“This is an independent newspaper and there are—what—eight rags now competing in Chicago. At a minimum. I will succeed, Miss Hill. You know why? Because. That. Is. What. I. Do. And winning the 1926 Pulitzer will just be an added bonus. Were you aware my newspapers have been awarded the Pulitzer medal the last four years? So, unless you have more complaints or demands, you’re free to leave.”
She got to him. She got to him good. She got to him harder than any other female he had to contend with in the workplace. How did she make him spill that so easily? How did Miss Hill, resident weather reporter, pull that from the deepest part of his mind? No one ever went there, not even his mother. Miss Hill couldn’t begin to understand the engine that drove him.
His father’s disappointing words sounded in his mind, as they had most days. A man’s place is in real business—commodities, like steel and paper—not dillydallying with little newspapers. But what really irked him was when his father would say I sure as hell didn’t pay Harvard a fortune to have a soft paper man for a son. He muted his father’s thwarted voice. He had things to prove, papers to save, and a tiny brunette weather reporter to tame.
Norma’s face was red again. No, red didn’t quite describe it. Her face eased into a very unnatural maroon. How could she possibly still have a beef with him? He ignored her crashing into his office and busting a hole in his wall, and he allowed her to keep her job after a very blatant display of insubordination. She had guts to push him any further. Clearly she was a bearcat and had a sassy mouth to match, and that didn’t suit him.
After a few beats of silence, only heavy breathing filled the space, she spoke. “Thank you, Mr. Chapel.” Her voice was low with defeat, but the continued defiance in her eyes said she didn’t take defeat well. “I …apologize for my outburst.” She stood quickly and walked toward the closed office door.
Henry watched her shapely behind sway from side to side as she departed. His anger subsided faster than a flapper sucked down a mug of gin. Nice rump. She could give Louise Brooks a run for her money, and that was no lie. But room only existed for one hot-tempered animal at the Daily—him.
****
Stomping back to her desk, Norma tried to tame her flaring anger. Sadly, it didn’t work and only worsened. She probably looked like an adolescent to the nosy staff who watched her every move as she made the walk of shame through the press room floor. She didn’t care. She could respect that Mr. Chapel intended to revive the Chicago Daily News because, frankly, it had gone under. But did he have to be so pompous in the process? He had a lot of nerve to say she was lucky he didn’t fire her. Her blood boiled the more she thought about his patronizing tone. She became even more furious the more she thought about the way he had dismissed her. He may as well have swatted at her like a pesky fly. The man was insufferable and a chauvinist.
Once at her desk, she fell hard in the metal chair, her hands pressing on the heavy typewriter. A heavy sigh puffed from her lungs. She couldn’t let it go. He was nothing but a pig, her brain harped on, gathering strength.
A darned gorgeous pig.
“What happened?” Ingrid whispered from behind her typewriter. Her blue eyes were wide and shifted around like a doll’s. Long lashes scooped the air with every blink.
“He’s…” Norma searched for the appropriate words, but couldn’t, not in that moment. “He’s insufferable.”
Ingrid looked around, her face twisted up with apprehension. Her dilated eyes scanned the press room as she slithered to Norma’s desk on elegant oxfords. “What did you do, Norma?”
“Me?” How could Ingrid automatically think she did something after the whole Chicago Daily News staff witnessed Mr. Chapel’s arrogance in the introduction meeting?
Ingrid drew in closer, leaning over the metal desk. “I know you and your equality bit.”
Equality bit?
“Well, I think equality for women is important.” She raised her brow. “Don’t you?”
“Of course, doll…but I also know how it is for us in the press world. We are lucky to be here, Norma. You know we are.”
“I know no such thing!” Her fists clenched against the typewriter. Even her friend reflected Mr. Chapel’s views.
“All right, Norma, I’m not the one you have a beef with.” Ingrid’s lips pressed together.
Norma softened as she leaned back against the metal chair, knowing her friend was right. Her beef wasn’t with Ingrid. “I know. But you should have heard him. He just dismissed me.” Her cheeks flared with heat again.
“He’s not our previous boss. Mr. Jackman let you speak your mind, and you know he adored you.” Ingrid’s left brow arched.
“He adored all his female reporters,” Norma added.
Co-workers’ typewriters sounded off in her ears—business as usual. Reports were due by noon, and the room was alight with frantic lengths to impress the new boss.
“Mr. Chapel is in charge now, and to be honest, I am glad for the eye seduction.” Ingrid grinned with a deep rose blush coloring her cheeks.
“Eye seduction?” What in darnation is that?
“Let’s be honest. Mr. Jackman left much to be desired in the sheik department.”
Ingrid only cared about looks. Men weren’t the only visual beasts around Chicago. She’d let a sap court her if his wicked smile made her weak in the knees. Loyalty was quite a separate requirement, and most times not at all.
“Perhaps, but Mr. Jackman gave women opportunities the other newspapers didn’t.” Norma hated to hear unsavory things about Mr. Jackman. He was the father she never had.
Ingrid waved her hand in dismissal.
Norma looked far off, her focus fuzzy as Mr. Chapel’s words played in her mind. Half of the staff will be history, and I tell you what, be glad I don’t have you packing your Parker pen and respective nibs for what you did to my wall. Her jaw clenched. After hearing Ingrid’s position, Norma was alone in her plight. Her eyes hardened as she looked back to her friend, who then had a goofy look on her face. She probably imagined Mr. Chapel without a shirt.
“I’ll show him,” Norma said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
“Show him what?” Both of Ingrid’s eyebrows rose to the middle of her forehead.
“You’ll see.” Norma pushed away from the metal desk and excused herself to the lavatory. She needed a quiet space to think and decide how she would stick it to the Big Cheese, Henry Chapel.
Chapter Two
Within two days, the staff had been nearly replaced by an all-male staff handpicked by Henry Chapel himself, with the exception of Norma and Ingrid. So, maybe he was a man of his word. He kept Norma on as the weather reporter but demoted Ingrid from Smart Style reporter to his secretary, also known as doormat.
That really annoyed Norma. No man at the Daily, or elsewhere for that matter, could write fashion reports better than Ingrid. She must have had the latest winter collection imported straight from Paris. A sap named Jonathan Rowe took over writing the Smart Style, and upon first glance, Norma concluded he didn’t have a fashionable bone in his body. Not that she did either.
He wore the dullest brown pants and ill-fitting shirts that were not split collared. If she didn’t know better, his mother probably still outfitted him, probably made his clothes to boot. Ingrid tried not to look disappointed. After all she was grateful she stayed on Lawson Publishing’s payroll, but Norma knew she was devastated.
Norma’s weather report had been purposely comical the last couple of days since Mr. Chapel took over, even though Mother Nature had been pretty consistent. She looked up from her desk and cocked her head to peer outside the window from across the room. Yes, still snowing and still cold. Mother Nature was certainly predictable these days, or perhaps Chicago was predictable.
A commotion at the other side of the room pulled her from the latest weather report. From the sea of desks, Mr. Chapel emerged like a violent wave crashing onto shore during a hurricane. Reminiscent of the one that destroyed Galveston, Texas, at
the turn of the century. He made a beeline for Norma, and the look on his face said he didn’t want to be trifled with. His eyes were dark, and his lips were dangerously pressed together. Did he ever smile? No wonder he wasn’t known for his looks.
“Miss Hill!” He clutched a leaf of paper in his left hand. “What is the meaning of this?”
Immediately, her heart stilled. She knew full well what he was referring to. She widened her eyes, and suddenly just the two of them were in the room, everything else fell away. The sounds of the typewriters stopped, and the hissing of the printing press next door stopped, too.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mr. Chapel.” She maintained a nonchalant tone as if his aggressive reproach didn’t affect her—it did though.
“You don’t?” Clearly he found that hard to believe.
Steadfast, she shrugged. “No.”
His stare blazed brilliantly like the embers in a fire, and it excited her a little bit. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his crisp white shirt. His vest was swiftly unbuttoned as well. He must have been disrobing for a fight, though he kept calm and collected as the Daily staff watched.
He straightened out the piece of paper, and after he cleared his throat, he read aloud.
“Just like a tyrannical employer, the air is cold and brutal; therefore, employees should take care to wear the heaviest coats they own.”
The male reporters snickered, not trying to contain their amusement a lick. They didn’t even try to keep boorish comments to themselves either. No secret Norma and the Big Cheese didn’t see eye to eye on…anything. She’d even heard rumors the men gathered in the lavatory to place bets on her continued employment. Some of the men even had the audacity to clap because she really had done it that time.
Mr. Chapel didn’t falter or acknowledge the ripple of chatter throughout the press room. It quickly halted, and the room was silent again. He was dead serious, but when wasn’t he?
Oh darn.
Norma’s lips fought against the need to form a half moon of partial amusement and partial pride. Challenging as it was, she pressed her mouth in a straight line. The report was completely ridiculous, and she really didn’t know what force drove her to be so petty. She also didn’t know why a ping of satisfaction surged through her as he read her words aloud. Perhaps her primal need to bust Mr. Chapel’s chops like she needed air egged her on. Darn if sticking it to him at every turn didn’t exhilarate her. Maybe she had gone too far this time, but she couldn’t admit that. If she did, she’d also have to admit she was being juvenile, and she wasn’t willing to do that either.
“I’m glad you’re amused, Miss Hill.” Mr. Chapel’s gaze commanded attention.
It must have been his twitching eyelid that made Norma shiver. He was beyond annoyed at that point. The bulge of his jaw bone proved it. The staff was sufficiently scared, and no one made a peep. They watched in anticipation at what would happen next.
“Do you think this ingenious report will sell more papers?” Mr. Chapel’s voice remained pleasingly smooth and deflected his discontent, but a fool would know better.
Norma stuttered for the right words. By right words she meant cleaver comeback. But oddly enough, she couldn’t muster anything that would be deemed sass-mouthed worthy.
Just before she could respond, Mr. Chapel balled up the paper in his large strong hands and tossed the crushed report in the nearest waste basket. His face was still composed, and his gaze didn’t leave her for one second.
She could easily crumble under his stare. He was that good. But she repelled the angry stare somehow and ignored the silent rage forcing the vein on his forehead to bulge.
“In my office. Now.” He plodded back to his office in long controlled strides; the act was powerful. He pounded her into compliance, and she followed behind, trying her best to match his pace in her uncomfortable T-strap pumps.
The men and Ingrid watched with eyes wider than a blow fish, and no doubt silently placed new bets, except for Ingrid.
It wasn’t the first time she was reprimanded. She couldn’t count the times she’d been in trouble in private school for her inability to follow directions from the headmistress. But she felt more than reprimanded by Henry Chapel. She felt dejected.
When they reached his office, she closed the door behind her and stood near the smaller chair but didn’t sit. Only one thought charged her mind. I’m canned. Would she have to accept she would no longer be a reporter for the Chicago Daily?
Her heart pounded much harder the second time she found herself in Mr. Chapel’s office. She wished she could admit to herself the botched report wasn’t worth it. At the time, it was. Her pride took over as she reconciled her predicament. Well, if I’m going to be fired, it will be on my terms, and for not any reason Mr. Chapel will make.
Mr. Chapel turned, his face warped with contained rage. His sensual lips were pressed so hard she thought he’d draw blood, jaw clenched tight. He didn’t speak for a few tortuous minutes.
He turned away again, peeling off his tan vest, and flung it over the enormous chair that matched his desk. His hair wasn’t as perfectly combed, but still chic. It would be impossible for him not to be chic. He was very particular with himself. Everything seemed calculated and careful from his words to his clothes to his hair strands. Finally, after taking what seemed like twenty minutes, he situated himself in his chair and lit a fat cigar. A white stream of smoke blew through his partially opened lips. The act jolted her insides; she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth.
“I’m trying to do what’s best for the newspaper, and you are making it very difficult.” His voice was deceptively cool again, green eyes cutting into her. If looks could kill, she would’ve been hauled away on a stretcher.
Norma’s knees tightened. She wanted to sit and alleviate the pressure that had collected in her bones and chest. Every word he said was muffled by a multitude of thoughts clouding her mind—irrational thoughts. She should’ve been ashamed, but her pride was too sturdy a force. Anyone who knew her knew that fact. Through the buzzing in her ears, she considered what he said and knew immediately he was right.
Their gazes met. Norma parted her lips to exhale. She’d been holding her breath, and the act started to suffocate her. Being so close to him made her unsure of her decisions.
His gaze danced over her face, and she wanted to find the nearest exit. He intimidated her, no doubt about it.
She desperately tried not to let his handsome face affect her. Talk about difficult. A herculean effort actually, especially because he was always looking at her with those eyes.
Somehow she gathered strength and mustered up enough nerve to speak. “I don’t think firing all our women reporters was best for this newspaper, Mr. Chapel. What’s your problem with women?” She never had a problem getting straight to the point, not since she was a child and certainly not as an adult.
“This is about your insubordination, Miss Hill,” he dismissed her claim.
“I’m not a subordinate.” That wasn’t true.
He snorted, shaking his head as he shifted to look through the glass window into the afternoon sky, which could have been mistaken for evening.
Norma looked as well, thinking she really had pushed him too far. Would he give her the axe, or not? Would she have to pack her Parker fountain pen and respective nibs and the photograph of her grandfather in a milk crate and take the grueling walk of shame out of the Daily forever? The thought crushed her. She didn’t want to leave the Daily, the only newspaper that had given her a chance when others callously turned her away. Mr. Jackman was the only one who had believed in her abilities, and he was gone. She couldn’t negate his belief in her with her actions. What would that mean for women reporters everywhere?
She turned back and found that Mr. Chapel still watched the snow flurry in organized chaos. Her gaze followed the strong lines of his nose, perfectly proportionate to the rest of his face. He seemed unaffected, but she wondered what w
as going on inside that too-beautiful-to-be-fair head of his.
His gaze shifted to meet hers. She jumped; she was caught staring. Heat rushed up her face as she quickly looked away. Darn, why does he have to be so good-looking? Disconcerting didn’t begin to describe what his looks did to her. He dismantled her concentration completely. How could she focus on the confrontation with all these inappropriate thoughts?
“You are my reporter,” he stated.
“Then let me be a reporter,” Norma tested.
“To be frank, Miss Hill, I’m not sure I want you to continue reporting the weather. Not after today’s stunt. It was very unprofessional, although I am not completely surprised.”
She was silent for a few beats because she knew what she had to do.
“Fine. I admit it…I was wrong,” she finally said, another herculean effort. Was everything an effort where this man was concerned? She had to dig down deep for that. The task to admit she was wrong was painstakingly hard, especially because she had to admit it to him.
She wasn’t incapable of taking responsibility for her actions, but an admission of defeat to Mr. Chapel was nothing short of maddening. Looking down to clasped hands, she considered how to continue with a different request while being acutely aware her job was on the line. “I want to be a crime reporter.”
“Crime reporter.” He took another puff of his cigar. He didn’t snicker, and his face didn’t give away what processed behind those green eyes. His brow furrowed. Was it consideration?
A tinge of hope rushed through her body. “I can do it, Mr. Chapel. I can report better than any man here.” Her body gained more strength as she shifted her weight to the right leg. She reconsidered sitting but decided against it. Sitting would put her at eye level with him, and she rather liked him looking up to her.
“That is very ambitious of you, Miss Hill, but I can’t risk giving a beat like that to a woman who is unable to report the weather without making a mockery of it.” He took another puff, his eyes empty, bored perhaps. “The answer is no.”
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