“You’re saying I’m making the rest of the department look bad?”
“Not intentionally. It’s just that—”
“You think I’m a grind. It’s okay, Gary. You’re not the only one.”
The timing for this brand of criticism was unfortunate. Deborah Kearns, Sam’s girlfriend of the past two months, had dumped him the previous week for much the same reason, saying he was too careful, too cautious, a predictable drone on whom the opportunities of an international lifestyle were sadly wasted.
Nor was it the first time he had heard this sort of grumbling at Pfluger Klaxon. The longer Sam walked the straight and narrow, the more some of the older hands resented his brand of diligence. Although he easily made amends once they discovered his knack for picking apart the company’s rosy quarterly reports and damage-control press releases. Still closer to their hearts, he was an expert at spotting holes in compensation packages.
That was the corporate risk of hiring a good auditor with a healthy curiosity—an honest one, anyway. Yes, he can save you millions. But let him wander off into the margins, and the slightest whiff of funny business will reek to him like a rotting corpse. All the more reason to keep shuttling him from one country to the next, with the strictest of marching orders.
Yet, here was Gary Grimshaw telling Sam to loosen up for a change. To slow down and enjoy the scenery. So why not give it a try?
“It’s all set, then,” Gary said. “A two-night layover in Dubai.”
That was the moment when Nanette Weaver arrived.
“Got a minute, Gary?”
“Soon as I finish with Sam.”
“No rush. It’s just that I heard from the travel office that one of your people might be passing through Dubai, and I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Sam’s your man. Perfect timing!”
Too perfect, Sam thought—although Gary did seem genuinely ecstatic at the prospect of expanding his meeting into a threesome, especially with a figure as lofty as Nanette Weaver. As Pfluger Klaxon’s executive vice president for corporate security and investigations, she was known throughout the building as a rising star. Sharp and canny, she was even more of a stickler for rules than Sam. She was a relentless enforcer, not only in combating international drug counterfeiters, but also in her more personal campaign to maintain decorum among company employees, both at home and abroad.
The previous year she had famously reeled in a vice president for finance after discovering that he had received Nubian antiquities in exchange for helping a West African foreign minister cook the books. Just last month her quick footwork had freed a Pfluger Klaxon executive who had been jailed in Singapore merely for whistling at a woman on the sidewalk.
Not that she always got her way. Rumor had it that on a few occasions she’d been forced to back down, supposedly when her targets had more clout in the boardroom than she did. But for frequent international travelers at Sam’s level, rarely a week passed when she didn’t stuff their in-boxes with some reminder about ethical dealings abroad, or the importance of cultural sensitivity (including a pointed warning against the perils of using red ink in a certain Asian country). And when she was consulted for opinions on whether one might properly do this or that, she so frequently ruled in the negative that one of the older hands dredged up an old Broadway title to dub her “No No Nanette.” One didn’t dare utter the name to her face, and only the foolhardy used it in e-mail, since, technically, she had access to every message that came and went from Pfluger Klaxon.
Sam learned all this only after he had developed a bit of a—well, not really a crush, more of a detached lusting, even though she was at least eight years his senior. Because for all her preaching on modest behavior abroad, while in Manhattan she notably favored clingy blouses in bold colors, skirts above the knee, and form-fitting suits. Her eyes were striking—a blue-green shimmer from the deep end of a swimming pool—set off nicely by auburn hair. Her figure was admirable, and she could be seen working on it several times a week during her lunch hour at the health club around the corner. As a representative of a pharmaceutical firm, she told colleagues, she felt obligated to project a healthy image. Sam certainly approved, and he doubted it cost her any points in the boardroom, where the predominant image was that of flabby white males.
So, by the time Sam had heard enough about No No Nanette to realize that he ought to keep his distance, he had developed a habit of watching keenly from the lunch table as she arrived in the office cafeteria, fresh from her shower at the gym. He could never quite take his eyes off her as she briskly negotiated the salad bar, still flushed from her exertions. Her title, and even her age, only seemed to heighten her appeal, lending a stern air of risky authority.
For all those reasons, Sam was a little disconcerted as she stepped into Gary’s office wearing a tapered black skirt and a green silk blouse, which stood out against the white walls like jade on bare skin. She took a seat directly across from him and crossed her legs with a swish of black nylons.
“So tell me about this trip of yours.”
Gary began laying out the proposed itinerary. Nanette produced a small tape recorder, seemingly from nowhere. She stood it on Gary’s desk and pressed RECORD.
“You’re taping this?” Sam asked.
“Tapes all her meetings,” Gary said briskly, as if he regularly attended.
Nanette frowned apologetically.
“A necessary evil for the head of corporate security, I’m afraid.”
Sam had never heard of such a policy. Gary soon wrapped things up.
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Nanette said. “And as long as you’re headed that way, Sam, I have a small assignment. Provided you’re interested.”
She recrossed her legs. The chair creaked like a mattress. She looked quite good, though he wasn’t usually attracted to older women, especially ones in a position to ruin him.
“Sure,” he said, his mouth dry.
