Cityscape Affair Series: The Complete Box Set

by Hawkins, Jessica

  I headed past her toward the office’s glass doors. “Gossip.”

  “You know me so well,” she said. “Mr. Beman wants to see you first thing.”

  I paused with my palm on the door handle and glanced back at her. “About what?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “If my sources are right, something to do with Diane . . . who isn’t coming in today.”

  Odd. It wasn’t unusual for Diane, my direct superior, to come in late or take a long weekend, but I was usually the first to know.

  I went by my cubicle to drop my things at my desk. “Hey,” I said to my co-worker Lisa. The office would be mostly empty for a few more minutes, but with her heels off and coffee cup nearly empty, it was entirely possible she’d slept here.

  She removed her earbud. “What?”

  “Nothing, just saying good morning.”

  She kept her eyes trained on her computer screen but smiled as she replaced the headphone. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Something was going on. Even though Lisa hadn’t technically smiled at me, she rarely showed any positive emotions in my presence. I picked up the Keep it Sassy mug Gretchen had given me for my birthday and stopped by the kitchen for fuel on my way to my boss’s office.

  I knocked on his door gently, nodding at some of my colleagues as they filtered in for the day.

  “Come in,” Mr. Beman called.

  I entered his office and shut the door behind me before turning to him. “Jenny said—”

  “Nice to see you here early.” He gestured at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”

  As always, his back was too straight, the part in his white hair too perfect, his face bordering on orange—and his compliments backhanded. I arrived at this time every day, same as everyone else—except brown-nosing Lisa. But he knew that.

  I sat and sipped from my mug while he tidied his desk. “I let Diane go last night,” he said.

  I only just stopped myself from spitting out my coffee. I’d worked under Diane for years. “What? But she . . .” I set the mug on his desk, and he glared at it until I picked it up again. “Why?”

  “We need new ideas. Fresh perspective. She was getting too complacent.”

  He wasn’t entirely off base. I’d been carrying her workload for some time while she took long “client” lunches and expensed “necessities” like manicures and an espresso machine for her apartment.

  “I’ve been very pleased with your work as her editorial assistant,” Beman said. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been covering for Diane. As the magazine skewed younger, her writing style grew older. Until you came along.”

  “I—oh, um. Thank you, Mr. Beman.” By his pinched expression, I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding my shock at the rare compliment. “Your opinion means a great deal to me.”

  “As it should.”

  The meaning of Diane’s sudden absence began to sink in. That would free up the position for senior editor. I wasn’t next in line, but why else had Beman called me in? My heart skipped as opportunity opened up in front of me. Some people didn’t consider what I did a real job—some people being my dad. Our magazine covered the latest and hottest news around Chicago culture—hotel, gallery, and restaurant openings, art and fashion shows, local celebrity and socialite sightings, and more. My father joked that I worked on “fluff pieces for people who didn’t care about important current events,”—but he wasn’t kidding. Unfortunately for him, I loved my job—people needed fluff in their lives as much as hard-hitting news—but maybe swapping the title assistant for senior, along with a substantial raise, would help change his perspective a bit.

  “I can do it,” I said.

  “I know you can.” Beman straightened his already rod-like back. “You’ll make a great associate editor to Lisa. We’ll have her transitioned into Diane’s position by the end of the month.”

  Associate editor. A step up from assistant, but not the giant leap I’d just psyched myself up for by any means. I rested my coffee in my lap, the tops of my thighs warming like my face. “Oh. I . . . I thought maybe—”

  “You’re welcome. Send Lisa in to see me, please.”

  I hesitated. I’d only dared to dream of having the position a few minutes, so my disappointment surprised me. Lisa had worked hard for this, but so had I. Diane had told me many times that unlike Lisa, journalism came naturally to me, and that was why Lisa had to put in extra hours. I should’ve at least been considered for the job.

  Plus, there was no way in hell being Lisa’s subordinate would turn out well for me.

  “With all due respect,” I said, staying seated, “I’ve worked closely with Diane for a while now. I think it’s only fair to let me interview for her position.”

  Mr. Beman eyed me carefully. “As associate editor, Lisa is technically next in line.”

  “If the goal is to combat complacency, competition is one way to do that,” I pointed out. “It would force each of us to step up our game.”

  “Indeed.” His fingertips drummed the desk. “You believe you’re ready?”

  My dad—a businessman to his core—had been drilling the same motto into my head since I was a girl:

  “Say yes to anything asked of you, Olivia. Never pass up an opportunity to excel.”

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  Beman sat forward, his leather seat creaking. “I hadn’t really planned for that, but a little competition in the workplace never hurt anyone.” I followed his gaze to a pile of past issues at the edge of his desk. He picked up the top magazine with a cover I recognized from last spring and read the headline. “‘Chicago’s Most Eligible Bachelors and Bachelorettes.’ Our most popular issue of the year, and it’s coming up. It’s got potential to cover a good chunk of our annual ad quota.”

  “Diane and I already started the interview process.” I shifted in my seat. “However . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “The selection is largely underwhelming. If I were in charge, I’d throw it out and start over.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “With the issue coming up so soon?”

  I nodded. “I can handle it. We need fresh faces on the pages.”

  “Unlike that slimy promoter Lester Cartwright, who’s been featured multiple times,” he said, “or Diane’s freeloading cousin she snuck in at the final hour last year.”

  “Exactly. Consider them—and everyone else who’s been featured before—yesterday’s news,” I said, even though we hadn’t ever published the list without overlap. I had no idea how we’d go about finding fifty new bachelors and bachelorettes in a matter of weeks, only that it could be the leg up I needed.

  “Work with Lisa on the article, along with whatever other assignments Diane had coming up,” he said. “You two can use Diane’s office when necessary. I’ll decide who I’d like to promote after the issue hits.”

  I nodded and stood to shake his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  While moving a few items into Diane’s office, Lisa appeared in the doorway after her meeting with Beman, her arms crossed. “Already taking over, I see,” she said.

  “They’re things we can both use,” I said, showing her a stapler. “You do sometimes need to fasten two or more papers together, don’t you?”

  “Very funny.”

  “So let’s have a brainstorm session, just the two of us, and go over what needs to be done. Since I normally do the grunt work for these issues, I’ve got some ideas.”

  “Hmm.” Lisa pursed her lips. “I’ll see if I can squeeze you in this afternoon.”

  I gave her a tight smile, but she was already rolling her eyes on her way out the door.

  I finished my coffee and headed across the office to the intern station, a room stuffed between the Samples closet full of swag and Conference Room A. Only one girl sat at a computer, her short blonde bob bouncing as she typed furiously.

  “Are you Serena?” I asked.

  A young girl just out of college whirled around, and her hair swishe
d, longer in the front and tipped with soft pink. “Oh, yes, hi. Hello, Mrs. Germaine.”

  “Call me Liv,” I said and offered a smile. Diane had mentioned once that while focused, I could come off a bit stiff. “About the article you e-mailed me last night—you sent it pretty late.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” she said, her light eyes widening. “I was feeling so, like, inspired, and I didn’t want to stop so I was up all night working on it. Next time I can wait to send it till the morning.”

  “No, don’t worry about that,” I said, waving my hand. “I’m just glad you got it in early. Makes everyone’s job easier.”

  “Oh.” She covered her mouth and giggled. “I thought I was in trouble.”

  “Anyway, it was good, but there are some revisions I’d like you to make. I’ll e-mail my notes. In the meantime, we’re gearing up for Chicago’s ‘Most Eligible’ issue, and this year, we don’t want any repeats on the list so we’re starting over. Can you help gather new prospects?”

  “Sounds good,” Serena said as she made notes on a yellow pad. “How do I know what to look for? Attractiveness? Personality? Occupation?”

  “All of that. Grab the last several issues to get an idea. Everyone who works here will have a suggestion, but I only want the best of the best. No friends of friends or relatives. Set up interviews with the top picks so Lisa and I can decide from there.”

  “K,” she said. Even though it was just a letter, her voice wavered, and her eyebrows met in the middle.

  “I was an intern once, too,” I said reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out.”

  * * *

  At an Italian restaurant uptown, my godparents, Mack and Davena Donovan, greeted me with more energy than friends my own age could ever seem to muster. I accepted their strong hugs by the hostess stand.

  “How are you, dear?” Mack said, kissing my cheek.

  “I’m well.” My heels made us the same height, putting me face to face with the salt-and-pepper flecks in his hair.

  His wife’s Texan drawl starkly contrasted Mack’s clean, seasoned British accent as she added, “We want to hear everything new with you.”

  “Bill should be here any minute,” I said. “He’s been at work late most nights since he started this job, but he’s on his way.”

  “No problem.” Mack’s smile deepened the wrinkles by his eyes. “Let’s sit and get a drink.”

  I let them go ahead on our way to the table. Mack and Davena’s hands stayed linked while they maneuvered through the restaurant after the hostess.

  “How’s work?” Davena asked once we were seated.

  “Great,” I said. “I just found out I’m up for a promotion. My colleague, Lisa, is more qualified on paper, but I know I can handle more responsibility than I have now.”

  “I knew you’d work your way up,” Davena said. “Didn’t I say so, sugar? I recommended you for that internship years ago because I believe in you.”

  I grinned. “I still owe you. You never let us pay when we go out to dinner.”

  “And you won’t tonight,” Mack said, “or any night we eat together.”

  “Don’t waste your energy worrying about the competition.” Davena took out her reading glasses. “If I know you, she’s the one who should be worried.”

  “And your mother?” Mack asked, his tone softening. “How’s she?”

  I opened my menu. “She’s my mother.”

  “Anything in the works?”

  “Sure,” I said lightly. “Isn’t there always?”

  “I always brag about what an outstanding writer she is,” Mack mused. “Brilliant artist when she’s on her game.”

  “Certainly has an artist’s temperament,” I muttered.

  “You know that Max, from her first novel, was based on me?” He straightened up. “A sprightly British detective come to steal all the young American ladies away from their quarterbacks.”

  “Of course she knows that,” Davena teased. “You remind her constantly.”

  “Rubbish.” He snuck me a devious smile. “She was quite the girl, your mother. Walked right into the university’s newspaper office and demanded they print her piece on corporate sexism when nobody else wanted to touch the topic. I knew then we’d be great friends. No surprise she became editor of that paper soon after.” Mack covered the back of my hand with his palm. “A real go-getter, like our Liv here.”

  Maybe my mother had been once. That was before I’d gotten old enough to really know her, though.

  The sight of Bill maneuvering through diners was a relief in that moment. He’d save me from this topic.

  “I was here on time,” he said as he approached. The restaurant’s lighting turned his gold shirt mustard. “Parking is damn impossible.” He leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Got your text. Congrats on Diane’s job.”

  “I didn’t get it yet,” I said.

  “You will.” He turned to Mack and Davena, dragging his chair from the table. “What’d I miss?”

  “Not too much.” Mack signaled a passing waiter. “Bring a bottle of your finest Cab for the table,” he said, winking at me. “We’re celebrating Liv’s news.”

  Cabernet Sauvignon: rich, full-bodied wine. Chosen by someone who knew me as well as anyone. Maybe even as well as my dark stranger. At the memory of deep, bold words rolling off his tongue weeks ago, I buried my face in my menu to hide my blush.

  “Mack was just reminiscing about old times,” I answered Bill.

  “Old times, huh?” Bill asked. He understood that meant my mom. He cleared his throat, turning back to the table. “Hey, don’t you two have a big trip coming up?”

  I cast Bill a grateful glance for saving me a trip down memory lane.

  “Amalfi Coast,” Davena replied. “We’ve been shopping ourselves silly.”

  “Correction—she has been shopping herself silly,” Mack said. “I’m just the human credit card.”

  Davena waved him off. “I only needed a bathing suit that’d cover my new scar.” She put a hand over her side. “No more bikinis for me. Just old lady one-pieces.”

  Mack took her hand from her ribcage, lacing their fingers as he brought her knuckles to his mouth. “Careful. That’s my beautiful, vivacious wife you’re talking about.”

  With a petite but athletic body, fair skin, and cropped, curly, blonde hair, Davena was the picture of health, her fiery eyes only surpassed by her sassy attitude. Even with the discovery of her breast cancer years earlier, I’d never seen Davena without a twinkle in her eye. The word pity did not weigh down her vocabulary.

  Tempted as I was to ask about her health, I knew I’d get a brush-off. I’d learned long ago that for her, normalcy was the best medicine.

  “You really should go see Lucy,” I said as the waiter arrived with the wine bottle. “She’ll set you up with a fabulous new wardrobe.”

  “Which one is Lucy again?” Mack asked, holding up his glass to taste.

  “That precious little stylist Liv has known since college,” Davena said. “You’ve met her at least three times. Try to keep up.”

  “Lucy works just across the street from me,” I said to Davena. “We can all get lunch, and then she can help you find something cute and conservative.”

  “Me, conservative?” Davena made a gagging noise. “Can’t stand that word.”

  Mack took a sip and nodded at the waiter. “Why do you think she made us move from Texas?” he joked.

  Bill unfurled his napkin onto his lap, humming. “You know, we just wrapped up a case against a doctor who nearly killed a woman when he botched a double mastectomy.”

  “Bill,” I scolded. Sometimes, my husband’s emotional detachment could be a good thing. His straightforward approach to most situations had initially drawn me to him, and his intuition to back off when I needed to be left alone had saved our relationship many times. But in social situations, it sometimes left me apologizing for his behavior—like now. “I’m sorry, Davena,” I said. “Of course you
don’t want to hear that.”

  “Cancer kills,” she said, adjusting her eyeglasses to read the menu. “It’s not groundbreaking news or anything.”

  Once we’d ordered our meals, Mack leaned into me, lowering his voice. “How’s Mum?” he asked. “Really.”

  “I haven’t spoken to her much lately,” I confessed. “She says she’s working on her next bestseller, but she won’t share details. Since Dad no longer owes her alimony, she claims she’s broke and can’t focus. But between a successful publishing career and my father’s support all those years, I just don’t see how that can be.”

  Because of Mack’s history with my mother, he knew her in a way Bill didn’t. I could talk frankly without worrying Mack might discount my feelings, take her side, or accuse me of overreacting. Not that I could blame Bill for sometimes doing those things—he didn’t know all the details. I worried if he did, though, he still wouldn’t understand.

  “She’ll survive,” Mack said. “She’s a fighter, like her daughter.”

  “Me?” I asked.

  “Aren’t you?” With a paternal smile, he nudged my ribcage with his elbow and said, “You and Davena have matching scars now. Must be the mark of someone special.”

  I squeezed his forearm as a show of gratitude for his reassurance. The scar wasn’t special, and being touched by most people generally wasn’t a comfort, but no matter how tense things had gotten between my parents, Mack had always been on my side.

  “Bill offered to lend her money,” I continued as Mack sat back and picked up his Cabernet. “I think it’s a bad idea. And we really don’t have it to spare, since we’re house hunting.”

  “Are you?” Mack’s face brightened. “I’m so happy for you. You really are all grown up, little Liv. I still remember your first birthday—such a fabulous event your mother threw—and you, hardly able to enjoy it. She had that party for herself.”

  “What’s so funny?” Davena asked when we both laughed.