by Nancy Martin
He came around the hood of the vehicle and stopped short at the sight of my low neckline. “What are you wearing?”
I stopped, too. “Is it too much?”
“It’s a lot,” he said on a laugh.
“Should I go change?”
“Nope.” He came closer and dropped a smiling kiss on my mouth. “Noah seems to like it.”
The baby was mashing his face into my bare cleavage and giggling. He left a puddle of drool behind. I handed him over for Michael to put in his car seat while I mopped myself up.
I convinced Michael to drop me at the train station again instead of driving me all the way into the city, so within the hour I was walking off the hot sidewalk and into the cool Pendergast Building.
On his phone, Skip Malone looked up from the Sports desk as I passed by. He nearly dropped his receiver. I waved.
Phones were ringing all over the newsroom, and the remaining reporters were busy taking calls. I set my bag down on Mary Jude’s empty desk. She had left me an apple with a Post-it note stuck to it. Her hasty scrawl read Thank you!
The newsroom was chilly from the air-conditioning—a welcome relief after the humid walk from the station. I dug my sweater out of my bag and tugged it on. It didn’t cover up my exposed cleavage, but it provided a little warmth. I took a bite of the apple and munched it.
A second later, Gus barged off the elevator. He strode straight across the room to the City desk, where he began to chew out one of the reporters there. When the reporter began a sniveling defense of himself, Gus looked up and met my gaze across the room. He did a double take and scowled.
Okay, so maybe I should have changed my outfit.
The phone on Mary Jude’s desk rang, so I sat down, swallowed my mouthful of apple and picked up.
“Philadelphia Intelligencer. Nora Blackbird speaking.”
“Uh, yeah,” said a male voice. “Has anybody claimed the million dollars yet?”
“Million dollars? I don’t know anything about that, sir.”
“The morning dudes on the radio? They said you were giving away a million bucks to the kid in the picture.”
“I think the radio dudes were misinformed, sir. The Intelligencer is not giving away money.”
“Huh,” he said. “I was just wondering, because that picture in the paper last week? It kinda looks like me when I was in school.”
I sat up hastily. I remembered the group of similar photos I’d seen in Jenny Tuttle’s desk. I grabbed a pencil and slipped open a notebook. “Can I have your name, sir?”
“I don’t think so,” he said with an edge of derision. “Not unless there’s money involved.”
“There’s really not any— Look,” I said, “I know this sounds weird, but could you just tell me one thing? Are you adopted?”
A long silence greeted that question. Finally, my caller said, “Yeah. So what?”
“We’re putting together a story,” I began, making it up as I went. “If you could answer a few—”
“I don’t want to be in any story,” he said and hung up.
I put my pencil down. Thinking, I took another bite of apple. What did all the photos of children mean? Ox and Poppy had declared that even one illegitimate baby was impossible, but I couldn’t think of another possibility. Who were all the children in Jenny’s desk drawer?
Tremaine Jefferson came up on the elevator and headed over to me. On Mary Jude’s computer, he showed me the clips he had prepared from the group I’d sent him from the fashion party. We shared a laugh over some of the clothes and batted around some ideas for short videos that could be used later in the week. I made another suggestion—adding some still photos of well-dressed ladies from the Pelvic Health party, which he took in good humor.
When we finished, I said, “Tremaine, I’ve been invited to a preview of a new musical tonight. I was hoping you might come along and do some filming.”
“You mean, it’s a show? We can’t film performances, Nora. Copyright issues.”
“It’s not a performance. At least, not yet. It’s a work in progress. They want publicity to attract investors. It might be awful,” I cautioned. “But we might get some fun footage. Think of it as a fishing trip. If it turns out badly, I’ll buy you lunch someday soon.”
He had come to trust me, so he agreed the excursion might be worth his time and promised to meet me downstairs in an hour. He went off to tweak his work.
Two minutes later, the phone rang again. Hoping it was another interesting call, I picked up right away. “Philadelphia Intelligencer. Nora Blackbird speaking.”
“Hi,” said a brisk female voice. “May I speak with Gus, please?”
I realized the hour had grown so late that Gus’s assistant was no longer answering his phone. “Will you hold just a minute? He stepped away from his desk.” I waved at Gus to get his attention. He pointedly ignored me.
The voice on the line sharpened. “Hang on. Did you say Nora Blackbird?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Well, hello!” Her tone turned friendly. “It’s nice to know you actually exist. I’m Megan. Gus’s sister.”
It hit me that her accent, which I hadn’t quite processed, was Australian. Her voice was low and throaty with a bubble of laughter in it.
She went on with enthusiasm. “Am I the first to welcome you into the fold?”
I almost choked on my apple. “Uh . . . ?”
She had a friendly chuckle. “Gus is a devilish good secret keeper. I was the one who wingled it out of him, did he say?”
“N-no,” I said, still confused. “He didn’t mention it.”
“I don’t have to tell you what a charmer he can be when he turns on the electricity, but what a bloody closemouthed bastard when he chooses. And a bludger in the romance department! So the news took us all by surprise. And then I saw your photograph! And you’re expecting! Congratulations. I’ve been reading your column online. It’s quite good, actually. I can see how he’d find you appealing. How did you reel him in?”
Something was very wrong, but all I could feel was my blood pressure spiking. “Well,” I began.
“Dad was overjoyed, of course. Hearing about you put him over the moon. The rest of us were fair gob-smacked—seems we hardly know our Gus after all!” She barely drew a breath but kept on talking. “I’m sorry you couldn’t make the trip with him to this outback, but in your condition, I understand completely. I don’t suppose you might be a bit shy of us, too, maybe?”
“Not at all,” I said. “But—”
“You’ll be sure to come for Christmas. Dad does it up right—all the trimmings. His birthday is just a few days later, so he’s always very festive.”
She kept talking about Christmas, but I had stopped listening. I stood up from the desk and didn’t care what anybody thought. I snapped my fingers at Gus. With annoyance, he looked up from his discussion—prepared to lambast me, I’m sure—but I sent him a poisonous glare that got his attention. I pointed at the phone as if to say Important call. He ambled in my direction.
I cut across Megan’s rambling gush about lavish holiday meals and said into the phone, “Oh, here he is, Megan. Gus just got in. Hang on, will you?”
I hugged the receiver to my chest as Gus arrived in front of me. I snapped, “It’s your sister. She seems to be under the impression that you and I are expected next Christmas. Is there something you haven’t told me, Mr. Hardwicke?”
To my astonishment, Gus turned bright pink. And although he opened his mouth, no words came out.
I handed over the phone. He took it automatically, in a daze.
“Er, Meegs?” he said into the phone. “Let me call you back in five? No, five, I promise. I promise.”
He put the phone down and said composedly to me, “In my office. Please.”
It was the please that shook me. I
followed him across the newsroom and into his sanctum.
He closed the door behind me, still very pink. “This is going to be difficult enough, but did you have to wear that particular dress to the office?”
“It’s a Dior. Are you capable of finding something wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. Except I can barely concentrate with all that—”
“Stop stalling. What in heaven’s name was your sister talking about?”
Gus began to pace the floor. “This is very awkward.”
“For which one of us?”
He put his hands into his trouser pockets and couldn’t meet my glare. “Nora, I will preface the whole story by saying I never meant for things to get out of control the way they have, but my family is rather known for going big—”
“Gus! Is this the personal matter you’ve been trying not to tell me about? What in the world is going on?”
He gave up stonewalling. He stood still and said, “I told my family that you and I were seeing each other.”
If there had been so much as a stapler handy, I’d have thrown it at his head. Good for him that his office was empty of weapons. “Why?” I demanded.
Hastily, he lowered the blinds to prevent the entire newsroom from watching us. “It’s not implausible. You’re attractive,” he said, perhaps deliberately misunderstanding my question. “As you know, I’m usually drawn to older women. They’re easier to cope with, but you—”
“I’m going to be really hard to cope with in ten seconds. Why did you tell your family we were an item?”
“Because they wanted to hear it,” he burst out, starting to lose control. “I needed an advantage to get assigned to this Philadelphia takeover, and you fit the bill. Megan was going to get the job if I didn’t come up with an idea that made me the perfect choice to negotiate for my father. And they all thought adding you to the mix was a great strategy—an American with a pedigree those relics would appreciate. Besides, my father wants us all settled—that is, weighted down with ankle biters and generally stuck in the tar pit of life so we’re prepared to take over his bloody empire if he drops dead tomorrow, but the main thing is this Philadelphia deal, which—”
“Stop!” I cried. “You want to buy a company, so you pretended to have a girlfriend?”
“It’s not just a company. It’s practically its own planet. I tried to explain to you last week when—well, other things popped up. By the way,” he said, “you’re not a girlfriend. As far as my family is concerned, you’re my fiancée.”
I let out a word that didn’t usually cross my lips. “Gus! What were you thinking? They’re going to find out you’re not engaged to me.”
“They’re on the other side of the world! How can they find out?”
“She knew my name! She reads my column! She— Oh!” I was hit with an epiphany. “That’s why you wanted the photo of me out of the online paper, isn’t it? Because I was pregnant! You didn’t want your family to think you had a baby on the way.”
“My family is very old-fashioned about that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing? Children out of wedlock? Or bald-faced lies?”
“You’re not going to have a stroke, are you? Because you’re turning an alarming shade of— Look, if it’s any consolation,” he said, swiftly changing tactics, “they’re delighted about you. Dad reckons you’re a right sheila, and my brother Jack can hardly wait to meet you. Watch out for him, by the way. He’ll poke anything in panties, but he’s particularly wild about redheads.”
“I’m not going to meet your brother! Or your father! Or anyone else! Ever! I’m staying right here in Philadelphia. And on Friday I’m marrying Michael.”
“About that,” Gus said.
I put up my hand to stop him. “No,” I said. “You have no input on my wedding.”
“Could I ask you to postpone it a few weeks? Or months?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not really, no,” he said grimly.
“Gus!” I pointed at the telephone. “You’re going to phone your sister right now. And you’re going to tell her the truth. I will have no part of your family politics. Tell them.”
“I can’t do that,” he replied.
“I’m not giving you a choice!”
“It would kill my father,” he said. “Do you want that on your conscience?”
“Don’t try manipulating my feelings. That’s not going to work.”
“I’m being honest here. My father is not in the best of health. The negotiations to buy that damn company have drained him. I know you’re not the kind of woman who—”
“You’re not going to worm your way out of this!”
“I need a week,” he said. “To prepare them.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Four days.”
“No.”
“Okay, how about until Friday, then? Just— I need to do this carefully.”
I let out a frustrated shriek and clapped both hands over my eyes to block out the whole stupid mess. When I had a grip on myself, I dropped my hands. “I’ll give you until tomorrow.”
“Thursday?” he bargained. “It’s practically the middle of the night over there now. This will take time. It’s a big family. And I need to rethink the negotiations.”
I held my breath and wondered if I might explode. There was one person who was going to go ballistic over this situation, though, and I could already hear him shouting. And shouting wasn’t going to be the worst part.
“Please breathe,” Gus said.
At last, I said, “When Michael gets wind of this, don’t take time to pack your bags. Get the first flight back to Australia. At the very least, he’ll break your knees. At worst, you’ll end up floating in the Atlantic in a variety of Tupperware containers.”
“Understood,” he said contritely. “Thank you for the warning. Meanwhile, I’d like to make it up to you.”
I stepped back, afraid of what he thought “making it up to me” might include.
“Don’t panic. This is good news. Stan Rosencrantz is retiring.”
My temper flared again. “His name is Rosenstatz, not Rosencrantz. The least you could do is know the names of your employees.”
“Whatever. He’s retiring.”
“How is Stan’s retirement possibly good news? He loves the newspaper business!”
“He wants to leave while he still has what’s left of his health. I want you to take his job—editing the Lifestyle section of the Intelligencer.”
I stood very still and tried to make sense of what he’d just said. But I felt as if his words were suddenly swirling around in my head as if thrown by the centrifugal force of a roller coaster.
Finally, I said, “Can’t you have one chair in this office?”
Gus opened the door and went out into the newsroom. He returned seconds later with the swivel chair from his assistant’s desk. He took my elbow and guided me to sit down on it. I did so in the nick of time. A slosh of dark water had begun to surge around my feet. It rose up to my knees in a black flood that threatened to overwhelm me.
“Take a deep breath.” Gus steadied me with both hands on my shoulders. His face swam before me, but his voice seemed very far away. “You’re not going to faint, are you? You’re white as foam.”
I fought my way back to clarity. “Get your hands off me.”
He let go of me and stepped back. He leaned against his desk and met my gaze, all trace of his embarrassment gone. “Well? Do you want the job or not?”
“I’m not qualified to assume Stan’s job. He’s a brilliant editor.”
“He’s a lame old coot with lousy digestion. It’s long past time he went out to pasture. We need new ideas around here. You have proven yourself in the online edition. And you have your finger on the pulse of our readership. You�
��re a born-and-bred Philadelphian, and I need that on the editorial side. We can work on your reticence when it comes to sensational ideas—”
“I loathe sensational ideas.”
“You’ll learn on the job. Bottom line? I’d like you to take on more responsibility.”
Head clearing, I looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “You have another agenda, don’t you?”
“Why would you say such a thing?” He endeavored to look innocent. “You’re the girl for my money, Nora. And we work well together.”
“We are not together in any sense of the word!”
“Right, right. Look, I’m not asking for an answer now. It means a raise, of course. And you won’t start until fall, after your little Abruzzo is born. In fact, take a few extra weeks of maternity leave to energize yourself, and come back to a new career.”
Gus had the audacity to smile down at me with the pleased look of a cat that had eaten a whole flock of canaries.
“There are days,” I said, “when I think you are the devil.”
“So you’ll take the new job?”
“I’ll have to talk it over with Michael and get back to you.”
“Of course. I presume you’ll refrain from telling him about my—our—that is, the relationship that you and I—”
“The ridiculous relationship that you made up? No, I’m not keeping that a secret from Michael.” The idea of telling him, though, made my stomach plunge. Even though I was the innocent party, I dreaded having to explain the situation to him.
Gus went back out into the newsroom and returned with a paper cup of water. I sipped it without speaking. When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going to sprawl out on the floor in a dead faint, he said, “Where are you going tonight?”
“The preview of the Tuttle musical.”
“Where is it?”
I told him which theater and that I was going with Tremaine.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you afterward, before you go home. I want to be sure you’re all right. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk,” I said, and tried to prove it. I went out of his office with a wobble, but when I realized everybody in the newsroom was watching with intense interest, I stiffened my spine, grabbed my bag and headed for the elevator.