A Deeper Dimension

Chapter One

Long legs slid out and down and a gracefully slim body moved lithely after as the raven-haired young woman left her parked car. The construction worker watched her walk into the large, steel-constructed building, his face alight with interested amusement. He’d seen some tall girls in his day, and some good-looking girls too. But it was a fine, rare day when he saw a tall girl in which both qualities were combined to produce such a graceful beauty. As she moved through the glass doors to disappear into the building, he sighed with disappointment.

Diana had kept her face impassive throughout this perusal even while a bubble of laughter danced around in her stomach. The look on the man’s face had been expressive, and she had always enjoyed men’s reaction to her height and looks. She remembered a trip she had made to Italy, just after her senior year in college and before she started graduate school. It had been a cycling trip with a group of students, and Diana had towered a full head over the smaller Italians, creating a mild disturbance wherever she went.

Her swift pace now carried her quickly to the elevator and, after punching the button with the arrow pointing up, she allowed her gaze to travel calmly over the busy ground floor of Mason Steel. Several times people averted their eyes from hers or suddenly started animated conversations until her gaze slid past. One corner of her mouth quirked briefly. News travelled fast in a place like this, of that she was sure. That she was the current topic of discussion, she also had no doubt. By now everyone had heard of the—what would be the word?—new hot-shot from graduate school that Owen Bradshaw, the Personnel Manager, had hired for the administration department, to be personal assistant to the Big Man himself. That the executive assistant was to be a woman had probably heightened enthusiasm as the news flashed through the offices, for although more women than ever before now graduated with their Master’s degree in Business Administration, their numbers were still relatively few and malicious opposition was considerable. The elevator doors slid open and the elevator operator gave a start as Diana, preoccupied with her thoughts, made a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. She looked down at him as she walked into the cubicle and grinned. The poor man looked uncertain as to whether he should grin back. “Top floor, please,” she stated crisply, halfway regretting her smile.

The boy’s features broke into a smile, however, and he gave a delighted exclamation. “Hey! You that new hot-shot from grad school that everybody’s talkin’ about?”

She mentally rolled her eyes and congratulated herself on her excellent guess of words. “Now,” she said aloud, “how did you know that?”

He punched a button and the doors closed. “’Cause they ain’t expectin’ anyone else at the top,” he stated knowledgeably. Diana’s eyebrows rose as he continued, “Everybody round here calls Mr. Mason’s floor the ‘top’, ’cause that’s where all the hot-shots are—no offence.” His lively eyes danced at her.

While Diana tried to suppress her smile, she couldn’t keep her eyes from dancing back at him, making him grin in appreciation. Her large eyes were a vivid golden honey heavily rimmed with long lashes and her eyebrows were arched on a high forehead. Her cheekbones were high and prominent and her nose long and thin. It was a strong face, yet with a refinement around the nostrils, and the curve of her mouth was undeniably feminine. Things, the young man thought to himself as he gazed around in satisfaction, were going to get interesting!

Diana was thinking the same thing, but her perusal was more grim. She fully realised that for the next few months she was going to be under surveillance. Every wrong move and mistake would be noted, and any indecision watched. A high-power organisation could not afford to have incompetents in charge and the ones who did not meet standards would be brushed aside, like so many flies, to make room for those who could.

Diana’s quick brain and effortless grasp of difficult concepts had put her ahead early in school, and she had excelled in her graduate work in Business Administration, but now the real test had come. She had to sink or swim and she knew it. She looked back on all of the lean years behind her: all those years of barely squeezing by, desperately scraping enough money together to meet school fees, eating omelettes for dinner because she’d been too poor to buy anything else, hating to throw away a pair of old jeans because she would have to replace them somehow. She looked back, and that stubborn core of determination that hadn’t let her stop and settle for something else, something easier, hardened one more time inside. She would damn well swim, or die trying!

The elevator stopped; the doors opened silently. Diana looked down the gleaming corridor and nodded. The struggle, she knew, was only beginning. She thanked the elevator boy and stepped out.

As she walked down the empty hallway, she was struck by the realisation that the emptiness was symbolic of her whole life. Every echoing step, sounding hollow in the silence, was like a tribute to the years of her childhood and her school life, her lack of family and her lack of true friends. Shuffled off from foster-home to foster-home, never knowing where she started or where she would end up, she was always alone and trying desperately hard not to show how lonely. This walk was fate’s hand closing the gate to the past, the ending of a finished chapter in a book and the beginning of a new one.

She stood in front of the closed door that had “Alexander Mason” printed in stark gold letters at eye level. She took a deep breath and told herself, “I am capable and confident.” It helped just a little. She put out her hand, grasped the doorknob and stepped in.

The office room that she stepped into was big and comfortable. To her right stood a large desk with a dark-haired woman behind it who appeared to be somewhere in her forties. To her left was a comfortable-looking couch, several plants and two filing cabinets. A door was straight ahead. “That way lies my destiny,” her irreverent sense of humour whispered dramatically. She told it firmly to shut up. The secretary behind the desk had looked up when Diana had come in, and she now came forward with a wide smile.

“You must be Diana Carrington!” the woman exclaimed as they shook hands. “How do you do? I’m Alex Mason’s secretary, Carrie Stevens.”

“Hello, Mrs. Stevens,” replied Diana with a faint smile, noting the ring on the other woman’s left hand.

“Oh dear, if you call me anything but Carrie, I’ll be terribly hurt!” Brown eyes crinkled up in a smile as she looked up at Diana.

“Well,” she said, half laughing, “in that case, you’d better call me Diana.”

“All right, Diana.” There was a warm friendliness about the older woman that Diana was instinctively drawn to. “Alex is on the phone right now, but he’ll be with you in just a few minutes. If you would like to have a seat over there on the couch, I’ll be glad to get you some coffee.”

Diana smiled, this time quite warmly at the smaller woman. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

Carrie moved across the room, her actions quick and efficient. She spoke over her shoulder to Diana as she walked behind her desk to a very small table that was pushed up against the wall, with a coffee machine and cups on it. “We like to keep a coffee-maker here in the office, instead of running to the cafeteria every time we want a cup. It’s so much more economical, a real time-saver. It’s also very nice for when Alex has to work late hours.” Carrie handed her a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee and Diana murmured her thanks.

“Please,” she begged, after taking the cup, “don’t let me keep you from your work.” She settled back and watched the other woman go back to her desk.

It was no good pretending that she wasn’t nervous—she was, terribly so. Alexander Mason had been away on one of his many business trips when Owen Bradshaw had conducted the interviews for the job, so Diana had never even met him. She thought back on all she knew about him. Mason, age somewhere around thirty-six, was an industrial and financial genius. He had somehow got hold of an iron ore company; Diana searched her mind for a name: Johnson’s or Jackson’s—Jackmon, that was it. Jackmon Steel had been foundering in the last throes of a dying business when Alexander Mason had bought it. In two years he had produced a profit from the company, although now it was Mason Steel. In the next three years, he had doubled the profits. Now, nine years later, he had an administration building in New York, steel foundries in Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, and offices in San Francisco. The growth of the business was nothing less than phenomenal. Alexander Mason’s private life was something she could only guess at. Frequently his name appeared in both the financial section and the gossip section in New York newspapers. The man not only worked hard but he played hard too. The papers labelled him as a bit of a playboy and frequently linked his name with those of the female sex. At any rate, Diana had no desire to find out for herself whether he was a playboy or not. She simply didn’t care.

As she had been busy mulling over the intriguing gossip that she had read about Alexander Mason, she was vaguely aware of a buzzer sounding and a murmur of voices. She looked up as Carrie spoke to her. “Alex has completed his call, Diana,” she said in her pleasant voice. “He asked me to let you know that you can go in now,” and she indicated the door to Diana’s left.

“Thank you,” said Diana, wishing she could think of something else to say to her. She deposited her cup in the small waste basket by Carrie’s desk and moved to the door. She schooled her thoughts into severely disciplined channels and smoothed away any expression on her face. Putting her hand on the door handle, she was startled to have it wrenched out of her grip as the door swept open. She was even more startled to find herself looking into the most vivid pair of blue eyes that she had ever seen—and she was looking up! The moment stretched on and she picked up other impressions of chestnut brown hair, an angularly handsome face and a strongly shaped mouth that was beginning to twitch. Her eyes flew to his, but she could see no hint of humour there. She decided she must be imagining it.

The door opened wider and the tall man spoke, “Diana Carrington? Please come in.” He turned and walked away from the door, leaving her to shut it behind her.

Diana watched quietly as he prowled about the office. Her first impression was right about his height; he was a big man, well over six foot, with a broad chest and shoulders that narrowed into trim hips and thighs and long, muscular legs. One of her eyebrows rose ever so faintly as she realised that her perusal was being returned. Other than that, her face had no expression, and she patiently stood waiting. He positioned himself against the front of the desk in a leaning posture and gestured to the chair in front of him. Diana, flicking a glance around her, walked over to the seat and sat down. She crossed her legs deliberately and unhurriedly, made sure she was comfortable, then looked up, surprising a strange look on his face.

He spoke, “By now, I’m sure you’ve realised that I’m Alex Mason.” It was said in a dry voice, tinged with sarcasm. Diana took it to be an introduction and, ignoring the sarcasm, nodded. He went on, “Owen Bradshaw, whom you’ve met and talked to, gave me his notes on your interview and your résumé.” He reached behind him and picked up some papers, then continued, “Diana Carrington, age twenty-six, graduate of Rhydon University in Business Administration—what do you know about steel?” The question was swift and unexpected.

Diana said carefully, “I know a great deal less than you do, Mr. Mason.”

His eyebrows shot down and he growled, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her eyebrows had shot up at his tone and words. She explained, “I know that you saved a company by difficult strategic manoeuvring, and that you doubled profits in three years, and your company is growing by leaps and bounds. This I can understand, analyse and even chart for you if you wish. I can tell you when you decided to do what you did and why. The business side of this company I can understand—it’s what I studied for years. Steel, as I told Mr. Bradshaw, is as foreign a subject to me as what makes a car run.” This last was said with a touch of self-directed mockery.

His mouth twitched, this time she was sure. He chuckled and commented dryly, “At least that old dog hired someone with a sense of humour.” His face became serious and he continued, speaking concisely, “Steel is an alloy, a mixture, if you like, of several different materials, including iron ore, coal and limestone. Measurement has to be exact, as exact as one thousandth of an ounce. By the time you’re fully trained…” at his choice of words, Diana felt a little like a dog sent to training school. “…you’ll know the prices and quantities of the raw materials we need, the most dependable suppliers, the costs of labour and equipment annually, and you’ll be able to project profit estimates for the year ahead. I want you to start these proposals here and tell me your opinion for a counterproposal for a contract to Nelson Ore…”