Tall, Dark & Reckless

by Heather MacAllister

Travis was no slouch in the work/talent/looks department, either. However, he hadn’t made eye contact very often during their conversation—which had been more Travis rambling than a conversation. And now, he’d started bouncing a tennis ball against the wall, repeatedly hitting the same smudged spot. Mark had interviewed enough people to know Travis was holding something back, and that something was going to affect Mark and his return to work.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

  Travis stopped bouncing the ball and gazed directly at Mark. “Dancie’s Women’s Guide numbers are better than the Guys of Texas, even with you. Maybe not you being rescued after being captured, but better than normal you.”

  All Mark wanted was to get back to normal. Normal was following his subject for days on end, immersing himself in whatever culture he found himself. Normal was not facing hundreds of starry-eyed journalism students three times a week. Normal was not evaluating every conversation and every word of every conversation with dozens of beautiful young women lest he inadvertently encourage romantic fantasies. Okay, maybe there was a little normal there. “So your sister has found something as popular as my column. How exactly am I supposed to take that?”

  “You aren’t. That’s why I wasn’t telling you, but you asked.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “And I hope you’ll be doing it for a long time.”

  “So do I.” There was still an undercurrent of tension in the conversation.

  Travis cleared his throat and shifted. “And you shouldn’t worry about today’s quarterly.”

  Mark hadn’t. Until now.

  “I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to have you here in person to remind my dad of how much of an asset you are.”

  “So it isn’t usual for a contributor to come to these meetings.”

  “Well, I mean, writers do sometimes.” Travis shifted again and finally got to his feet and walked to the ordinary drip coffeemaker next to the fancy machine. “Like if they’re new and going to be major or there’s going to be changes. Coffee?” He held up the pot after mumbling the last.

  Mark shook his head. “Changes that concern me?”

  Travis poured two mugs anyway. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. It depends on Dancie. She’s kinda in the driver’s seat for the first time and, to be honest, I don’t know what kind of a driver she is.”

  Travis had asked Mark to be here today. Maybe his sister had asked her heavy hitter to be here, as well. Mark’s mind flickered back to the woman he’d opened the door for. He tried to recall details of her appearance, but basically retained only an impression of glasses, brownish-blondish hair and a bunch of straps. He’d been distracted by the sudden pain in his leg and what it meant and how, or if, he’d be able to conceal it. He hadn’t been paying attention to her, other than getting the impression that while she was young, she wasn’t as young as the females in the journalism classes he taught. “Your sister’s big gun…”

  “Piper Scott?”

  “Um, I don’t know.”

  “I guess I can’t expect you to read the competition.” Travis handed him a mug. “The Dating Doc.”

  Mark shook his head.

  “She’s a dating coach. She’s got some theory about men and their dating personalities that has just taken off.”

  “Do you think she’ll be here today?”

  Travis sipped his coffee. “If Dancie’s smart, she will. Piper lives here in Austin. They used to be roommates.”

  Mark had a feeling. “What’s she look like?”

  “Normal pretty—not the high-maintenance kind. Medium tall, good body, but she doesn’t show it off.”

  Mark tried to remember the woman at the door, but mostly he remembered her voice. Politely sympathetic with an attractive huskiness. Yeah, he liked her voice, now that he thought about it.

  “She’s kind of reserved.” Travis gave a half smile. “Not the party-girl type. The type you’d want to be your sister’s roommate.”

  “Gotcha. I think I saw her as I came in.”

  “You probably did.” Travis hitched his hip onto the corner of his desk. “Here’s the thing. With you on the sidelines, Dancie’s division has been bringing in the most money and she’s going to make a play for being named partner.”

  Mark didn’t like the implication. Actually, it wasn’t an implication. Travis was coming right out and saying that his division had lost ad revenue because Mark hadn’t been on assignment since late last year. Travis would be pushing for his return. Good to know.

  Travis sipped his coffee, and Mark did the same. Pretty good coffee. It might even be better than the coffee from the fancy machine.

  “Doesn’t your sister deserve to be a partner?” Mark wondered why she hadn’t been from the beginning, but that wasn’t his business.

  “She might at this point in time. But she’s going to get married eventually. And then she’ll have babies and she’ll slack off and still get one-third of the profits. Dad will go gaga over the grandkids and he’ll slack off and I’ll be doing all the work for one-third of the money.”

  Mark grimaced. “Isn’t that view kind of…”

  “Retro?” Travis supplied.

  “Not the word I would have used, but yes.”

  “Hang political correctness. It’s the truth.” Travis stopped short of slamming his mug on the desk, but he set it down heavily. “Look, Dancie and I had a great childhood. I know people call my mom a trophy wife. So what? Sure, she’s blonde and a lot younger than my dad, but she’s not stupid. And she was there for us and my dad. When I’m lucky enough to have kids, I want to be able to give them a full-time mom, too. And I know Dancie isn’t going to let someone else raise her kids if she doesn’t have to.”

  Mark stared unblinkingly. “Some mothers don’t have that luxury.”

  Travis caught himself. “Hey, man. I forgot about your mom being in the military. I’m sure she did the best she could.”

  Mark clenched his fist so hard he almost forgot about the pain in his leg. “So your point is that your sister shouldn’t be a partner because she might have children?”

  “My point is that I want to avoid doing a lot more work for a lot less money. You heard the one-third money part, right? That means the Guys of Texas will have less operating funds. That means less money for your expensive little adventures, as popular as they are.”

  This time when Mark sipped his coffee, he burned his tongue, which was good because otherwise he’d be using it to tell Travis to go to hell. On his “little adventures,” Mark rooted out corruption, fighting against rulers and thugs who terrorized their citizens as they made power grabs. He exposed tribal chiefs and gang leaders who showed gratitude to the foreign-aid folks while they took the money for their own use. Because of Mark’s “little adventures,” people’s lives had been saved. Wars had been stopped. Leaders deposed. Mark reported the stories, but the behind-the-scenes “little adventures” were what Travis printed as columns in the Guys of Texas webzine. Mark didn’t like the trivialization, but the advertising revenue was what got him overseas.

  He’d had offers from more prestigious news services, but he’d always been a loner and he liked the freedom OMG gave him. He didn’t have to answer to a news team or a producer, except Travis and Travis’s father, and as long as Mark got the story, he could do what he wanted, how he wanted.

  Sure, they yelped a couple of times and sure, Mark skated in the gray area, but he got stories the larger media services could only dream about.

  “So,” Travis continued. “We want to do whatever it takes to get you back in the field.”

  On this, they could agree. “The PT is going great.” Mark ignored the throbbing in his thigh. “By the end of the semester I’ll be good to go.” It was late October. His leg had another couple of months to heal. Plenty of time.

  “Great.” Travis clapped his hands together before pointing them at Mark. “Let’s talk possible assignments.”

  Mark met his eyes with t
he same gaze that had compelled everyone from beggars to royalty to tell him more than they’d meant to. “I’ve been gone so long, I want to make a splash with my comeback.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “Burayd al-Munzir.” Mark sat back.

  Travis gazed unblinkingly. “And he is…?”

  How could he not know? Swallowing his irritation, Mark said, “Fatik al-Munzir’s youngest half brother. Burayd’s mother came from an influential tribal family in El Bahar, and they were not pleased when she became a third wife instead of the first wife as arranged. His mother’s people are backing Burayd in a disagreement with Fatik over who has rights to the mega oil reserves sitting under tribal lands. Each side wants to be the one to parlay with the U.S., but nobody in this country is taking Burayd seriously. And they need to. The story will take months to develop, but it’ll be worth it.” And staying in villas in modern cities would be easier on his leg than hiking around mountains.

  “Sounds very promising,” Travis said. “But we need something with a faster payoff.”

  Mark gritted his teeth. “Some issues are more important than money.”

  “I like that you think that way and I don’t ever want you to be in a position to realize how wrong you are.” Travis stopped, met his eyes and gave Mark a big, fat smile. “But money is what will buy the plane ticket to get you to whatever sandbox these two play in. Money is what rescued you the last time you went rogue. And money is what has paid for all your physical therapy sessions.”

  “Yeah.” Mark shifted as his leg twinged. Keeping his tone offhand, he said, “So how about I go back to the border and finish the gun smuggling story?”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

  “It could be a fast turnaround. I’ve already done the research—”

  “No.” Travis spoke with unmistakable finality. “Not now. Not ever. At least, not if you want to continue writing for OMG.”

  Mark wasn’t a total idealist, but he’d never sold out and he never would. He tamped down his anger. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Do facts threaten you? It was an expensive mistake.”

  “Is there a problem, Travis?” This was the first time Travis had ever mentioned money in considering Mark’s assignments.

  “Not at the moment, but the more slices, the smaller the piece of pie.”

  His sister’s success must have really rattled Travis. “Have you considered that maybe Dancie will make it a bigger pie?”

  “Like I said—marriage, babies.” Travis was sounding a lot like his father. Mark had always thought it was an act, but maybe not.

  “This is temporary for her,” Travis reiterated. “I don’t mind giving her a salary bump. I don’t even mind if she draws a bigger salary than I do. But a partner’s share of the profits? No.”

  Mark had no intention of getting in the middle of a family fight. He’d keep his thoughts to himself and by New Year’s, he’d be on a plane to the Middle East. Or taking care of unfinished business at the border.

  Travis checked his clunky gold watch and indicated that it was time to leave. “Bring all the enthusiasm you’ve got to the meeting, but don’t forget to tie any story ideas to potential revenue streams for OMG.”

  Was Travis always like this before meeting with his father? If so, Mark was glad he’d never before attended one of these quarterly get-togethers.

  Mark tried not to limp as they walked to the elevator. Potential revenue streams? That wasn’t his job. His job was to get the story. Their job was to publish it.

  For a moment Mark imagined a world in which he would never “adventure” again. He did not want to be a part of that world. Even so, though he might be forced to compromise, he’d never sell out.

  2

  Step two: Verify your target male’s type. Only then engage him in light conversation.

  AFTER REALIZING THAT THE MAN wasn’t going to turn around, Piper had quietly continued up the stairs, so he wouldn’t hear her and think she’d been standing there watching him. Of course, she had been, but she definitely didn’t want him thinking so.

  Her phone buzzed again as she reached the top of the steps and once again, she sent it to voice mail. Then she turned to the right and breezed into Dancie’s office.

  Startled, Dancie looked up from her computer. “You’re way early!”

  “Good morning!” Piper sang.

  Dancie brightened. “Did you bring coffee?”

  “Couldn’t carry it.” Piper set her bag and the hanging clothes on the one visitor’s chair in the tiny space.

  “Well, darn.” Dancie went back to typing. “Travis took the good coffeepot and I don’t feel like braving the man cave this morning.”

  Someone might have made coffee in the downstairs kitchen for the meeting. As Piper considered whether to check and possibly snag a cup for Dancie, her phone went off again. This time, she just let it buzz until it rolled over to voice mail on its own.

  Forget the coffee. There wasn’t that much time before the meeting started and Dancie needed the makeover fairy to wave her magic wand. Piper didn’t have a magic wand, but she did have a flatiron, makeup and a change of clothes. Gently, she closed the door. “Are those notes for today, or can you take a break?”

  Dancie stopped typing and eyed Piper suspiciously. “Why?” Her gaze drifted to the chair and narrowed.

  Long ago, Piper had learned that the way to manipulate Dancie was to keep her off balance by moving quickly and decisively. Talking a lot as she did so helped, too.

  “I want to tweak your visual presentation.” As she spoke, Piper walked around Dancie’s desk and pulled her out of the chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  There was a full-length mirror on the door. Piper positioned Dancie in front of it and tugged the faded navy hoodie off her arms.

  “What are you doing?” Dancie jerked at a sleeve.

  “Honestly, Dancie!” Piper pointed to a hole where the cuff had pulled away from the rest of the sleeve.

  “Nobody’s going to notice that!”

  Piper freed the hoodie from Dancie’s clutches and tossed it onto the desk. She should have aimed for the trash basket. “Only because you’re dressing to be invisible.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dancie gestured down at her cotton tank, jean shorts, and flip-flops. “This is the way I always look! Everybody in Austin looks this way!”

  “Not today.” Piper examined Dancie’s legs. At least she’d shaved them relatively recently. “Today, you’re going to look like a partner in the Online Media Group.”

  Dancie went still. Anticipating the coming rant, Piper used the opportunity to remove the plastic bag from the clothes.

  And then, the rant began. “If Dad makes me a partner like Travis, it’s going to be because the Women’s Guide to Living Fabulous division has brought in the most revenue the past two quarters and not because of what I’m wearing!”

  “Of course it will be.” Piper automatically spoke with the same tone she used to deliver unpleasant truths to defensive clients. “If he listens to you.”

  “That’s why I have a written report. It’s with our proposal.” Dancie pointed to the desk where a shiny red folder sat. “Hard copy.”

  “Red. I see.” At least Dancie’d put the thing in a folder.

  “Yeah. I thought it would stand out.”

  “It does. Red means stop. Danger. Red ink. In the red.” From the bag on the chair, Piper withdrew a green folder and handed it to Dancie. “Green is the color of money. It means growth. Go. Green is good.” Piper gestured. “Switch the folders.”

  Dancie stared at it. “You actually brought a folder for me?”

  “I didn’t want you to stress in case you forgot.”

  Dancie walked toward the desk. “This is some of your psychological stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” While Dancie changed her report folder, Piper moved the chair in front of the mirror.

  Without turning around, Dancie said, “I see
the clothes. Don’t think I’m not aware of what you’re doing. You’re going to say, ‘Dancie, your quarterly report says the same thing. You’ve just changed the cover to make it more appealing. That’s all we’re doing with these clothes. You’re still you—you’ll just have a different cover.’”

  “Excellent. We can skip that part, then.” Piper held up a skirt. “And one of the advantages of having roomed with you is that I know your size.”

  Dancie saw the skirt. “Oh, hell, no.”

  “Watch the potty mouth. Your dad doesn’t like it when women swear.”

  “I am not wearing a skirt! I do not wear skirts. I have never worn skirts—something you should have picked up on after three years of rooming with me.”

  “It’s a denim pencil skirt.” Piper tossed it at her. “Think of it as a pair of shorts with the legs sewn together.”

  “He’ll know I’m wearing it just to get on his good side.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your father seeing you make an effort to look more attractive,” Piper said calmly. “You’re trying to woo him—”

  Dancie flung down the skirt. “In the first place, I am not one of your dating clients and in the second, ew!” She shuddered. “Gee, thanks for putting that in my head!”

  “Compatibility principles are the same whether you’re talking dating or job interviews or roommate questionnaires.” The meeting was less than twenty minutes away now and Dancie was being more hardheaded than Piper expected. “Salesmen use the technique all the time. And that’s what you are today—a salesman. You are selling yourself as a partner to your father.”

  “Ew—ew—ew—ew!”

  “Dancie, stop it!” Piper had to speak more sharply than she wanted to, but this was important.

  “Travis doesn’t have to do stuff like this!” Dancie wailed.

  “But he does.” Piper looked around for an outlet to plug in the flatiron and ended up unplugging Dancie’s desk lamp. “Have you seen Travis today? What’s he wearing?”

  Dancie made a disgusted sound. “Khaki Dockers and a UT golf shirt.”

  “And probably his big gold fraternity ring. What do you think your dad’s going to wear?”