by Emily Sharpe
They parted ways at the lobby. "See you later," Donna called with a wave before hailing someone from HR. Donna never ate lunch alone.
Jessica stood on the marble floor, taking a few deep, cleansing breaths while people fanned around her from all directions. She pivoted and marched more confidently than she felt through the spotless glass doors of Three Oaks.
A slender hostess with bouncing red curls greeted her, asking her name before checking the reservation list. "I'm meeting a Mr. Vincent? Is he—"
"Right this way, Miss Daniels. Mr. Vincent is expecting you."
Jessica followed the hostess, allowing herself to dilute a measure of anxiety by drinking in the elegant surroundings. It wasn't a huge restaurant, but every inch, and from what she'd heard, every bite, was delicious.
"Miss Daniels. Welcome."
He was dressed in an impeccable navy suit, with a starched white shirt and green tie that matched his eyes perfectly. He stood, extending his hand. "Dillingsworth Vincent, at your service."
D.V. Bathroom Guy. Jessica's knees went weak at the touch of his hand as she slid into the booth across from him.
Maybe she wasn't about to be fired after all.
Chapter 4
"Worth" Her While
"Dillingsworth Vincent. D.V.," she said quietly. "Very clever. I assumed it stood for Darth Vader, which I guess it did, in a way."
"Dillingsworth is a ridiculous name," he said. "Please, call me Worth."
"As in, you'll make it 'worth' my while to have lunch with you?" Jessica was determined not to come off as unprepared and unsophisticated as she suddenly felt.
Worth laughed, and she was appalled at how delightful the sound was. Shortly before, she had practically been in tears because he was sorry he had—well, all the things he'd done in Rita's bathroom at the party—and now she could feel herself being charmed all over again. He even smelled good. What is that scent? She frowned, remembering it from the bathroom. To avoid going down that mental path again, she took a sip of water.
"Would you like a glass of wine, Miss Daniels?' he said. "I presumptuously ordered lunch, but whatever you'd like can be arranged."
You are the poster boy for presumption, she thought but said only, "Water is fine, Mr. Vincent."
Worth did something tantalizing with his eyebrows and smiled in defeat. He held up his hands in a time-out formation. "Can we start over? I'm your new editor, Worth Vincent. I'd like for you to call me Worth. I'd like to call you Jessica. I want all of my employees to follow suit. I am not singling you out in any way. Is that acceptable?"
Jessica said that it was. Maybe he had been drunk that night. Clearly, he wished it had never happened. He had asked for permission, even. She tried to squelch all thought of that horrible party. Was that just days ago?
After that, however, her mood improved. As lunch was served, she and Worth talked about his mother's acquisition of the magazine. No, she hadn't been Mrs. Vincent for decades and was now on husband number five. Unlike with many older women, he said, her men didn't keep getting younger. The marriages just kept lasting shorter periods of time as the old coots finally succumbed to what, his mother assured him, was almost always death by passion.
"My father was a lifelong newspaper man," Worth explained while eating his salad. "He would be devastated at what has happened to the industry now—layoffs, everything going digital. Molly—I've always called my mother by her first name, at her request. Molly wants to recapture a little of the old magic, as my father called it, with this magazine." He paused and waited until Jessica looked up from her own plate. "Which is where you come in."
"Me?" she stammered, blushing at her grammatical faux pas. "I mean, I? I come in, how? In what way—"
He laughed softly at her discomfort but not unkindly. "This isn't an interview, Jessica. You have a job already. I was just hoping to change your role a bit."
Instantly, her eyes narrowed. So that's his angle. "I haven't been writing features for long, but if you want me to be your secretary or—"
"Or?"
Jessica laid down her fork. Why do I have such a short fuse with this man? She cleared her throat to give herself a moment. "I would be happy to hear what you have in mind, Worth," she said with more crispness than she intended. "You obviously know the business better than I do and I defer to your judgment." Again, with the throat clearing. "I enjoy writing features, and I think my stories have been well received, but if I can benefit the magazine better in another department, I'm willing to listen. I am the newest hire, after all. You just caught me by surprise."
Now, and in the damn bathroom, she thought. Which you regret, and I do not.
Carl was their server. As he whisked away their salad plates, two painfully thin blondes who might have been twins set down the steaming entrees. Worth had ordered almond-crusted salmon, with roasted brussels sprouts. Damn his excellent choices.
Worth bent his head a little and breathed in the understated fragrance of the steam rising off his plate, grunting with appreciation. He took a small bite of salmon, closing his eyes. "Mmm. That is superb."
Jessica sat across from him, aware that she wasn't eating. She was watching him eat, and the view was more satisfying than the calories. She shook herself a little and took a bite herself. "Quite nice," she murmured.
"But back to business." He wagged his head. "I want you to be a columnist. My father loved writing columns. He also loved finding good columnists, and even though we're a monthly publication, I want to do sort of the same thing with you. I mean, I want you to write a column. Not exclusively, of course. You'll still work on features too, here and there."
"A column about what, exactly?"
"Anything you want!" Worth's eyes twinkled. "Well, within reason. Let's just start and see what happens. If something doesn't work, I'll tell you. How does that sound?"
Jessica was amazed to hear herself ask if there would be a reduction in her paycheck. Columns were shorter than feature stories. She couldn't afford to get less per month, however, not unless she moved in with—Eric, you idiot. Your boyfriend's name is Eric.
Worth smiled and nodded. "I understand your concern. Less overall copy, less pay. But no, you'll get the same pay as you have been until we see how it goes. If you're as good a columnist as I think you are, I envision an increase at some point. Great columns tend to build a loyal following—good for business. But we'll see."
Jessica let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Perhaps she should square a few other items while she was on good footing. "The flowers are beautiful. Thank you."
Worth looked up at the ceiling and gave a strained, comical sound of anguish before smiling a little sadly at her. "I meant what I wrote on the note. I overstepped. I don't know what came over me." He threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I have never done such an outlandish thing in my life. The stuff of lawsuits these days and for good reason—although I did ask—no, I'm not making an excuse. I was wrong. Bad form, my father would say."
I'll bet your mother wouldn't, Jessica thought, not if her husbands drop dead in ecstasy right and left. "Apology accepted," she said stiffly.
Worth gave an understated nod. "I didn't realize, of course, that you were there with a date. I hadn't seen the two of you together. Or maybe I saw what I wanted to see. Anyway. Thank you for kindly letting me off the guilt train." Before Jessica could respond, Worth shifted gears. He had been transparent, even vulnerable, in his laughter, with that groan. Now he was the editor again, all business. "Tell me about Eric, Jessica. How did you meet?"
It was a special kind of agony, talking about Eric while trying not to think about her proximity to those hands, that mouth. He'd brought up the party, and now it was all Jessica could do to not slide right off the booth. Could he not see that she was flushed?
As she played with the brussels sprouts on her plate with her fork, Jessica told him that they'd graduated together and known each other for years, had lost touch when she went to college. They'd
met again outside her apartment building not long after she'd moved in. He was bent over, repairing a stone-faced pillar that had been damaged by someone pulling into the complex after one too many drinks and she'd called out her car window to say that it looked so much better now.
"When he stood to thank me, I recognized him, of course. One thing led to another," she said. "That was a few years ago."
"Years," he frowned slightly. "But you're not engaged?"
Jessica's heart sped up a little. "No. It really hasn't come up." Bathroom Guy had certainly come up in a hurry. Stop it!
Worth continued to chew as he looked at her, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he looked away and picked up the nearby dessert menu, studying it. Jessica launched into deep yoga breathing. Still, he read the menu. This is horrible, she thought. Stress, stress, stress. Without realizing it, she closed her eyes tightly and launched into Lion's Breath. Just as her eyes bugged out and she stuck out her tongue, she caught Worth's eye.
"Are you feeling okay?" Worth asked ruefully, his eyes twinkling as if he was quite familiar with yoga. "Is the salmon not agreeing with you?"
Instantly, Jessica's tongue retreated as her cheeks grew hot. She took a long sip of water. "I'm fine. Yoga breathing for stress. I mean, the salmon is fine." She glanced at her watch. "I really should be going back upstairs. Have to earn that raise and whatnot!"
"I'm sorry to be the source of any stress, Jessica." Worth stood as she did, the epitome of good manners.
Darn it, she thought. He'll never overstep any boundaries again and I'll live the rest of my life thirsting for a drink that's never offered. Jessica thanked him for lunch and for having the confidence in her writing, exiting as gracefully as she could, nodding to the hostess on her way out.
Inside her purse, her phone vibrated. Pulling it out as she stepped onto the elevator, she didn't realize Donna was already inside as she read the message from Eric. Dinner?
Donna pushed between two men in suits to join her. "I had the most amazing thing happen!" she gushed, not waiting for Jessica to respond. "You'll never guess—"
Jessica smiled and put her phone away, grateful for Donna's blathering. She'd answer Eric and she would answer yes. Maybe she would tell him about Worth and the bathroom and maybe she would just tell him about the new column. He might seem interested, or he might not be interested at all. They would have a pleasant enough evening, but she didn't have to reply immediately. Soon, but not just yet.
She could still smell Worth's cologne.
Chapter 5
Eric
Jessica realized that Donna was still talking to her as the elevator stopped at their floor and they got off, but she wasn't paying attention until she heard a familiar name.
"And then Eric said the funniest thing I'd ever heard," Donna said. The memory sent her into a fit of giggles.
"Eric who?" Jessica asked as they settled in at their cubicles. She glanced at her appointment calendar. She'd need to shuffle some things if she was going to add a column to the feature stories she'd started. She'd already put some feelers out for new stories. She looked around the room. Now, whom should I send to interview?
Donna was standing by her desk, perplexed.
"What's the matter, Donna?" the sports guy from one desk over called, throwing a well-aimed paper airplane that hit her square in her somewhat boyish chest.
Donna ignored him, running to Jessica's desk. "Oh. My. Gosh!" she squealed. "I met the most amazing guy and I don't know his last name!"
Jessica was dying to tell her about lunch, but Donna was so distraught, she felt sorry for her. "Shall I call a sketch artist? Maybe we can ID him another way?" She was hoping to get Donna giggling again, but she looked ready to cry at any minute.
"I was trying to catch up to Debra in payroll, but the smell of an absolutely perfect hot dog caught my attention. I was standing in line when this very nice guy came up behind me. Naturally, I smiled—"
"Naturally," Jessica interrupted.
"And we struck up a conversation. He'd come downtown to surprise his girlfriend because they'd kind of had a fight, he said, but she was already gone," he said, "and then he saw her at a restaurant with another man. And I said, 'her loss,' and he laughed, and anyway, we ended up sitting by the fountain eating our hot dogs and laughing." Her face clouded. "I thought he might ask for my number, but—"
His name was Eric. Jessica had felt a slight churn in her stomach at the mention of Eric's name but had instantly comforted herself with the assurance that there must be a million Erics in the city. A few dozen, at any rate. The fact that this Eric had come to surprise a girlfriend he saw with someone else, though. That sounded like too much of a coincidence.
"What's he look like?" she asked innocently. She'd been at the magazine for such a brief time, she had neither brought in many personal items yet nor arranged the ones she had. A photograph of Eric was, she knew, in a top drawer. Why hadn't she put it out, first thing? She could just pull it out and show her, but—
"He's a ginger," she grinned with delight. "Nice, clean face. Deep blue eyes."
Jessica blew out a breath. "Red hair." Donna nodded. "No facial hair. You're sure?"
That made Donna giggle, finally. "Silly. I think I'd have noticed a beard if he had one, don't you?"
Jessica joined her in the laugh, relieved. "Well, it's his loss if he didn't get your number. Hopefully, he noticed which building you work in and will try to find you again."
The day went by fairly well. There were a few calls from the local newspaper to reporter buddies, still a bit of a buzz about the Gallagher case. Someone said his mother said it sounded like something she'd heard when she was a little girl, but most of the office gossip surrounded the new owner, new editor, and speculations about shake-ups and shakedowns. Until there was a formal announcement, Jessica decided she shouldn't volunteer any information. Everyone had been there much longer than she had, and they might not like her "promotion.” She guessed it was that, anyway. It felt like that.
Throughout the room, the sound of an in-office memo dinged on every computer screen. The new editor would be meeting with the staff in the morning at nine. If there were any conflicts, people were asked to adjust schedules accordingly.
"Maureen always gave more notice than that," she heard someone say. Frank, from business.
"Yeah, well, Maureen's been saying she wanted to retire," another voice chimed in. Callie, entertainment, Jessica guessed. She was still learning everyone's names. "This is probably a good thing in her book. I wonder what kind of a deal she got?"
"Who's this guy Vincent, anyway? Someone the owner handpicked? Probably doesn't know the first thing about magazines, either of them."
Jessica said nothing. The gossip was held to a low roar in case one of "them" was around, someone who might tell, someone who had a connection. I guess I'm one of "them,” she thought all of a sudden. I met him, anyway. Oh boy, did I. And he's sorry about it.
It still stung, even though she appreciated his obvious chagrin. It's not that she was that stereotype who had a nice guy and wanted a bad boy. Anyway, someone who practically fell over himself apologizing, sending flowers, vowing to never do such a thing again—not exactly bad boy material.
Her cell phone vibrated on the desktop. Eric, calling, since she hadn't answered the text promptly enough. She picked it up while scrolling through the Chamber of Commerce's website, looking for ideas for her first column. It would set the tone for the future, so she wanted to wow Mr. Worth Vincent. Since I can't wow him again one way, I'll have to settle for this instead, she thought dryly.
"Hey, Eric." She kept her voice low, not wanting Donna to overhear. Just the name might set her off again. "I couldn't answer your text before, sorry."
"It's okay. I figured you were busy."
Was there a little edge to his voice? Surely, he wasn't still mad because she hadn't stayed over after the party. "Dinner, yes, absolutely. Do you want to stay in and order pizza or somet
hing?"
Eric made a little noise of agreement. "Mm, sure. Come over straight from work and we'll figure something out."
Driving to Eric's apartment, Jessica stretched her back this way and that, to get the sitting-at-the-computer kinks out. Fighting rush hour traffic gave her time to practice her little speech. She needed to tell him something that had happened at the Halloween party. It was embarrassing, but nothing had come of it—um, scratch that wordage! She very nearly had. Jessica cleared her throat and began again. Nothing had happened that would affect their relationship, blah, blah, blah.
By the time she parked her car behind his in the driveway of his duplex, she had a vague idea of what she'd say. Eric was wonderful. They had history. They had had some nice times together. If there wasn't much sizzle, well, maybe that was just Hollywood hooey. Seeing Donna so giddy, had made her realize that she could have that, too, with a guy she already had. He was decent, honest, nice-looking, a nice job. Oh, dear. Is he too nice? Am I that girl who wants a bad boy?
Of course not, she thought. I thought it was Eric in the bathroom. I loved that it was Eric. I thought he finally had fallen in love—oh, jeez. We're not in love! Why should I settle for anything less than spending my life with someone who adores me, and I adore him? Why can't I have what Mom and Dad had?
Even as she walked to the door, the mental wrestling match continued. She'd grown up seeing her parents cherish one another, so unlike her friends' parents, some of whom seemed to tolerate each other for the kids' sake, many of whom had eventually split up. That's what Mom wants for me, the real thing. That's why she's concerned about Eric and me.
"Hey! I'm here," she called, letting herself in with her key. Since he'd given her her own key, they'd grown closer. He was used to her being there, it seemed, slept better with her there. Was that a sufficient basis for a long-term relationship, though? The fact that she met his needs? What about hers? You're overthinking this, she told herself. Eric's a great guy.