“Well?” her father prompted her. “Were there problems?”
“Nothing I can’t manage.”
“I certainly hope that’s the case.” Her father didn’t sound very confident of her competency. But then that was vintage Jack Bradley. No one could meet the high standards he set, not only for others but for himself as well. “I don’t understand why Hank insisted that you handle this matter yourself.”
“Because he had faith in my abilities.”
Jack picked up a dry piece of toast, glared at it and then tossed it back on the plate. “I should be the one handling his estate.”
“You already have more than enough work to deal with,” Kate reminded him. “The doctor told you that you had to cut back on the number of hours you spend at the office.”
“And I’ve done that.”
“I know you have. Honestly, I can handle things with the King estate. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
“Hmm.” He made his customary noncommittal murmur which really meant I don’t buy that for one minute.
“Kate!” Her mother’s voice sounded horrified as she entered the room with her customary elegance. Even this early in the morning Elizabeth Hunter Bradley was the epitome of good grooming, wearing silk pants the color of café au lait along with a designer paisley blouse in swirls of browns. As a former Miss Texas she took great pride in her looks, and took great care to maintain them. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“We don’t have a cat,” Kate replied, rather pleased at how calm she sounded given the fact that her stomach was in knots. Kate may have inherited her mother’s blond hair and blue eyes, but she lacked her mother’s innate ability to achieve perfection.
“You know very well what I mean.” Now her mother sounded irritated. “What on earth happened to you? You look as if you’ve slept in that suit.”
“She had a bad flight in from Washington,” her father replied on her behalf.
“What is she doing here at this time in the morning?” Her mother poured herself a cup of coffee. “Shouldn’t she be getting ready for work?”
“I’m right here,” Kate reminded her parents. “I can hear you talking about me.”
“Then answer the question,” her mother said.
“I’m hoping Dad can give me a ride into the city this morning,” Kate said.
“Why do you need a ride?” her mother asked.
“Because my car is still at my condo. So are my clothes.”
“And why aren’t you there?” Her mother continued the inquisition.
“Because the limo from the airport dropped me off out here.” Kate was not about to admit that she’d spent the night at Hank’s ranch with Striker, that he’d possibly put her to bed, removing half her clothes. Let her parents think she’d just gotten in from the airport.
“Dropped you off out here? Why would the driver do that?” her mother said.
“There was a mix-up. Oh, my, look at the time.” Kate made a big deal of tapping her fourteen-karat gold watch, a present from her father. “We’d better be going, Dad.”
“Right.”
Thankfully her father only talked about business during the drive into the city where he’d agreed to drop her off at her condo. He made no further reference to Striker.
That didn’t mean Kate wasn’t thinking about Striker, however. And wondering if she’d only dreamt the magic of his touch on her breasts last night….
“May I help you, sir?” The woman behind the reception desk on the top floor of King Oil’s headquarters eyed him warily.
Striker couldn’t blame her. He knew he looked out of place. He didn’t own a suit, not that he’d wear one if he could at all avoid it.
And he wasn’t sure of Marine procedure for wearing his uniform in this case. Sure he was here as a result of his commanding officer’s request that he do so. But did this really qualify as Marine business?
He’d settled for jeans and a denim shirt. Standard attire in Texas. But not, apparently, on the executive floor of King Oil’s headquarters, if the receptionist’s frown was any gauge.
“Good morning, ma’am.” He flashed his best smile at the suspicious receptionist. “I’m Striker Kozlowski.”
“Oh, Mr. King’s grandson. I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t know it was you.” The woman was practically trembling in her shoes.
“No problem,” he assured her as she ushered him in past the frosted glass doors that led to the executive offices.
Striker remembered visiting King Oil’s San Antonio headquarters the one summer he’d spent with his grandfather before joining the Marines. He never thought he’d set foot in this place again.
Midland or Houston were the more customary locations for an oilman’s headquarters, but then his grandfather had never been one to follow the crowd. He’d taken a shine to San Antonio and had decided to set up business there. End of story. Or the beginning of it.
His grandfather’s office suite was at the end of the wide hall. A massive desk stood guard outside the inner sanctum. He paused several feet away to assess the situation…and to appreciate the young woman standing beside the desk. She could have been a lingerie model. She was petite and busty with long red hair that reached halfway down her back. Her short skirt showed plenty of leg.
For the first time since this thing had started, Striker felt optimistic. Maybe this mission wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
The metal nameplate on her desk said she was Tex Murphy.
She didn’t look like a Tex to him, but he didn’t really care what her name was. He was just standing there enjoying the view when he heard Kate’s voice by his side. “Good morning, Striker.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on sexy Tex. “Was Tex Murphy my grandfather’s assistant?”
“Yes. She’ll be your assistant, as well.”
“Great.”
“But that’s not Tex,” Kate informed him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the young woman you’re drooling over is not Tex Murphy.”
“Marines do not drool,” Striker stated, swiveling his gaze to Kate.
“Right.”
“You, standing over there by Kate, state your business,” a grouchy, gravelly voice demanded.
Striker’s dreams of being pampered by the sexy redhead
