Harry's Protégé Ch. 05

Sierra was disappointed that Harry hadn't come to meet her, but then thought why should he? He would be at his office, doing his work as well as most of hers, or else plugging Jenni in some hotel room if she could get away from her busy home refurbishing consulting practice. But then even busy people manage to snatch periods of intense personal privacy when they take a lover, don't they?

The feeling that came over Sierra identified itself easily. It was a familiar emotion – jealousy one of her 'big two' personal concerns. She sighed, thinking she preferred jealousy over inadequacy as one fired her up, the other ground her down making life miserable.

Okay, she was jealous and it didn't help to accept that Harry would revel being in Jenni's hands, literally because she was a great seductress as Sierra had seen her in operation more than once. Sierra knew she had merely to push out her chest and whisper in a male's ear to have a great chance of nailing him whereas without a body beautiful and a rather plain face, her friend Jenni had to rely on the extensive arts of a true seductress.

Yes, the smooth male with no chip on his shoulder and an acceptable amount of ego would find Jenni a delightful bedfellow and a warm personality to socialize with when they were not humping into exhaustion. Sierra smiled, thinking she almost approved of the liaison.

Ah she couldn't afford to respond to her jealousy and ditch Jenni over this because Jenni was practically the only person who really understood her. Instead she might ask Jenni how well Harry performed in bed – oh yeah!

She grinned and yawned. She wouldn't call Harry – actually she knew he'd be hard at it work for sure, being such a conscientious professional. Ah yes, a great role model but falling short of perfection because he'd fucked one's best girlfriend, the swine.

Sierra had returned from France attempting to be the new Sierra. While in that country she'd found a sports center with an indoor running circuit and that pleased her because one never knew about muggers, rapists and other foul men lurking on the streets waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting foreign female jogger.

The center manager, who spoke perfect English which was understandable because she was born and raised in Edinburgh, lined up nine personal trainers – three of them females – for Sierra to choose from.

How very convenient, Sierra had thought, selecting a male purely on physical attraction, assuming they all were good at their job as the money she was paying for short-term membership was horrendous. She figured if she wanted sex during her stay, she might as well partner her personal trainer.

Amazingly, the combination worked perfectly. Her trainer was absolutely ruthless with her in the gym and on the track, driving her into tears. But the three times she managed to get him into bed when his wife was occupied lecturing in art he proved to be attentive, sensitive and was reasonably good at it.

Kathleen the center manager had said Sierra couldn't expect much to change in three weeks apart from establishing the framework in which real change would occur over a much longer period. But then Kathleen didn't know this stunning woman, who appeared born to shop, take in lovers and socialize at all the right places, would display a ruthless streak (inherited from Duncan Bycroft).

Sierra attended symposium business sessions and partnered her father to social events of his choice and fitted in some shopping and visiting some galleries she'd missed on her last visit during her recent six weeks' 'sickness' leave. Much of her remaining time was spent sleeping, in the hotel spa and beauty center or at the sports center.

When not working on fitness with her ruggedly smooth Marc, Sierra put in the hours on the track and in the pool until becoming practically legless.

Kathleen didn't approve of Sierra pushing herself to that extreme but organized the center dietician to provide Sierra with supplementary food and liquid to facilitate quicker recovery. Apart from falling asleep at some business and social sessions, Sierra appeared to be thriving, her father simply assuming she'd quickly found a lover or perhaps several.

The second morning after arriving home, the new Sierra dressed to kill, wearing a dark business suit and no shirt – just a bright red silk and lace cami covering her bra, black sheer stockings and black high-heels.

She had her hair combed up professionally and arrived at the newspaper at 9:40, in time to deal with the greetings and any urgent matters and to be prepared when Harry put his head around the door at 10:00 to welcome her back.

Both receptionists oohed and said she looked stunning, boosting Sierra's self-belief that was revved to maximum. You fool, she smiled, eying the wall clock – you're as excited as a flighty school-girl.

Right on 10:00 Harry virtually staggered into her office, looking terrible.

"Good God," she gasped. "What's wrong?"

"The doc says it's influenza – it's been creeping up on me over the past two days, but this morning I know it's here – I won't kiss you if you don't mind."

"You were going to kiss me?"

That had just jumped out.

"I thought about it. Have you changed something?"

"Oh don't bother about me. I'm putting you into a cab to return home and sleep. I'll come over and check on you early-afternoon and bring some soup. You'll have to give me the access numbers or should I get those off Jenni?"

Harry gave her a wry smile.

"I haven't seen Jenni for five days. We both agreed to end our running arrangement as it could emotionally interfere with your and my relationship and endeavors to prepare you for the throne."

"The what?"

"You heard. Oh gawd, where's my bed?"

She bundled him off home and returning to the executive floor went through his mail, diary and computer, relieved that at his insistence they linked their computers to operate as they had in the newsroom over those four years working as reporters except near the end when Harry became acting chief of staff for six months before being promoted to city editor.

That connectivity made it so easy to deputize effectively and Harry's PA also assisted her at such times.

Switching on Harry's computer Sierra had a premonition and half expected to see Jenni's face or her vulva magnified as the background graphic. To her astonishment she saw her own face, obviously scanned from her favorite photo of herself that sat beside her computer. Well, well.

Later when checking through his files for any sign of one named 'Jenni' or 'Sperm eater' or whatever men do in such circumstances, she came up empty-handed but sat, fingers shaking slightly, reading the name of a folder named 'Taming Sierra'.

Breathing in deeply, she opened the folder, accepting Harry would feel violated knowing she was prying like this.

Twenty minutes later Sierra closed the folder, shaking.

Like most people, she'd never had anyone examine her character thoroughly, analyzing strengths and weaknesses, what they like and dislike about her. What she'd read had both delighted and depressed her but she had to admit it seemed pretty accurate.

Sierra had been particularly excited with the ratings: Hair (magnificent), face (extremely kissable), breasts and she was glad he didn't call them tits as men do (AAA) and legs (150%) but the delight dissipated when she looked at the other column: butt (going flabby), make-up (it's a mask, hiding character), overall demeanor (too often surly, switches on and off selectively which is cruel, all-in-all, consistent with being raised as a spoilt brat).

That's not fair, fumed Sierra, but okay buster, what are you going to do about it?

She knew already her butt was firming and her legs were exhibiting newfound strength so that could well push them into 200% approval. The bastard, she couldn't help being raised in and affluent family environment.

Sierra felt like having his computer tossed into the trash bin but that completely changed when she read the following page, 'Taming Sierra, Stage One'.

The series of bullet points indicated he planned to 'support her professionally and socially'. She knew she was reading a well-thought out program. She particularly liked, 'Me as personal trainer...I want her running with me'.

Watch out Jenni, she smiled. Wowee, this man was really something. He really didn't have to bother. In fact he could distance himself, watch her wallow towards disaster and then he may become heir-apparent of the newspaper company in terms of control.

She was disappointed to find he hadn't started development of Stage Two but on the next page of notes her eyes locked on the bottom entry: 'I'd really like to fuck her'.

Initially she was appalled that anyone could write such a thing as a personal note. It was barbaric, wasn't it? But as the blush spread – huh she could still blush.

She felt her toes curl and decided a crude notation or not, it was one of the most romantic things she'd ever read.

Eating late lunch of food from the list given her by the French dietician, Sierra went through the negative points again she'd read about herself and realized working on fitness was difficult enough, but attempting to change ingrained attitudes and impulse actions would be immensely more difficult.

She promised to give Harry maximum assistance but wondered how long that promise would last.

Sierra leaned back in her leather chair and brought up a vision of being on her hands and knees, her head on silk pillows, hair spread out beautifully, her face turned, looking back at Harry, who was shuffling up behind her nude body, grinning hugely.

No matter how hard she tried to edit the image of what he had in his hand, if anything, and what he intended doing were left to her now uncooperative imagination.

She raced into the executive bathroom she shared with Harry, to press a cold flannel against her burning face. The necessity to do this astonished this – hard-nosed man-experienced Sierra behaving like a teenager?

She liked it!

At 12:40 before going off to tend to sick Harry, Sierra walked into the newsroom where the noise and activity almost stopped dead, virtually everyone looking her way.

She glanced behind, fearful that an angry reader brandishing a shotgun had followed her through the door. But there was no one there: the bastards were looking at her, but why? Activity resumed, but sideway glances continued.

Sierra walked over to Frank Ryan, city editor. "What have I done or haven't done to warrant that reaction?"

"The boss' spoilt daughter has gone Sierra," Frank said with usual 'frankness', laced with cynicism.

"For the first time they are seeing a professional woman, their deputy boss, and they like it. I do, too. You look terrific, dressed to kill and goodnight nurse to any unfortunate bozo who gets in your way. Those guys and gals watching you need a boss like that to nurse them through thick and thin, not some society dame playing as a journalist."

Sierra heard him, and heard him good, er well, she corrected.

"That's quite a speech for you Frank; can I believe it?"

"It's up to you Miss Bycroft, believe what you wish. But move on, I've work to do."

"What's happened to my name Sierra?"

"From the moment you walked through that door less than two minutes ago you became Miss Bycroft in this newsroom – so get used to it. I'm writing an all-staff memo to that effect now, not that it's necessary except for the dickheads. You keep calling us by our first names."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, Harry."

"On you way Miss Bycroft."

'Miss Bycroft' rode in the cab elated, it being a rare occasion for her to be recognized for herself, not because who her parents were, her eye-stealing car or the money she was tossing around.

"I like it," she mused.

On the way she stopped at a pharmacy to buy a face mask – there was no sense them both going down with flu and a large box of pain-relievers and two of tissues.

"You'll live," Sierra declared, noting the glazed eyes, sweaty brow and uneven breathing.

"I feel great," Harry groaned, eliciting a 'That's my boy' response.

Sierra noted his clothes on the floor including underpants, so went to the dresser and pulled out a ghastly pair of silk bed shorts overprinted with drooping boobs of all shapes and sizes – a present from his father, no doubt.

"Here, put these on, I'm going to give you a bed bath."

Harry said, "What's it with the mask – have you had your lips injected?"

"Funny man," she smiled, and went to the kitchen to find a big bowl and sponge.

After Harry drank his mug of soup and swallowed his pain-relievers she left, telling him to sleep as much as he could and when awake to stay in bed. Sierra promised to return at dinner time.

Sleepily he gave her a heart-lifting smile and really did look like her little boy with his fringe flopped over his forehead like that.

Sierra had phoned Frank to delay the afternoon news conference until she returned. He took that instruction calmly, saying "Yes boss" without it being etched with any derision or complaint that she could detect. She decided she preferred the title of boss from him, rather than Miss Bycroft.

Christ, they'd joined the reporting staff practically on the same day and it was likely she could have allowed him to enjoy her when they'd been on out-of-town assignments together but for his fat belly and blue jowl; she did have her standards.

Poor Frank – at that news conference he and 'the boss' went head-to-head when Frank displayed the proposed page one lead on the wall screen, featuring the newspaper's investigation into the Twin Oaks Mining Disaster a month earlier in which four miners were asphyxiated by foul air.

"Awesome layout, great writing and conclusions that will rock everyone and we're weeks, probably months ahead of the findings of the official investigation," Sierra said. "But..."

Everyone's head jerked like puppets on a string to look at her, especially Frank.

"But what?"

"This story doesn't print until I've received an all-clear from our attorneys."

Frank looked appalled.

"But Sierra (they weren't in the newsroom and all present were executive staff), we know our opposition heard we were doing this investigation and have jumped in to do their own, and we know everyone is waiting to hear something solid. Our findings confirm what everyone has been saying; that the air supply and filtering equipment was in lousy shape and the company was at least a year behind on its maintenance schedule."

"Since when have we started publishing on hearsay Frank?"

He bristled.

"Our team – your team has worked diligently to bring us this far and spent hours talking to experts in that field and many retired workers from that mine, including the former chief of maintenance."

"I'm glad about that Frank. If we're right with our presentation and the official investigation confirms this, then that company will be paying out millions in fines and settling claims. If we're wrong, we'll be the ones paying out millions."

"Oh come off it, Sierra. It's a two-bit company so damage to its reputation for wrongful attribution of blame would amount only to peanuts."

Sierra waited, tapping her pencil; the tension in the room grew. "Are you sure about it being a two-bit outfit?"

"Yes, of course – our story gives the shareholding."

"Flick up the sidebar that details that, will you Frank. Thanks and now tell me who is or are Big Holes Nominees?"

"We weren't able to find out."

"Frank, what if I tell you that this two-bit company is a front and that the money for its entire operating costs comes from the real owners, Black Gold International Inc."

"I'd laugh and ask who told you that bullshit."

"Our company chairman told me at the time of the tragedy Frank. One of his buddies is a former chairman of this two-bit outfit we're talking about."

"Jesus."

Sierra smiled thinly.

"Do we have agreement we hold the story until I have our attorneys' opinion that their rewrite of it, if that is necessary, decrees their approved version is as safe as they can make it?"

Everyone nodded and Frank said, "Sure thing, Sierra – you may have saved butt here."

"Good, take over Frank. I'm off to sit on butt at the offices of our attorneys and will do everything to return with our approved lead story before final deadline. I can't see myself failing because if I do we'll be dumping a bunch of fat-ass attorneys."

Sierra left the room amid laughter, worried that she may have over-promised. But it turned out okay.

The legal re-write team just toned the articles down a little and instead of the conclusions being presented as absolute findings they were written as 'areas of grave concern which the official investigators would do well to study thoroughly'.

Surprisingly, they left untouched one of the newspaper's most contentious statements: "The official investigators must especially look for any attempted cover-ups and any sign of tampering or removal of log records and maintenance reports."

Although Sierra had emailed the approved report to Frank from the offices of their attorneys – two hours ahead of final deadline – she received a standing ovation when walking into the newsroom an hour later. It had been quite a day for her.

Sierra strolled back to her office, ready to go off to check on Harry. She'd not forgotten him during the mining story crisis – she'd called Jenni to attend to him, advising Jenni to buy a face mask.

"You mean, you don't mind."

"Of course not, we can share him."

"Do you mean..."

"No, not that kind of sharing you sly vixen; keep you mind off your pussy."

"Sierra!"

"Bye, must dash – and thanks, Nurse Jenni."

Harry was deeply asleep and so Sierra let him be and went home, tired but smiling inside. In her hand was a note:

He's fine, should look better tomorrow. Didn't eat much. I confirm I didn't attempt to remove any body fluids.

Nurse Jenni.

Sierra was glad about that. Harry needed to regain his strength before being interfered with. That's a joke, she smiled and called Jenni to tell her the joke and to chat about Paris and the fact that Sierra was now feeling ready to run with the pack.

Jenni met Sierra outside Harry's apartment next morning at 5:15 to do the six miles and was amazed at Sierra maintaining pace for five of those miles. They called a cab, picked up take-outs and joined Harry for breakfast.

As Nurse Jenni had predicted, he was much better and was relieve neither woman was behind a face mask.

"The danger period for cross-contamination was probably over before I first appeared in a mask," Sierra said. "It's just like having safe sex, one has to take precautions."

Jenni dropped her pack of yogurt from laughing so much and Sierra only just managed to take Harry's orange juice from him as he coughed and spluttered and he groaned he was too sore to be subject to such frivolity.

"Frivolity – that's a big word for Harry so early in the morning," Jenni said, unleashing another round of laughter.

Sierra then gave the morning's newspaper to Harry who boggled when spotting the front page was filled with The Sentinel's investigation into the mining disaster.

"Hell, Sierra – you ought to have brought this to me before letting it go. It's big-time stuff with many opportunities to ignite litigation."

"I know, but you were sick and besides, we have a chief sub with more experience in newspaper work than us both combined and Frank also did law as well as journalism which means we were fitted up pretty well. But I did push it through our attorneys."

"Thank God for that – but that would have been a day wasted."

"No I went to their office and sat on them and demanded they complete in five hours, and no going home till they'd finished. They worked for me so graciously, with only one senior grizzling and going off to complain to Mr Fish but he was in negotiations and couldn't be disturbed."