new identity and Eric Hollister was born, complete with paperwork, credit cards and a 2 year degree in engineering from an obscure private college. Hollister was his mother’s maiden name. As for his appearance as Richmond, when he was seen on rare occasions in public he wore a reddish brown hairpiece and brown contacts. A small well-made van-dyke covered the dimple in his chin. The look was completed with round executive type glasses, which gave him the appearance of the serious business manager. It was close to his father’s appearance, the hair coloring and van dyke. In reality, Richmond took his real looks from his blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother. Then it was made public knowledge that Mr. Michaels had taken on a new executive vice president who would be learning the oil business from the ground up. So far, no one questioned it. Rumors were rampant that there had been a falling out between father and son. In the last seven years as Eric Hollister, he had gotten his hands dirty and earned the trust and respect of all the employees he worked with. He could still remember his first time covered in crude oil, wishing he was back in his condo sipping scotch instead of being out in the hot sun, covered in dirt. The thought caused him to smile. The satisfaction he felt, the success of the work he had helped complete drove him onward. He was a quick study so after a couple of years, his time in the fields doing actual physical labor dwindled, but he was still willing to jump in and help if the situation called for it and the men in the fields respected him all the more for it. The physical labor added firm muscle tone to his already fit six foot two frame and the time spent outdoors tanned his skin better than any salon tan.

Richmond sighed and stepped out into the outer office, his blue eyes surveying the disarray of the receptionist’s area. Enough reminiscing, there was a major problem to solve. Mrs. Browning, the anchor of the entire executive office was in the hospital. Out for another week with gallstones. In his opinion, the temp agency he contacted was worthless. Five secretaries in five days. Most didn’t type, some couldn’t spell and correct telephone etiquette was totally beyond their grasp of comprehension. His nerves were frayed, the paperwork was a disaster and his temper was rearing its head. Talking to the receptionist at Office Temps got him nowhere. The owner said she was sending him whoever was available and that was the best she could do on such short notice. He glanced at his Patek Phillipe watch; a gift from his father on his last birthday. Well, the pick of the day was late. Not that in the scheme of things it mattered much since she would probably be the same type as the last five. One of them had a nose ring, chewed gum and refused to remove her earbuds, which were attached to her phone. Another arrived looking like she was working part time as a stripper. Wasn’t there any such thing as a person who appeared to at least take the job seriously? This was a high profile company. Granted, his office wasn’t a hub of social events. Very few people actually came in to see him, but when and if they did, he had specific expectations on what a receptionist should look like. Mrs. Browning was in her late fifties and wore business attire at all times, holding herself to high standards, her hair always perfectly styled and nails done. More than once she admonished the younger employees who delivered paperwork or files from the other offices to try looking as if they worked for a multi-billion dollar corporation instead a dime store.

Chapter One

KATRINA ROBERTS TOOK A DEEP breath as she entered the main entrance of Richmond Towers, hoping she didn’t look as terrified as she felt. The butterflies in her stomach were on a rampage at the mere thought of what she was about to do. How did she get talked into this? Why? Okay, she was a journalist and a damn good one. Her forte’ was one on one personal interviews. Heads of state. Presidents. The Governor. Celebrities. But now she had agreed to interview Richmond Michaels. This man didn’t give interviews. Never had. Unless you counted the one where he told a reporter that ‘there was an f’ing good reason he didn’t lower himself to speak with liars, thieves or reporters’. Quote; end quote. Mr. Michaels Senior only spoke to the press at a press conference when there was news regarding the company. The Vice President, a man named Hollister issued a written statement that he had nothing to say and if Richmond wanted to issue an official statement they would be notified. Hollister was the one who calmly announced that Mr. Michaels has been killed in an oil well disaster in Africa. He also made certain the press knew the memorial service was closed except for family and friends. Reporters camped out nearby anyway. Richmond Michaels was a no show for his father’s memorial. How cold was that? Hollister spoke a few words. The explosion was no accident, but even that was not confirmed by the Michaels Corporation.

A uniformed security officer sat at a desk monitoring a bank of camera monitors. Katrina didn’t have an appointment because there was no sense in calling to request an interview which would be refused. Others had tried. All had failed. She had already studied the layout of the building by dropping by, stopping at the coffee bar in the lobby on three occasions, perusing the expensive artwork on the walls and watching the occupants of the skyscraper come and go. Escalators went from the lobby to the mezzanine where there was a high dollar shopping area. A set of highly polished stairs also curved upward to the shops as well. Two sets of elevators told her that one set went from one to twenty and the other from twenty one to forty and Richmond Oil occupied the top five floors with corporate offices at the top.

Before she could change her mind she stepped into the elevator, pressed ‘forty’ and nervously studied her appearance in the polished chrome. She had chosen a white linen pantsuit with an emerald silk long sleeved blouse and black one inch heels, always striving for the look between professional and innocent. No heavy makeup, tight clothes or spike heels. Her ebony hair was up in a French twist, held in place with a simple gold clasp and she carried only a small handbag; no notebook or recorder. Blessed with a photographic memory, she could concentrate on what her subject was saying and the emotion behind it, rather than worry about taking notes.

Katrina had gone over a lot of scenarios on the way over. Demanding an interview would never work. Cornering him in the outer office would cause his distrust. Following him wouldn’t work either. She finally decided on the straight forward approach. She was here to do a personal interview with Richmond Michaels, ask for ten minutes of his time and to prove her ethics, she would provide the names of those she interviewed for him to check her out. That meant she probably wouldn’t get the interview today, but she didn’t think this could be rushed. He would want to research her, to believe she was as ethical as she claimed. Or, worst case scenario, he would flat out refuse and have her tossed to the curb.

The elevator stopped and there was no more time to think about it.

Richmond glanced up as he heard the elevator ding. He studied the woman who stepped out and with only a slight hesitation reached for the glass doors.

Finally, he stated quickly deciding not to give her time to debate her duties like the last so called receptionist had. At least this time they managed to send me someone who at least looks like a professional. Did they tell you the office starts working at nine? He tried not to stare, but the woman standing in the doorway was one of the most beautiful women he had seen in many years.

Katrina blinked, trying not to show her confusion. Excuse me? was about all she could get out as she studied the tall blond standing next to the cluttered desk. He was obviously irate and trying not to show emotion. Wearing a dark blue shirt and darker blue slacks, he looked as if he could have easily stepped out of a men’s commercial for Brooks Brothers Fashions. Amend that, she thought quickly. His clothes looked tailored and even more expensive than the diamond watch he was glancing at.

Office temps. Never mind, at least you’re here. Can you type? He waved one hand toward the desk in frustration.

Yes, I can type. Katrina decided to see where he was going with this before she asked to see Mr. Michaels. She didn’t think this was Richmond Michaels, because he most assuredly wouldn’t be standing here amidst a clutter of paperwork in the outer office. Would he? However, given his appearance and mannerism, she doubted this man was an errand boy either.

Good. The last five temps they sent couldn’t type, most couldn’t spell and answering the phone was not high on their to-do list. All that is required is a little typing, and answering the phone. Take messages. Determine if the call is important. Ask for a call back number. It seems like it should be a simple enough request, don’t you think?

Katrina wanted to ask him what in the hell he was talking about, but instead she said, That seems simple enough, then offered up a slight smile and he seemed to visibly relax. This man, whoever he was, seemed totally stressed. Probably had to deal with Michaels himself which couldn’t be easy.

The phone rang emitting a soft light chime and he arched a brow at her. "We usually try to answer it by the ninth ring. Try something like ‘Michaels Oil’ or ‘Richmond Michaels office’ He turned away from her entering an alcove off to her left.

Katrina reached across the desk and pressed the button, picking up the receiver. Michaels Oil, Richmond Michaels office.

Oh. This is Kathy from Office Temps. The person we scheduled to fill his position today called out. We can have someone there by noon.

Katrina stared at the desk, replayed the man’s hurried comments and came to the obvious conclusion. It won’t be necessary.

Oh no. Did he go to another company? the woman asked, sounding as if her pet goldfish just died. Katrina almost felt bad for the way the woman’s voice quivered as she asked the question.

No, it’s just for today. He’ll be in touch. She noticed he was returning to the room. It’s fine. Thanks for checking, she added, quickly disconnecting the call.

Anyone leave a message?

Office Temps following up. The original person they scheduled called out so I’m filling in. Katrina took a deep breath, hoping he hadn’t heard the rest of the conversation. Well, technically she wasn’t lying because she had stated the facts. She could stay around answering the phone. How she would break it to them that she was actually a reporter would have to be dealt with sometime later today. She wondered if Richmond Michaels was in the other office or hadn’t arrived yet. It would explain the guy’s tension, trying to get a receptionist in place before the boss arrived.

Good. Don’t believe anything anyone who has been here might have told you. We don’t bite. We do expect a certain amount of professionalism in the staff. The girl yesterday was supposed to be working on a file we need for our attorney, who should be here any time now. I can’t find a damn thing on this desk. Will you please dig through this disaster and see if you can locate it? ‘Attention Henry Tibbs’ should be written on it somewhere. Other than that, take some time to familiarize yourself with the work your co-workers screwed up over the past week. Just take messages. If it’s anyone with the press, feel free to hang up on them. Or tell them we don’t give interviews. How do you take your coffee? Still talking, he returned to the alcove again.

Did this guy ever take a breath, she wondered as she sat down in the chair behind the desk? Cluttered and screwed up would be an understatement. Dear God, what had she stepped into? He covered five or six subjects in a single breath, ending with how did she take her coffee? Seriously? Before she could answer her own questions he appeared holding two coffee cups, placing one on the ebony desk, near the phone. Katrina looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. This desk looks like you allowed second graders to play on it.

He grinned at her, displaying slight dimples. They also played on the computer and with the files as well. Lucky me, they didn’t write on the walls. Cream and sugar packets should be in the desk drawer. God only knows where.

Katrina lifted a file folder. Attention Henry Tibbs, found it. She turned to hand it to him. Her gaze lingered on his face. He would make a perfect model for GQ or a magazine on the anatomy of a perfect male. His blond hair had a strand that fell with abandon onto a tanned forehead and the rest was full, thick and touched the collar of his shirt. He was probably a few inches over six feet in height. His shirt was open at the collar, his slacks the color of a very dark starless sky. His watch had more diamonds than she had ever seen in one place and reflected the lighting each time he moved. Suddenly conscious that she was staring at him, she released her hold on the folder.

Thank you Miss… he frowned. Seems I was so surprised they sent someone who looked professional, I forgot to ask your name. It would be unprofessional for me to call you ‘hey you’ all day, now wouldn’t it?

"Katrina Roberts. And you would be…?

Eric Hollister. The grin returned as he waited for her reaction.

"The Eric Hollister?" The question was out before she thought about how lame it sounded.

As opposed to any other Eric Hollister who might be lurking on the fortieth floor of Richmond Towers? Yes.

Well, you do have a somewhat gruff reputation. You caught me off guard. She rolled her eyes. That didn’t come out right, did it? I thought this was Richmond Michaels office.

It is. We share. There was that grin again as if she amused him by not knowing who he was.

Will he be in later today?

I doubt it, but he comes and goes. Not through the front doors though. If someone asks for him specifically, tell them whatever comes to mind. He’s in another city, state or country. No, you have no idea when he will be available. If it’s the press, the answer doesn’t need to even be polite. No and hell no will suffice.

Katrina took a sip of her coffee, still coming to terms with the fact that this soft spoken, well-mannered man was the one who had a reputation almost as cold as Mr. Michaels when it came to dealing with reporters. Of course for now he didn’t know she was a reporter. What is it with the press? Most companies appreciate an occasional piece in the news. Does he ever plan on giving an actual interview? She cautioned herself to step carefully when asking questions. Just because he looked great didn’t mean he wasn’t ruthless.

He exhaled and leaned on the corner of the desk. Miss Roberts, we tried giving interviews. Reporters have their own agenda. What we said and what they said we said weren’t even close. So now, we just issue press releases. Usually typed in simple language they can understand. No big words. No long sentences. If one dares to show up and shove a microphone in our face we respond with words they can’t print and usually threaten them with physical harm. He shrugged. Reporters act as if they’re doing us a big favor by giving us a column in their newspaper or magazine. In fact, they’re just trying to make themselves seem important. They don’t care about facts or even statistics… just that their name appears on the by-line. Now, if you need to ask me anything, the tab on the phone acts as an intercom. He straightened, nodding toward the clutter. Have fun with all this. I’ll be in my office.

The gold lettering on the heavy oak door stated the obvious. Richmond Michaels; president - Eric Hollister; vice president and CEO.

Chapter Two

KATRINA STARED AT THE CLOSED door, her thoughts running rampant. One thing for sure, Hollister was going to be livid when he found out she was a reporter. Later. For now, she powered up the computer and then turned her attention to the paper clutter on the desk. Letters to and from other companies, some legal mumbo jumbo concerning oil prices and OPEC. Several sticky notes labeled ‘to-do’ with a few items listed, which she started organizing papers into stacks.

The sound of the elevator chime caused her to lift her eyes watching a harried looking man step into the office carrying a wine colored leather briefcase. He reminded her of Mr. Magoo from the cartoons. Short, partially balding almost grey hair, with gold wire-rimmed glasses, dressed in a grey suit, white shirt and red tie. He stopped a few feet in front of her desk. Act like a receptionist she reminded herself as she gave him a sincere smile. Welcome to Michaels Oil. May I help you, sir?

The man stared at her for a minute or so as if her words surprised him. I’m Henry Tibbs. I have an appointment. Is he in yet?

Mr. Michaels or Mr. Hollister?

Henry shrugged. Is Michaels in?

No sir.

Do you know where he is? He returned her smile as if he was baiting her for an answer.

France. She grinned. Mr. Hollister is in and he’s expecting you, sir, she stated.

Richmond opened the door to the office and glanced from Tibbs to Katrina and back. You’re late, he said, glancing at his watch. Miss Roberts, could you bring me a fresh cup of coffee and Henry a Coke from the fridge? At her confused look, he pointed toward the alcove. Fridge is that way. Small break room.

You have someone who will actually bring you coffee? Office Temps finally found someone who can get along with you for over five minutes? Henry chuckled.

Katrina grinned at both of them and stood up. Something to be said that he trusts me enough to not poison his coffee. But the day is still young so that might change. As she hurried toward the alcove she wondered again how he would react when he discovered she was a reporter who had chosen not to tell him the truth. How long should she wait? Maybe after Mr. Tibbs left. But that would leave him with no secretary the rest of the day. What the hell? Didn’t they have a whole bevvy of people working here? Certainly all of them had been vetted before being hired. Couldn’t one of them fill in? At some point she would have to confess. Today… Lying, or in this case pretending to be someone she wasn’t was unethical and God knows, journalists already had a bad reputation for lack of ethics. Something serious caused Richmond Michaels to hate the press and it was a lot more than simply twisting words in an interview. His immense disdain for the media ran deeper than that.

Carrying the tray, Katrina knocked lightly on the still open door. As she sat the tray down and handed them each their drinks, her eyes scanned the documents visible on the desk. Pages of the Kellerman Contract. Not wanting to bring undue attention to her focus, she straightened, picked up the now empty tray and offered both men a smile. Will there be anything else?

Please hold my calls unless it’s Jack Kellerman. In which case put him through.

With a slight nod, she left the office and closed the door behind her. Wow, what an office, she murmured to herself. The skyline view was enough to leave her breathless. The room was big enough her whole house would fit inside with room to spare. Who needed that much open space? She had noticed the file cabinets built into one wall, a small bar area, a conference table that could seat at least 10 people off to the far side and a sitting area in front of the massive desk. The carpeting, a royal blue, was so thick she felt herself sinking into it when she walked across it. All the furniture was ebony, polished to a high shine, the chairs and sofa a pastel blue suede. Of all the interviews she had done over the past few years, no office came close to the elegance of this one. She went back to the alcove and refilled her own coffee cup, before returning to the task at hand.

Once she had closed the door, Tibbs looked over at Richmond as he sipped the coke. You must have put the fear of God into the office staff. Where has she been before now?

Maybe they were afraid I would try to steal her away from them.

Would they be correct in that assumption?

Probably. I’ll go by there later today. I know I can offer her more.

Where would you put her, though? Mrs. Browning doesn’t need an assistant.

Richmond frowned. Well, she probably enjoys the variety of changing offices, not getting into a routine. I do plan on letting them know I definitely want her the rest of the week, if not longer.

Richmond, this is me you’re talking to, Henry stated. I saw how you were admiring her looks. There’s no doubt in my mind where you want her and it isn’t in the office.

He laughed, Damn. Well, I have four days to figure out how to get her to dinner. I guess we’ll see. Technically, I’m not her boss so that takes care of any ethical issues, doesn’t it?

Legally, yes.

Next subject. Are these papers the final contract?

"Read and sign them and Kellerman