Patsy shuddered. She was being duped. Duped into marrying exactly whom her father wanted her to marry. Someone Father had chosen because he had money. Someone who didn’t want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him. Even though she couldn’t forget kissing him. That wasn’t enough to want to marry someone. Which she didn’t want.
Within record time, the dishes were done, the women dressed for shopping and they were in the car, with Betty driving them downtown. Patsy was sick to her stomach and couldn’t figure out why Lane would do this. He’d said he didn’t want to get married again, but had that been a lie, too?
Mother was busy talking, telling them the shops they would visit, when Patsy caught sight of the Gazette building. With several rows of paned windows, it was one of the tallest buildings downtown. Lane’s car was in the parking lot next to it.
She bit her tongue to keep from shouting for Betty to stop and let her out. That would never do. Ultimately, she was going to have to do what she did best, sneak away.
Her opportunity arose when Mother instructed Betty to park the car only two blocks away from Lane’s newspaper office. Upon entering Wickerman’s, a store they’d all dreamed of shopping at, Patsy told her mother, “I’m going to find the powder room.”
Not even the displays of shimmering, gorgeous gowns distracted her from finding the back of the store and, eventually, the backdoor that led into an alleyway.
She’d barely taken a step out the door when a hand caught her arm.
“Where are you going?”
Twisting, she was thankful it was Jane. “I’m going to see Lane. I have to.”
Jane released her arm. “Are you trying to ruin everything?”
That was exactly what she was trying not to do. “No. I just need to talk to him about—about the story I’m working on with him.” She pulled the article out of her purse and waved it in front of Jane. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“What if we go to another store?”
She didn’t have this all planned out. “I don’t know. I’ll find you, or take the A-line home.”
Jane huffed out a sigh and reentered the store.
Patsy started down the alley, truly having no idea what she was going to do, other than to find out the truth. After all, that’s what reporters did.
Real reporters.
The overhead sun was warm, and sweat was beading on the nape of her neck by the time she reached the Gazette building. Lane’s car was still in the parking lot, and trepidation bubbled in her stomach as she pushed open the wide glass door.
Having never stepped inside the building before, the noise surprised her, as did the number of people. Behind a tall counter that ran the width of the room were rows and rows of desks. Men and women were seated at each one. Something about the steady click of typewriters and the jangle of telephones echoing off the bronze ceiling tiles overhead was thrilling. She’d imagined this. Somehow, in some way, she’d imagined this was exactly what a newspaper office would be like. Massive filing cabinets lined one wall, and open shelves, stacked high with boxes and piles of papers, lined the other wall. The rows of desks continued to the very back of the room. She could almost see herself sitting at one of those desks one day.
Being a reporter.
That’s how all this had started, but now she wondered if that dream was worth what she was going through right now. If she ended up married to Lane, would he even let her be a reporter? Or would he expect her to stay home, like her mother, like his first wife, Naomi. He’d said it didn’t matter that she didn’t know how to cook, but... She stopped her thought right there. He didn’t want to get married, and she didn’t, either. And he knew she wanted to be a reporter, more than anything.
So why was he doing this?
“Papers are two cents. You can drop the money in the dish.”
Patsy glanced to the right, where a woman had stepped up behind the long counter. Petite, with her black hair cut in a bob and wearing a plaid brown-and-tan dress, the woman looked as if she truly belonged here. The pencil stuck in one ear completed the look.
“They are right there,” the woman said, pointing toward a stack of daily papers on the counter.
Patsy had to shake her head to get her mind back in order. She had to get something else in order, too. She wasn’t Patsy. She was Libby. Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m not here to buy a paper. I’d like to see Mr. Cox, please.”
The woman frowned. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m sure he’ll see me.”
Shaking her head, the woman smiled. “Sorry, Mr. Cox is a busy man. I can’t let you see him without an appointment.”
Scanning the desks, searching to see if Lane sat at one of them, she nodded. “I know how busy he is, but could you just tell him that Patsy is here and needs to talk to him? I know he’ll see me.” She didn’t know that, but had to act as if she did and kept a level gaze on the other woman.
Although she appeared doubtful, the woman said, “Wait here, I’ll go ask him.”
“Thank you.”
The woman walked only a short distance, and then stepped into an opening between two of the large wooden file cabinets lining the one wall. Realizing that had to be the door to Lane’s office, and not totally convinced that he would see her, Patsy shot around the long counter. She arrived at the exact same time the black-haired woman opened the door with Lane’s name painted across it in big white letters.
“Sorry to disturb you, but there is a woman named Patsy here...” The black-haired woman’s words faded as she realized Lane was looking over her shoulder.
Patsy waved at him, and then smiled at the woman as she turned around.
“I told you to wait—”
“It’s all right, Nancy,” Lane said, standing up behind his paper-covered desk. “I’ll see her.”
Patsy held the smile on her face even as the woman frowned.
“Thank you,” she said, skirting around the woman and into Lane’s office.
Lane walked around his desk as the other woman stepped out and closed the door behind her.
The butterflies in her stomach hit with a vengeance at the way he leaned one hip against the corner of his desk. He had a pencil stuck behind one ear, too, and was wearing a pair of glasses that made him look extremely intelligent, besides overly handsome.
Briefly, she imagined just how amazing it would be to work here, with him, every day.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “How did you get here?”
Working with him every day, seeing him every day, would almost be like being his wife.
Oh, dear.
Patsy was brought back to reality as if a bird had just dropped her out of the sky. She wanted to slump against the tall filing cabinet beside her, but Libby wouldn’t do that, so she didn’t, either. Being Libby, she pulled the article she’d written out of her purse. “I brought this over for you to read.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lane crossed his legs at the ankles to keep from walking across the room. His heart had kicked into fourth gear at the sight of her smiling face peeking through his doorway. He truly had no idea seeing her would affect him so strongly, but it had. Wearing a white dress covered with big yellow flowers and carrying a matching yellow purse, she had looked like a burst of sunlight when she’d stepped out from behind Nancy Wells.
This, seeing her every day, was going to be harder than he’d told himself it would be. The emotions he’d kept in check for years weren’t collaborating with him. It was as if he had no control over them anymore. She’d awakened them, and they leaped to life again at the sight of her. Made him remember kissing her. How soft her lips were, how welcoming.
He diverted his gaze long enough to tell himself he wouldn’t react to anything happening inside him, before he asked, “What is it?”
“I rewro
te my article about the dance-offs.”
He had to grin, if only to himself. Right now, she was a mixture of Patsy and Libby. He could tell. She was trying to be Libby, but some of Patsy’s insecurities were showing.
Giving her the opportunity to decide who she wanted to be, he held out his hand. Libby would cross the room without delay. Patsy would bite her lip and think about what she was doing.
She crossed the room and handed it to him.
He was amazed by how well he knew her. Glancing down, he read the first few lines, and grinned at her use of the names Libby and Oliver. Reading farther, he was again impressed by how the article came to life. “This is really good. Really good.” He read all the way to the end, and considered running out the door, shouting “Stop the presses”! He might have if it had been a headline story. This wasn’t. But it was an article that he’d print in tomorrow’s edition, and told her so. “This will be in the society column tomorrow.”
“Why?”
Surprised by her response, he set the article on his desk. “Because it’s that good.”
“Is it, or are you just pretending because you are a viable option?”
Lost by her question, he asked, “A viable option for what?”
“To marry me.” She paced the floor. “You said you didn’t want to get married, yet you complied awfully quick. Why is that?”
“So you could have a real chance to become a reporter.”
“And why would you do that?” She planted both hands on her hips. “When did you know you were someone my father had selected as a possible husband for me?”
Her questioning all fell into place, like bricks stacking up to form a wall.
“If you knew that, why would you agree to this? A fake engagement? Especially after...already being married once.”
He couldn’t blame her for being skeptical. He had been skeptical of her, too, after Victoria had revealed she was one of William’s daughters. He’d thought she was duping him that evening. That her father had put her up to it. Pointing to a picture hanging on the wall, one that had been there for years, he used the same reasoning he’d given himself. “That’s why. That is Naomi, Sarah and me, shortly after Sarah was born. And shortly before they died in the train robbery.”
Prior to the train robbery, he’d only reported on the news, but needing justice for his family, he’d dug in his heels and become an integral part of the investigation. That had changed many things for him. Law enforcement had accepted him as an ally, a source they could trust, and that had changed him as a reporter. He’d no longer just wanted the story, he’d wanted the truth, and printing the truth, no matter what the subject, had bolstered his business.
Oddly, he’d never acknowledged that until this very moment. But it was true. Naomi and Sarah’s deaths had greatly contributed to the success of the Gazette. To his success, and understanding that gave him a knot in his stomach.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Patsy said, standing near the picture. “She was very pretty.”
“Yes, she was, and she was a wonderful person. They both had their entire lives ahead of them.” He didn’t feel the anger he used to when thinking about Naomi’s and Sarah’s deaths, but he still felt the loss. It wasn’t as strong, as overwhelming, but they had been a part of his life, as was losing them. “I swore I’d see Gaynor behind bars for their deaths.”
“You must have been very upset when you heard he’d escaped,” she said solemnly.
“I was mad,” he admitted. “And shocked that it had happened.”
“And now you want to see Burrows arrested because of them.”
He did want to see Burrows arrested, but strangely enough, it wasn’t because of the train robbery. She was more of the reason. That realization didn’t settle well inside him, either.
“I want justice to be served.” Not willing to look into things any deeper inside him than that right now, he continued, “To answer your other question, your father was in to see me a few weeks ago, about advertising, and suggested that he had eligible daughters.” He tried to make that sound less inappropriate than William had at the time. “I told him I wasn’t interested in marriage, and I’m still not, but I am interested in helping you become a reporter.”
“Why?”
He leaned back against his desk, “Because Charles Lloyd gave me the break I needed, and I would like to do that for you.” He didn’t want to sound arrogant, but she did need to know what she was up against. “I know the newspaper business well, including most of the people in it. I told you before that there are very few women reporters, and that could be a hindrance for you, one that others may not look beyond.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “Why are you willing to?”
He picked up the article she’d given him. “Because I’ve read your work. It’s not perfect, but it shows potential. More potential than I’ve seen from a newbie ever before. You could become a reporter, Patsy. A good one. You have the drive and the potential. All you need is the opportunity.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was so driven to give her that chance. The articles the Gazette received from newbies was never-ending, and he could easily choose one of those writers, but he didn’t want to choose someone else. He wanted to help her. She had talent and he wanted to see her succeed, excel.
She plopped down in one of the chairs in front of his desk as if the wind had just left her sails. “But what if I can’t do it, Lane? My sisters. They think this is real, our engagement, and that is giving them hope that things could be different for them.”
“Maybe this can make things different for them,” he said honestly.
She shook her head. “My mother took us shopping this morning, for a wedding dress, and trying to pretend, while knowing it’s all a lie...” She sighed. “I just don’t think I can do it.”
He heard the authenticity in her voice. She may have lived two lives, an isolated heiress by day and an outgoing flapper by night, but she’d been honest in both lives.
Snagged by one thing she’d said, he glanced at his watch. “That had to have been a quick shopping trip. It’s only ten o’clock.”
She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I snuck out of the first store we entered.”
He had to grin at his own thoughts of her being as honest as possible, while continually sneaking out. “You really need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Sneaking out.”
She covered her face with both hands. “I know, but they are going to hate me when they learn the truth. Hate me for ruining everything.”
Last night, after leaving her house, his focus had been on finding out all he could about Burrows, and he had. Trouble was that his informant would only talk if it was tit for tat. In other words, Victoria Lloyd now knew that their engagement was a fraud. Ironically, Victoria had laughed at the idea that Patsy was finding a way to pursue her dreams despite her father’s heavy hand, and had agreed to help them in any way she could. Which had included information on Burrows, and his new distillery business.
He walked over, knelt down in front of Patsy and wrapped his hands around her wrists. “Hey,” he said, pulling her hands away from her face. There it was again, the warmth she instilled inside him. It welled, filling up his chest. He didn’t want to see her hurt, or to see her eyes so full of sadness.
She attempted to pull up a smile, but couldn’t quite muster it. It was so cute. She was so adorable. He glanced away, hoping that would help the feelings inside him. His gaze landed on the picture of him, Naomi and Sarah. How could he be so drawn to her when she was so different from Naomi? Night and day in appearance and personality. He’d planned on spending the rest of his life with Naomi, would still be married if she hadn’t died.
His gaze had returned to Patsy, and the temptation of touching his lips to hers was still there. Stronger than ever despite all h
e knew. All he’d told himself. Maintaining a modicum of control, he only allowed his lips to barely brush the tip of her nose before pulling back.
He would never do that with another woman, especially a potential employee, so why couldn’t he control himself when it came to her? It was as if he was playing with fire. Enticed by it, even while knowing the dangers. “You can do this,” he said, both for her and himself. Then, wondering if that was part of the problem, that he’d wanted this more than her, he added, “Become a reporter, make things different for you and your sisters, but it is up to you. You either want it badly enough to go against all the odds, all the doubts inside you, or you don’t. You are the only one who can make that choice.”
“I do want it, Lane. I want things to be different, but I’m scared that when the truth comes out...” She shrugged and shook her head.
“More scared than sneaking out to visit speakeasies every night?”
“That was different. It was all three of us.”
“You aren’t alone this time, either. I’m with you.”
She grinned and nodded, then frowned. “For now.”
Remembering the envelope he’d put in his pocket this morning, he pulled it out and handed it to her. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Your first payment. For the article about Raymond’s party. You’ll have another one once I’ve edited the article you just gave me. It’s not much, not enough to live on, but it’s a start.”
A shine entered her eyes. “I’ve never earned any money before.”
“Then you’ve already taken the first step.”
“I have, haven’t I?”
“You have.” The desire to kiss her struck, and he stood, took a step back. “I went to see Victoria Lloyd last night. She agreed to not tell your father about you being at her house, and she told me that Burrows had supplied the alcohol for her party.”
“She did?”
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