DrillingDownDeep by Angela Claire Read Free Book Online Page B

figured his employer, his real employer, would get a kick out
of.
    As for himself, he had nothing against Reynolds Industries
one way or the other.
    His hates went deeper than that and were much, much older…
    * * * * *
    “Mr. Reynolds, your office is calling for you. Skyping I mean.
You can take it right in here.”
    When Michael sat at the desk in the windowless room
cluttered with papers and stared at a computer screen much smaller and less
sharp than he was used to, his father barked at him, “What the hell are you
doing there?”
    Nice to see you too, Father.
    “I’m getting a tour of one of Transcoastal’s deep-sea oil
rigs. The Treasure Driller .”
    “What the hell for? We got more due diligence on that
transaction than we’ve had on the past five acquisitions combined.”
    “I wanted to see a rig for myself. I couldn’t get out on one
before the deal for scheduling reasons, but I promised myself I’d do it as soon
as I could once we closed. So here I am.”
    His father harrumphed and abruptly changed the subject. “You
hear from your sister?”
    “Why would I hear from Samantha? She’s on her honeymoon.”
    “They have phones in Tahiti. You’d think she’d call once or
twice.”
    “What do you want, Dad?”
    The sigh on the other end was so uncharacteristic of Damien
Reynolds that Michael said, “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I’m just…”
    “What?”
    “Too old to get married, I guess.”
    Amen to that. After his father’s sixth or so attempt at the
altar, he’d stopped trying to replace Michael’s long-dead mother.
    “You’ll get no argument from me there. Why? Has some lucky
girl suddenly taken it into her head that she’s in the running?”
    “No. It’s not that. Are you coming back to Houston this
evening?”
    He hesitated. “No,” he settled on. “I’ve decided to spend
some more time here. At least one night.”
    After a few more items of business, he and his father signed
off.
    Mick O’Malley was waiting right outside the door when he
opened it. Too bad. He was sort of hoping Miss Donald would have returned. She
had given him a tour of the mechanics of the rig with brisk efficiency, hard
hat firmly on. He found it surprising that a woman only in her mid-twenties or
so he’d guess would know so much about an oil rig. He remembered O’Malley’s
comment up on deck.
    “Where to now, Mr. Reynolds?”
    “Actually, I’d like something to eat, if you don’t mind.”
    “Don’t mind at all. Lunch’s already wrapped up and it’s too
early for dinner, but I think I can scare something up from the galley for the
CEO.”
    Michael looked at his watch in surprise. It was early
evening.
    Reading the look, O’Malley explained, “Remember about that
shift thing. Twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Our times are all out of whack
because of that.”
    When they got to what was apparently the cafeteria, the
tables were all empty. “I’ll be right back.”
    Mick disappeared behind a swinging door.
    “You shouldn’t wander around on your own. It could be
dangerous.”
    At the sound of Miss Donald’s reproving voice, he swung
around with a smile to see her in the same jumpsuit, but without the hard hat.
    He glanced around conspicuously at the Formica tables with
the bottles of ketchup and napkin stands. “It looks about as dangerous as a
local diner.”
    “Clearly, the diners you go to aren’t in the kind of
neighborhood I grew up in or you wouldn’t be so dismissive.”
    He laughed. “You got me there, I guess. So where did you
grow up?”
    Before she could answer, Mick came back with two plates of
food. “Hope this measures up, Mr. Reynolds. Oh hi there, Vanny. Going to join
us?”
    “No, I was just looking around for you. I thought Mr.
Reynolds was still busy talking to his office.”
    Michael took one of the plates, a surprisingly aromatic slab
of what looked like steak and potatoes.
    “Food’s the best part of life on a rig,” Mick said, ushering
him to a table and