Harry's Protégé Ch. 02

Harry O'Hern's alarm went at 7:00. In recent weeks as part of his return to normal life he'd resumed jogging each weekday morning.

Fifteen minutes later he set off, a lone figure but no longer 'lost' as thought of Teresa and the gap that had left in his life had slipped into the background. He'd received a call from Sierra's mother the previous evening saying her daughter had arrived home two days ago and was ready to return to work; she'd be in her office in the morning.

The Sentinel was a morning newspaper, with most of the editorial staff working from 2:00 p.m. but some started as early as 7:00 am. Harry was entitled to work whatever hours he wished although always being on call - that being stated in his employment contact he drafted and accepted by the board executive chairman Duncan Bycroft who regarded the young man with huge respect who also was a potential helping hand in the reform of his wayward daughter Sierra.

Harry decided he'd normally work from 10:00 to 7:00, Mondays to Fridays. Sierra as deputy executive editor, and Frank Ryan as Harry's replacement as city editor, had to arrange how they'd share the weekend days as one of them had to be in charge on those weekend days, taking two mid-week days off in compensation.

Ah Sierra, thought Harry, stopping midway in his run to tighten his laces of new generation running shoes that delighted him because the so-called 'inbuilt technology' really seemed to work.

Sierra was his age with an older brother Guy, an attorney, who sat on the board of the publishing company but it was Sierra who'd eventually assume the tiller of the family newspaper and printing company.

Harry's promotion over her had been a board decision, a wake-up call to rein her in from acting more like a misbehaving and promiscuous pop star than a mature business woman facing huge responsibilities.

Sharing a half bottle of whisky, after Harry had thanked Duncan for standing behind him in the sequel to Teresa's fateful ride, Duncan revealed: "I voted against Sierra filling the vacancy I gave to you."

Harry, who's assumed Duncan had voted for his daughter during the board's split decision, choked "What!" in disbelief.

"Christ, don't tell her and certainly not her mother; Margo will behead me."

"Why do you do it?"

"Because she's a playgirl, in need of having her ass kicked. I told the board this before I took the vote."

Harry swallowed, nervous about the way this conversation was going.

"I know you are ruthless, but didn't think you'd go that far."

"What charming compliments Harry Here, let me pour you another one," the chairman grinned. "You know, if you were to marry Sierra, my problem with her would be over, this company would be in good hands."

"What?"

Duncan looked at him slyly.

"Don't say you haven't thought about giving her a bang - she's got a great body with everything in the right place and I am led to believe, loves doing it."

"What?"

"Harry your inability to respond intelligently to me here is a little tiresome. You usually do better than this."

"Duncan I'm going home and you should leave too as you've had a lot to drink."

"True, but I haven't lost it. If you marry her Harry you won't regret it and she won't either, in my opinion. I've looked around and you're the only man I feel has a chance - how did that Shakespeare thing go? Oh yeah, the taming the shrew. Achieve that and she'll be ever so grateful to you."

"Sorry, Duncan, you've stuffed up any chance of that happening - she'd going to hate me forever being promoted into the position she believes is hers. She won't allow my dick anywhere near her."

"Ah, the whisky talking at last; and I'm glad to find you have a crude side to you young man to go with those conservative, talented and tough sides. Don't you see - I've given her the challenge to grind you out of that job, but before doing that she'll have to know everything about you - why you are better in newspaper management than she is."

"How do I know this? It's because she and I attended a very aggressive seminar a few months ago charmingly entitled, 'Clawing Your Way to the Top'. When Sierra returns home and moans to me about not getting the top job I'll remind her of Anis Schwartz's seminar."

Stretching, Harry pushed back those thoughts, looked at the dawn sunlight dancing on the harbor waters and continued on with his waterfront run.

Harry was four miles into his one-way six-mile jog, still feeling the effort as he was not back to peak fitness, when the throaty sound of an all-engine-and-money sports car pulled in alongside him.

"Hello handsome, nice ass."

Sierra! He'd know the honeyed voice anywhere.

He looked at her.

She was in white, classy sunglasses, hair looking terrible, an arm hanging over the door that seemed to project her breasts well. Yes, he could be into her in a flash - move over babe and take this.

He was fully primed, in fact having been in that status for several weeks. But talk to Sierra like that and bang, she'd likely jump from her vehicle to land a punch on his mouth or kick him in the nuts.

"Good morning Sierra. I trust you coped with your sick leave?"

Well, that was hot Sierra turned off, shriveled sexually because of that really dumb greeting. He could have kicked himself.

"Oh baby that's a pleasant greeting after I treated you like crap over that stupid appointment outburst. You were the best guy for the position and I simply have to accept that. By the way, I was sorry your girlfriend bought it in that accident. She appeared to be a nice kid."

"Thanks."

Sierra allowed a little pause and then said in a rather husky voice. "I thought perhaps we could go out to a club tonight and I could find some way to apologize that may unfreeze your cold heart, you still look pissed off with me."

Without thinking Harry said sorry but he'd be working on monthly figures.

He groaned silently, thinking how stupid - a late night out with Miss Big Boobs could have been rather interesting, not that he'd ever stick her, honestly. He knew he could have done those reports tomorrow.

She stopped the car and he stopped, panting.

"Are you panting for me...I mean for my benefit? Oh hell, what do I mean?"

Harry hadn't a clue. Sierra wasn't normally into conversing like this, sounding rather like a bored shop girl at the perfume counter. He decided it best to say nothing.

"Come on Harry - say something. You never know what it'll get you."

"There's a diner up ahead. I'll meet you inside for a cup of coffee, but I'll just have juice."

"What do you intend doing to me in the diner Harry?"

"N-nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Then I won't be wasting my time, Harry. I'll call at your apartment tonight at 9:00. It's in my interest to learn about monthly figures. It was supposed to have been my responsibility as deputy editor-in-chief but Maurice always did the report for me. I'll bring a bottle of something okay?"

"Of what?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I'm right out of fizzing up mixes with dope and it's a bit too early in our new relationship for an aphrodisiac mix, so it will have to be wine. You do drink wine? I really know nothing about you boss."

"Yes, I drink wine but hey, I'm really not your kind of guy so why don't we have a session on monthly figures at the office Monday afternoon, say around 4:00?"

Sierra sucked her bottom lip, looking at Harry.

"I'll leave that challenging remark about you not being my kind of guy for the moment. I'll see you at 9:00."

Harry decided he was being treated like a piece of meat. Sierra was out to jump him, and that wasn't right. Blatant sex could only lead to mechanical sex. He'd prefer her to woo him with tender comments dressed up with a little sexiness - fluttering eyelids, playing with her shoulder straps and crossing her legs. That sort of thing was what men want.

She needed to work up to it slowly until they both were practically panting and it might take days if not weeks before they reached the same and inevitable conclusion: that the moment was ripe for sexual consummation. They would then have something to look back on fondly and he'd like that because she was a real trophy; but only sexually.

Sierra leaned forward a little pulling at the shoulder strap of her sundress - the dress front gaped and he saw she was bra-less. What he could see of her breasts was they looked firm and...he felt a little stirring of interest. The damn woman was seducing him. He had to anger her: "What's wrong with your hair; it looks awful?"

"Oh," she said airily, running fingers through it. "I've just come from the pool. While I was away I thought I ought to do something about my fitness. I'm not humping much these days so haven't been getting much exercise apart from some social tennis. I did ten lengths but was too drained to swim more. Do you run much?"

"Every weekday morning, rain, hail or shine."

"You are prepared to get wet?"

"Yes, and frozen and heated like a tomato - it goes with all-year activity of pavement pounding."

Sierra sucked her bottom lip again.

"I suppose with your recent loss, you haven't been doing a lot of...um...you know?"

The insensitive bitch, Harry fumed. Fancy referring to his sex life or lack of it as if it were a public conversation topic.

"I'm off, another couple of miles to go."

"Look Harry, may I join you tomorrow? I imagine I could keep up with you for a while. Then each day I expect I'll do a little better and eventually I'll be running you into the ground."

"Oh yeah," Harry scoffed.

"I take that's a yes?"

"All right. 5:15 outside my apartment."

"In that case I better bring my over-night things and stay tonight," Sierra said, gunning her motor into a throaty roar, drowning Harry's bleated "No" as she disappeared almost as a red blur, smoking rubber in her wake.

The woman's incorrigible, he thought; she can't have changed that much in six weeks. Before she left for Europe she was mean-spirited though smiling - the smile that moviemakers identifying with assassins. In the past her verbal engagements with him inevitably sounded sullen unless the chance to get one over him before other staff including Maurice, the now retired executive editor pulled her out of boredom.

Harry couldn't understand her attitude until in the bar one evening the chief of staff, as he was then before his promotion, seemed to have the problem trussed up. They were having a quiet beer when Frank asked: "Why does Sierra despise you and not bother to hide it?"

"It's a jealousy thing - over the years I've received the glory and she's experienced virtually no accolades," Harry had said immodestly but he was talking to Frank, a real buddy.

"A glib answer mate," Frank said, draining his glass and picking up his attaché case. "The three of us started in the newsroom within the same month and although you were the one winning awards we all received the promotions and she edged ahead of you into that deputy editor-in-chief position purely because it was her destiny. Good night."

"The truth is, Frank, I don't know."

Frank looked disbelieving until he read the bewilderment, so advised Harry if he didn't know he should use his investigatory skills to find out why she treated him like dirt.

Harry sat staring at his empty glass for twenty minutes before leaving, for the first time attempting to analyze what it was it with Sierra. Little was dredged up so next afternoon he acted. After the early afternoon news conference Sierra was chairing, Harry asked her to stay behind. As soon as the room cleared she looked at him neutrally and asked, "Well?"

Mean spirited bitch, he'd thought, but walking close to her and looking into almost violet eyes surrounded by waves of coal-black hair he said calmly, knowing he wasn't afraid of her: "Like to eat out with me after work tonight or tomorrow night?"

Thinking back, Harry recalled a glimpse of momentary surprise, then the long enhanced eyelids closed and when the blink ended those eyes reflected derision.

"What with you? Get a life Harry - now let me get on with my work."

He'd grinned, mumbling that she didn't know what she'd be missing (Teresa was away at a law conference with her father) but he really had meant forgoing his charming company over dinner.

"Never have you attempted to get between my legs Harry, so why now? You've never liked me and now Miss Goodie McGill has you destined for the altar. Piss off Harry."

Almost blinded with rage at her audacity, Harry had stalked out, managing not to collide with the door-frame and had gone into his adjoining office, taking care not to slam the door; why give her more reason to gloat. He sat looking out the window fuming until realizing she'd given him the answer he really wanted: She really was jealous of him.

That incident occurred had almost eighteen months ago. His mind went back to his starting day at The Sentinel, a new recruit with a bachelor's degree in media studies and a year's experience working on a weekly sports newspaper.

The Sentinel's chief of staff had given him a choice of three vacant work stations - one shared with a sweaty-faced fat guy, another had both positions vacant and the third would be shared with a young woman with a great pair but what caught Harry's eye was her hair - the blackest hair he could recall ever seeing and cascading down in waves. The boobs might be implants but the hair color real - it was too shiny to be dyed, he reckoned.

"Uh-ha - bad choice. She's the chairman's daughter who arrived three weeks ago with a master's in business management and a diploma in journalism. She resents being stuck here in the trenches with journalists who either nurse hangovers or egos or both. I shouldn't be telling you this but her nickname is Iron Ass; don't go near her."

"Thanks Roy, the desk beside her will be fine. Give me a great introduction and what you just said about her is safe with me - okay?"

Miss Iron Ass had greeted Harry reasonably politely, looking pointedly at the twin workstations that were vacant. Then as soon as Roy left she hissed, "I hope you shower every day and use deodorants."

Harry recalled blurting out a yes and then being overcome with shyness, never having had a woman show so much instant aggression at him, apart from his mum when she pounced on him for some rubbishy misdemeanor.

Harry did his best but couldn't melt that iron ass, figuratively speaking. She spent most of her time walking away from her desk and leaving behind her cell phone. While all his calls were business calls, most of her calls were social calls, and he answered many of them - from breathless sounding people with names like Chip, Sandy, Spike, Brent and Augustine for God's sake.

But often she struggled with her writing, calling on him to assist. Their computers were also networked locally so he'd simply open a screen copy of what she was working on; she'd suggested doing that the first time and said nastily, "This computer networking is great as it means you don't have to breathe over me".

The rude bitch but she actually faked generous thanks when Harry solved her problems to her satisfaction.

Three days after Harry started there was something of a commotion at the chief-of-staff's desk and everyone was jumping up, bowing and scrapping.

The visitors were Sierra's parents - well, Harry supposed it was her mother as he recognized her father, the company chairman, as his photo was in the foyer.

The chairman came down, kissed Sierra and looked at Harry. She merely said "This is Harry" and Harry recalled saying, "Hi, Mr Bycroft" without moving.

The chairman didn't seem to mind there was no bowing or scraping from Harry but he looked pleased when Harry jumped up as Mrs Bycroft approached Sierra.

"Oh darling," said the quite attractive and heavily perfumed woman who kissed the air with little smacks just in front of her daughter's lips.

"I'm so upset that you've started in this glorified dungeon instead of your own executive office but daddy says this is how it has to be."

"That's okay, mummy. It's how I want it to be."

That surprised Harry, virtually the first sensible thing he'd heard from Iron Ass.

Mummy, who Harry now recalled seeing in a photograph, was now running her eyes over him and Iron Ass delivered a slightly more expansive introduction: "This is my work buddy Harry - he's been ever so useful helping me with my work. He's very good."

"Good morning Mrs Bycroft," Harry oozed, thinking she looked better in flesh than in that photograph in the company profile book. She was holding a dog the caption called a small breed dog. Harry smiled, "I trust your Jack Russell is well?"

She looked startled but then merely smiled with a tiny nod.

Then it was Harry's turn to be startled. Mr Bycroft said to his wife: "Harry is the son of our financial adviser Harry O'Hern, senior; the guy who makes all that money for us."

Mummy regarded Harry with unconcealed respect. She looked at her daughter and then at Harry again as if attempting a mix-and-match in her mind.

"Don't mummy," Harry heard Sierra whisper and they both giggled while daddy continued embarrassing Harry.

"Harry here received the trophy at the awards this winter for Rookie of the Year in sports journalism so that's why we head-hunted him and still took him when he insisted on branching into general news journalism."

How the big chief knew that Harry had no idea, but he accepted that people in top places knew it was their business to know such things; the chairman probably had said to the chief-of-staff, "Who's that handsome, brilliant young man sitting next to my empty-headed daughter?" or words to that effect.

Harry thought back on some of the more interesting times with Sierra; there were a few. Occasionally they were paired on assignments, once out-of-town for two nights in adjoining rooms with a connecting door that she said there was no need to lock.

Sierra dined with friends, arrived back at the hotel well after midnight and Harry awoke to find her kissing his right nipple. They kissed; her hand found his rising dick and his blood bubbled.

Then she sighed, "I can't go through with this" and disappeared into her own room.

"Bitch," he'd snarled, loud enough to reach her retreating ears.

She partly redeemed herself the following morning by wandering in bring coffee for him and being absolutely starkers, which allowed Harry to study her body in great depth. She seemed flattered that he wanted to stare although not saying so, the meanie.

But never did they advance much beyond that. She gave him no encouragement and he deduced it wasn't sensible to push an iron ass woman. Actually that ass really was something to watch when being walked. In fact she occasionally wore tight silk and virtually the entire newsroom of some eighty men and women would follow the walk.

Five years went by and his relationship with Sierra seemed to frost even more from the time she saw Harry with Teresa who was clutching him in that possessive way of hers. Sierra never did acknowledge the existence of Teresa except by attending the funeral with her parents.

Sierra seemed to be paired with Harry in seniority promotions that promised eventual elevation into executive chairs. He kept winning the occasional award and finally Sierra scooped one

Harry recalled that evening walking off to relieve his bladder after Sierra had been up to receive her trophy.

She jumped him outside the door to the men's room, kissing him full on the mouth and pressing into him until her breasts were squashing sideways under his armpits. That was his reward for re-writing her story for her. He hadn't had to chase up a single fact as technically Sierra was an excellent reporter. Her problem was not seeing the big picture and recording it with writing talent.