“That seems like an in-your-face way to do things.”
“Mark, I didn’t exaggerate, nor did I engage in random speculation. I printed the simple facts, and that is well within the ethical parameters of the op-ed page.”
Susan stood, obviously frustrated. With a sharp glance his way, she picked up her coffee and went to stand by the open window, resting her shoulder against the wall. “Mark, this is where your lack of journalism experience becomes an issue. A newspaper doesn’t stop investigating a story every time someone gets mad.”
“But if our subscriptions go down, then—”
Pat made a rude noise. “Susan’s right. You can’t fold on this, Mark. Don’t know if there’s a story there, but it’s good to get up some interest. People will talk.”
“Which is what we want.” Out in the foyer, the phone rang yet again and Susan smiled. “When you cover something that’s controversial—”
“Or exciting,” Pat interjected.
“Then the public buys more papers,” Susan finished.
Mark thought it through, then finally nodded. “Okay, we’ll wait it out and see where it goes. But I want a follow-up piece soon. If we leave the editorial hanging, it’ll seem like empty conjecture.”
“You got it.”
Mark peered into the bakery box and selected a warm cinnamon bagel crusted with sugar, then flipped through the stack of notes. “Hmm. The mayor called three times.”
“I’m sure he did,” Susan said. “Whatever’s going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in the thick of it.” She looked out the window and sipped her coffee.
Mark ate his bagel and tried not to stare, but it was difficult. The morning sun streamed over her, warming the threads of gold in her red hair and gleaming off her creamy skin.
She was as smart as she was beautiful, and he was slowly learning to trust her.
Pat wiped her mouth on a napkin, wadded it up, and tossed into the wastepaper basket. “Well, guess I’d better get back to work. I need a good lead-in to an article, and it won’t write itself.”
“I’ll help, if you’d like,” Susan offered.
Pat’s gaze narrowed. “I can write my own articles, thank you very much.”
Susan’s smile grew cool, but it remained in place. “I know you can. Sometimes it just helps to have a fresh pair of eyes look at something.”
“Did you learn that in college?” Pat said stiffly. “I don’t know why anyone would bother to get a worthless degree. You can’t learn how to do this stuff except through practice.”
“That’s not true, Pat,” Susan said calmly. “While you’re an effective and efficient reporter, formal education is an important part of becoming a better manager.”
That was a good point. Mark watched Pat to see how she’d respond.
“I don’t need no college degree. Don’t want one, neither.” Pat scowled. “You gonna fire me?”
“No! I’d hate to see you go; you add a lot to the paper. People know you and trust you. That’s important.”
Mark quietly added, “Of course, if you feel you must resign your post, we’d all understand. I’m certain Deloris Fishbine would take your job in a New York minute.”
Pat started. “Deloris Fishbine is the city librarian!”
“She’s told me many times she’d be more than happy to work part-time and fill your slot.”
Pat’s lips thinned. “Are you saying a part-timer person could do my job?”
“Nope. I’m saying that if you resigned, that’s who and what we’d replace you with.”
Pat glared at him, and he was sure she was mentally slaying him in ways that left his body unrecognizable.
Susan took a bagel from the box. “Pat, don’t even talk about leaving. I need you. I’m still learning my way around. Heck, how many times a day do I ask you where to find this or how to do that?”
Pat looked slightly mollified. “Plenty.”
“Exactly.” Susan slid the pastry box toward Pat. “I’ll beg if I have to.”
Pat took another bagel. “I never said anything about leaving.”
“Good, because I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Pat sniffed, but it was obvious the words had touched her.
Susan added, “It would take a dozen Deloris Fishbines to replace you—not to say anything against Deloris, bless her heart.”
Pat looked embarrassed and stood, awkwardly holding her bagel. “I guess I’d better go and get some work done.” She gave a jerky nod and left, shutting the door behind her.
Mark leaned back in his chair. “Miss Collins, I begin to think I underestimated you.”
Susan grinned over her coffee. “Thank you … I think.”
“It’s not a compliment if it’s the truth. Though I might not agree with all of your methods, I have to admit that you always seem to accomplish what you set out to do.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Treymayne. I am overcome.” Susan sipped her coffee, and he couldn’t help but notice how elegant and delicate her throat was. He’d love to nibble down it to her collarbone, and then down to those round—
Susan reached across the table for the phone messages. “Shall I make a few phone calls?”
“Be my guest.”
“I can’t promise no one will cancel their subscription, but I can try.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “So … what’s on your agenda besides convincing all of our unhappy customers that we’re not doing the devil’s work here at The Glory Examiner?”
Susan sent him a glance from under her lashes, and decided that all men should wear glasses. They accentuated the square line of his jaw and framed his amazing eyes … she had to hide a shiver.
She realized he was still looking at her for an answer to his question. What had he asked? Oh yes. “I’m going to schedule an interview with the head of the animal shelter to discuss budget cuts, so I have to prep for that.”
“How so?”
“You have to do your research before an interview or you won’t know what questions to ask. I have a copy of the mayor’s proposed budget cuts, and some statements from his office as to why he doesn’t feel the shelter is that important. I also have a copy of the shelter’s annual request. Using these, I should be able to collect some good quotes and fill in a few holes in the article about why the cut is going to be so hard on the shelter.” She finished her coffee and dropped the cup into the bin. “After I do the interview and make some of these calls, I’m going to do my best to land an interview with at least one member of the Bake-Off committee to tell their side of things.”
“Do you think anyone will?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to try and keep trying.”
Mark slanted a look at Susan. “I look forward to watching you interview someone.”
“Thanks.” His eyes are so blue. I could drown in eyes like that. And for a man to have such thick lashes—
“I suppose at some point we’ll be attending the infamous Bake-Off?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder if people will be shooting at us from behind the pound cake table?”
“If we’re any good, they should be.”
He laughed, and she grinned. There were all sorts of things she’d like to teach him, other than reporting. Hmm. Why not start now? For the last few weeks, since Mark had explained how dire the situation really was, she’d focused all of her energy on stabilizing the newspaper on her own terms, and not Mark’s. Her noble intentions had gotten in the way of her first inclination after their passionate kiss in her office, which was to pursue it further. Much further.
That kiss seemed so long ago, yet she still felt the same stirring of … was it simple interest? Or something stronger? Whatever it was, it made her tingle from head to toe every time he was near. Even now, just seeing him sitting at the conference table, his tie slightly askance, his dark hair falling over his brow, his blue eyes framed by his impossibly s
exy glasses, she was assailed with the desire to trace her lips down his strong jaw to his deliciously masculine mouth.
A trill of excitement washed through her, and she put down her coffee cup and sauntered to the table. She perched on it, then leaned on one hand and smiled into his eyes. “So what about you, Treymayne? What sort of things can you teach me?”
For one startled second he just stared at her, his brows lifted in surprise. She almost expected him to pull away, but then his gaze flickered over her, lingering on her lips, her neck, her breasts …
Which were at eye level. The thought both alarmed and excited her. She’d meant to be seductive, but not brazen.
His gaze remained on her breasts, and her nipples hardened and peaked. Susan’s face heated. What in the hell was I thinking?
She turned to slide off the table when his large, warm hand wrapped about her wrist and held her in place.
Susan’s breath caught as Mark, his gaze locked with hers, slowly leaned forward. Bold as rain, he placed his warm mouth over one of her nipples. Through her thin shirt he laved the peak, and she gasped as a million sensations raced through her.
She arched against his mouth and sank a hand into his thick dark hair, her entire body quivering with a roaring dose of need.
His hands snaked up to her waist and he stood, sliding her across the table toward him—
Whap! A folder slid into a coffee cup and knocked it over, splattering coffee everywhere—the folders, Mark’s arm, and across her shirt.
“Damn it!” He released her and began to save his folders, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
Embarrassed, Susan jumped off the table and fetched the bakery napkins. “I’ll wipe up the desk. Are the folders ruined?”
He held the dripping folders over the trash can and carefully opened one and then the other. “The outsides are all that’s really wet. There’s a stained edge here and there, but otherwise, everything’s fine.” His gaze flickered over her. “Looks like you caught the worst of it.”
She had, in more ways than one. Here she was, trying to be seductive, and instead she’d completely ruined the moment. Gone was the heat, the animal attraction, the sensuous promise. He must think she was the world’s biggest dork. She did.
To cover her embarrassment, she shrugged. “I’m fine. A fresh shirt and I’ll be good as new.” She tossed the wet napkins into the trash can and went to the door to escape. “I’d better get to work—”
“Collins?”
She paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Yes?” Was he going to ask her back in to finish their little flirtation? Or was he as embarrassed as she was? She was achingly aware of her wet T-shirt as it cooled over her left nipple.
He held up the bakery box. “Do you want the last bagel?”
Susan blinked. “Ah. No.”
His face was as red as Superman’s cape, and she realized that he was attempting to smooth the moment. “Then I’ll take it up front to Ray. It was nice of you to bring these today.”
It was sweet of him to try and make the moment easier, but part of her wished he’d been less able to coolly reason and more swept away.
Her heart was pounding, her knees quivering, while a low ache between her legs robbed her of all ability to think. Meanwhile, except for his high color, Mark looked remarkably collected. She doubted that his heart was still thundering in his ears.
“I— It was no problem.” God, did she have to stutter?
Suddenly she had to get away, to the safety of her own office. “I’d better go and—” She turned and left.
Chapter 8
Dear Bob,
There’s this guy at work and every time I see him, I wonder how he’d look without his shirt. I suspect he’d make a great model, but he doesn’t wear the best clothes, so I’m not sure. All I know is I’ve got to see him without his shirt SOON.
Is this normal or should I get counseling? I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about him.
Signed,
Confused and Curious
Dear C and C,
Honesty is the best policy. So just ask him to take his shirt off—tell him you think he’d look good. Most men take a compliment pretty well.
If he says yes, then you’re off the hook. If he says no, pretend you were kidding.
There’s a time for honesty and a time for not-so honesty.
Sincerely,
Bob
The Glory Examiner
July 24, section B2
Susan turned off her computer, leaned back in her chair, and rubbed her face with both hands. Though she’d tried her best, she still hadn’t been able to gain an interview with a single member of the Bake-Off committee. But she had found the church’s records online, including their budget and committee members for the last ten years. Perhaps she could get one of the past members to talk to her. It was a long shot, but it was all she had right now.
She picked up the folders and turned to put them into a drawer, when she caught the glow of the parking lot lamp. Startled, she glanced at her Lois Lane wall clock and blinked. It was almost eight. Now that she thought about it, she had a vague recollection of Pat stopping by to say something—had it been good-bye? She’d been so caught up in her work that she couldn’t remember.
It had been a productive day and she’d been absorbed by it. It was all about the story—how to find it, what facts were obscured when you first observed it, how to track down all of the details that might or might not change your perception. It fascinated her. It was like fishing, and she was just starting to find the shortcuts and tips, and learning where all of the good “fishing” holes were.
She pushed back her chair and stretched her legs. Dad would be waiting— She grimaced. No, he wouldn’t. He would be at the Bigger Jigger, probably on his eighth or ninth beer, too far gone to even notice if she came home or not.
She moved out from behind her desk and had just reached for her purse hanging on a hook by the door when a tall figure appeared in her office doorway. She gasped and jumped back.
Mark blinked, looking vaguely surprised. “Sorry. Did I scare you?”
Susan pressed a hand to where her thundering heart pounded against her breastbone. “Yes, you scared me! I thought I was alone up here.”
He offered a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling adorably. “You were. I just came back to get a report I’d left on my desk.”
She realized that he wasn’t dressed in his usual preppy style, all button-down shirts and loafers. Instead, he was wearing comfortable, well-worn jeans that clung to his ass and made her mouth go dry. His hair was damp from a recent shower, judging by the smell of shampoo that tickled her nose, and he had a hint of a five o’clock shadow. After work, Mr. Uptight and Right apparently transformed into Mr. Incredibly Sexy.
He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, a newspaper dangling from his hand. “You’re working late tonight.”
She rubbed her stiff neck. “I found some online records for the church.”
His gaze sharpened. “Anything good?”
“I have lists of past committee members, so I’ll start calling them and getting a sense of their history. I also have the budgets for the last ten years, though I haven’t had time to go through them.”
His eyes gleamed. “That’s some good stuff.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t know what it was, the lateness of the hour, or that the entire building seemed dark except for the golden glow of her lamp, or if she was just more tired than she realized—but she suddenly felt … connected to Mark. As if they were unexpectedly in sync in some way.
Or were they? After their last embrace on the conference room table, she’d felt as if she’d been more engaged than he.
Easy, she cautioned herself. Your libido is just out of whack. It’s one thing to go for a guy who goes for you, another thing altogether to go after one who doesn’t. She cleared her throat. “So, did you find your file?”
His gaze seemed locked
on her mouth and he slowly shook his head. “I haven’t looked for it yet.”
She nervously licked her lips.
His gaze flickered at her movement, and he shifted toward her.
Susan’s heart fluttered as a shiver traveled over her. “I … I guess we’d better find it.”
“Find what?”
“Your missing folder.”
“Susan?” His voice was deeper, lower.
“Yes?” In her imagination, she stepped into his arms as he swooped her against him, his hands warm and seeking once again. She wanted another kiss. No, she needed another kiss.
He shook his head as if clearing it, then said in a husky voice, “Let me get that folder and I’ll walk you down to your Jeep.” He turned and entered his office. Flipping on the light, he found a folder neatly placed in a mesh basket on the corner of his desk. He scooped it up and tucked it under his copy of the day’s Examiner. “Ready to go?”
Susan nodded, and as they made their way to the elevator, she eyed the muscular arms that showed to such advantage in his T-shirt. If she had arms that good, she’d wear tank tops every day.
The elevator door closed and the silence seemed to grow. Mark punched the lobby button a second time. “This is the slowest elevator.”
Though she was feeling the same way, it sort of pinched that he seemed so ill at ease.
He shifted from one foot to the other, and she watched him in the polished surface of the elevator door.
He punched at the button again, his movements irritating her further. You think you’re the only one who wants to get away from this awkward situation?
His gaze met hers in the polished door and he grinned. “That won’t make it any faster, will it?”
“Nope.” Susan turned back toward the door and watched him greedily, fascinated at the complex expressions that flickered across his face. Honestly, the man should have been a model. With such a great jawline and those piercing eyes—
His gaze lifted and met hers just as the elevator shuddered once … twice … and then jerked to a halt.
Mark frowned and punched the button again. “It’s stuck.”