Love Easy

by Roe Valentine

  Her eyebrow lifted. “We should both ease up on what’s not good for us.”

  His heart pounded. What wasn’t good for him? “Meaning?”

  “Playing savior to your subordinates outside of the workplace.”

  He stood, causing her to step back further. He had that effect on people. “I will decide how I handle my subordinates. And, by the way, it’s not your affair what I do in or outside of my office.” He was harsh and knew it. But she needed to know how serious he was. No more delusions. “Do you understand me, Annabelle?”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Henry, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Pouting, she nuzzled her nose in his chest. “I don’t like you rescuing other girls.”

  He sighed. Annabelle was never his girl, though he kissed her like she was. Took her to his bed like she was. “I told you, I’m not settled on a girl right now.” That wasn’t entirely true. Norma’s face came to him.

  “Will you ever be?” She looked up to him, eyes glistening.

  He’d seen those sad eyes before.

  “I’ve already answered that.” Removing her arms, he raked a hand through his hair. “I’m going to get ready. I’m sure Mom has fainted by now.”

  Annabelle stood, swaying with emotion.

  Turning from her, he walked back through the penthouse, Norma still on his mind.

  ****

  “Your mom fell ill,” Leonard Chapel said, lips around a cigar.

  Henry shuddered to think he’d picked up the same habit subconsciously from his father.

  “We’ve been waiting almost two damn hours for you, boy.”

  Henry sighed, awaiting the servant to pull out his chair. The Furhman Café was the best in Chicago. All the wealthy and socialites of the city went there for lunch on Saturday. Leonard Chapel was no different. To be honest, Henry despised the place for that fact alone. “Such drama.”

  “Her?” Leonard’s booming voice echoed somehow. “You’re the one who strolls in fashionably late without regard to anyone. You always were a selfish child.” His thick fingers flicked the ash forming at the end of the cigar. His eyes, much like Henry’s green pupils, flickered. Henry knew that flicker. Leonard didn’t want to be trifled with.

  Henry sat, glancing to Annabelle who remained quite as a mouse during the exchange. “I had a late night.”

  “Counting papers?” Leonard laughed, belly shaking under his split collar shirt and gray wool vest.

  “He helped an employee out of a thick situation.” Annabelle smiled as if she’d helped. Actually, she’d made it worse.

  “Help you say?”

  Henry frowned. “Yes, an employee of mine was having…men trouble.” The words didn’t sound right as he spoke. “I helped her out of a jam.” Those words weren’t right either. Norma had to contend with much more than a handsy heir. He hoped she had woken up and realized it all was a dream. Could he visit her without invitation? Probably not.

  “Silly girls always getting themselves into jams with men.” Leonard nodded at Annabelle. “Like that one. What’s your name again, doll?”

  “Annabelle.” She frowned. She’d met Henry’s father on two other occasions.

  Henry groaned. Gin was his only thought after that. He needed lots of gin to share a meal with his father. “You’ve met before, sir.”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I’ve met a handful of women you’ve brought around. They all look the same, too.” Sadly, it was true. He’d liked a sultry blonde…until he met a brunette.

  “Sir, please.” Henry didn’t dare look to Annabelle, who, from the corner of his eye, crossed her arms. “Can we have a nice lunch?”

  “I don’t know, Henry. Can we have lunch at almost three in the afternoon?”

  At the right moment, the server arrived to take their orders. His father ordered several items from the menu.

  How could he still be afraid of his father? After all, he was a grown man, not a little boy seeking approval. Maybe he still was…

  After Henry ordered, he excused himself to the men’s room.

  “Look who came back for round two.” The deep voice startled Henry as he walked into the lavatory.

  Henry knew who it was. Ralph Heinz the caveman. God, he would love to pound his face in just for being in the same room as him. “I’ll spare you, Heinz.”

  “You’re a big talker, paper man. I’m surprised, especially since you can’t even man up to your own father. Don’t look hurt, everyone knows you’re scared of that fat bastard you have for a father.” Ralph laughed.

  The two men stood near the same height, though Henry was sure he could take him. Easy.

  “I have no problems manning up. Care to try me?” Henry really should walk away but couldn’t. Something about Ralph made him want to fight. “You sure didn’t last night.”

  Ralph shrugged, taking a towel and drying off wet hands. “That broad wasn’t worth a fight. She’s probably never touched a man, much less know how to suck him off. You did me a favor.”

  Heat rushed to Henry’s face. “Don’t talk about Norma like that.”

  A booming laugh escaped Ralph; his whole body went into that laugh. “Are you serious? You’d give up your blonde piece for that mousy thing?”

  Henry stepped closer, hands clenching. “Say another thing, and I’ll make you sorry.”

  Ralph laughed again, shaking his head. “Keep your mouse.”

  The door slammed shut after he left. Why was he so protective of Norma? Why was he ready to pounce on Ralph—again—for dishonoring her? In the office, he was a Neanderthal to her. He needed to confront his feelings. But Saturday didn’t seem the right day to do so.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday morning rolled around, and Norma couldn’t contain the adrenaline that rushed through her body as she waited in the back of her taxi ride to the Daily. The whole time sitting in the cold motorcar, she caressed the rogue pearl she’d found. She needed to show it to Mr. Chapel. She needed to prove to him she was right. Why hadn’t she shown him the evidence that night? Too much had clouded her judgment. Seeing him. Being in his arms. He pulverized her defenses, but she couldn’t let him do it again. Shoving the pearl in her coat pocket, she thought about how she would convince him to let her cover the story as a crime reporter.

  One foot in front of the other, she entered the Daily. The press room was buzzing as usual. Reporters ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, dashing in and out of the grand hall into the elevator. Deadlines were tight, yet the all-male staff seemed to handle the pressure well. Norma moved into the interior of the perfect square of metal desks, the heavy smack of Woodstock typewriter typebars and cartridge release levers went off constantly. The jingle of the reverberating bells startled her—she could have easily jumped out of her skin. Luckily, she had one task to accomplish—besides show Mr. Chapel the pearl—and that was to report the weather, which had been the same for the last month.

  Norma strode to her desk as controlled as she could and put her coat over the back of the stiff chair. Ingrid flounced in behind her, decked out in a structured skirt suit with a short pearl necklace decorating her slim neck. A smile stretched across her face as if she awoke on a cotton candy cloud with Valentino himself feeding her grapes. This annoyed Norma.

  “Good morning, doll face.” Ingrid threw her coat over the back of her chair. She fell hard in the seat, immediately crossing her legs, the hem of her silk skirt rising over her delicate knee. Her wingtip burgundy pumps shined under the light as she swung the hinge at her knee.

  “Morning.” Norma sat as well, rethinking her old-fashioned wool jacket and long skirt.

  Ingrid’s eyes flickered. “You’re in a mood.”

  Norma loosened up her face. “Sorry…I just have some things on my mind.”

  Ingrid rolled her eyes. “That’s our Norma Hill.”

  That wasn’t the first time someone accused her of thinking too much. If she wasn’t thinking, then she was acting, and acting without thinking wasn’t
smart. If she’d acted on her impulse to kiss Mr. Chapel, she’d be in a heap of trouble.

  Norma’s gaze shifted to her interweaving fingers laying on top of the round metal keys of her typewriter. “I have to talk to you about Friday.”

  Ingrid’s narrowed eyes widened, and her smile deflated. “What about Friday?”

  “It’s about your date, Ralph.” Norma’s gaze lifted to Ingrid who hung on her every word.

  “Isn’t he a dream?” She found her smile again.

  “No,” Norma began carefully, “he was a…dread.”

  Ingrid’s face fell but perked up again just as quick. “How do you mean?”

  With a thudding heart, Norma glanced over to the printing press room, watching Mr. Chapel walk in with grace. His large body glided over the tiled floor.

  He spoke to the typesetters with such authority. His blank eyes slowly shifted around the room, though the wide spread of his straight shoulders dared someone to defy him.

  Her heart stopped completely when he turned his glance her way. His eyes lit like emeralds in the sunlight, and his lips curved in a slight smile for the briefest moment. And just as fast, he was Mr. Chapel, the man whose hard exterior was difficult to penetrate. He pivoted on his heels and returned to his office.

  “Norma?” Ingrid leaned over and tapped Norma’s desk.

  She blinked her eyes, trying her best to remain uneffected. “Um…sorry.”

  “What about Ralph?”

  Norma cleared her throat; she’d gone hoarse all of a sudden. “Ralph is a dreadful person.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “He had the gall to make a pass at me,” Norma said, though without the zeal she’d hoped for.

  Ingrid shrugged. “That’s just Ralph. He likes pretty women, but he’s harmless.”

  Norma gasped. What woman would want her man to make a pass at another woman—or save another woman from a dreadful womanizer? “He caused a terrible scene. He…kissed me.”

  “He what?” Ingrid’s eyebrows knitted together under her cloche hat.

  “Yes. He stole a kiss from me.” And Mr. Chapel saved me from him. Ingrid didn’t need to know that.

  Ingrid looked down at her feet which had become motionless beneath her chair. “I don’t remember a thing of that night.”

  “You passed out before we arrived at…” Norma lowered her voice. “The Jazzy Cat.”

  Ingrid lifted her empty eyes. Apparently Ingrid wasn’t good with unpleasantries. “Ralph has the right connections.”

  “Ralph isn’t the only man with connections.” Norma wished she wasn’t the bearer of bad news.

  “Ralph had the Big Four’s stamp of approval.” Ingrid shrugged her shoulders.

  The “Big Four” was a tight group of privileged “it” girls in Chicago and had been married off to well-connected and wealthy men. Ingrid, who tried desperately to run with that group of girls, didn’t have a sincere suitor in sight.

  “Really, Ingrid, you’ve got to look beyond the dough,” Norma said.

  “No bohunks or rubes for me, doll face.” Ingrid licked her lips, wetting the matte brick-red lipstick. “I’m on an egg hunt.”

  “You and every other deb in Chicago…but Ralph? He’s a sap.”

  “A keen sap.” Ingrid grinned. She completely ignored what Norma said.

  “A trifling sap whose good looks are terribly wasted on him. Really, Ingrid, he’s an odd bird.”

  Ingrid’s mouth hardened into a straight line, eyes glazed over. Norma didn’t think she’d ever seen her mouth do that in all the years she’d known her. She sat back against the hard chair.

  “Well, Too-Dry-Two-Shoes, not everyone can attract her wealthy, gorgeous boss. Some of us actually have to kiss a few frogs before we find our prince.” Ingrid’s eyes were cold with a voice to match.

  Norma stilled at the harshness of Ingrid’s tone. The words stunned her. How could Ingrid think something so ridiculous? Did others in the office think it too? Norma couldn’t immediately respond, heart pounding. Could she possibly attract someone like Mr. Chapel? No. She’d have to dismiss that notion fast. Nothing was more ridiculous and dangerous.

  Ingrid looked away, chin trembling. Her forehead creased, and her shoulders sagged after moments of silence. “I’m sorry, Norma. I-I didn’t mean that. That was a terrible thing for me to say.” Her navy eyes pleaded as they latched on to Norma’s again. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course…but…you know that’s absurd, right?” Norma’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

  Ingrid shrugged. Her face lit up, the color seeping back into her face. “I think Mr. Chapel has his eye on you, and I know you have your eye on him.” She winked and squeezed Norma’s arm before she jumped up and strode out of the press room.

  No way.

  Norma stared at the back of Ingrid until she was lost in the vast hall way. Mr. Chapel has his eye on me? Her mind rolled around the notion of it being true. And it didn’t take long before she was daydreaming about his touch again. His eyes were so intense; even as she thought about it, she had to close her eyes a moment to get centered. How different would their realities be if she had kissed him Friday? Would she have to continuously prove she was capable in the workplace? And other things, too.

  But he turned her off just as fast as he turned her on.

  She was conflicted. How could she have such rivaling thoughts of a man who she despised for his unfair practices in the workplace, but also a man who made her weak in the knees? He refused to see her as an equal but put himself in harm’s way to save her from the likes of Ralph. Why was he so gracious then when at the Daily he clearly enjoyed exercising his authority over her? He’d saved her, for the good Lord’s sake!

  No one had ever saved her. Her father didn’t even save her when she was ten years old and found a spider in her doll house. No. He’d left her to trap and get rid of the spider by herself. A “lesson in self-preservation” her father had said. Because of that, she captured the spider and ultimately freed it. It probably was the best thing she had learned from Charles Hill. Come to your own rescue because no one else will, he had said to her. Mr. Chapel was a shrewd paper man—everyone knew it. How could he play her knight, too?

  She looked down at her hands, which were knotted up again. How can I convince Mr. Chapel to let me cover the story? She pressed a palm to her pocket, the small budge of the pearl safely inside. Slowly, she found the courage to approach Mr. Chapel’s office.

  Chapter Eight

  As Norma carried her weather copy to Mr. Chapel’s office, she silently rehearsed what she would say. Why was it so hard to construct the perfect persuasion? After all, that’s what she’d have to do. Nearing his office she groaned, still didn’t know what to say. More than that, she didn’t know how to behave around him anymore. One thing was for sure, working for Mr. Chapel could get complicated if she couldn’t stop thinking about his touch, or the way his face changed—softened—when it was just the two of them. She needed to stop thinking about kissing him. A week ago, the thought would have never crossed her mind. But then again, a week ago she didn’t think Mr. Chapel had a soul.

  She stood in front of Mr. Chapel’s door, staring. The flutter in her stomach increased by three-fold. She debated turning away, running back to her desk and forgetting the whole thing. But she wanted to see him—it was a primal need she couldn’t explain. She moved closer to the door. She reminded herself why she stood in front of Mr. Chapel’s door. Tell him about the pearl and convince him to let her to cover the story of the attack. She could see the headline in her mind. Woman Contends With More Than The Charleston At Illegal Establishment. Perhaps she would have to refine the headline later.

  Somehow she was able to knock on the door, standing idling by for a response. Nothing. She knocked again, her knuckles reddened the second time. Still nothing. The urge to walk away took over; she stepped back with heavy legs. Biting her lip, she moved toward the door again and pressed her ear to the smooth s
urface. Luckily, no one noticed her. She shifted her gaze to the tiled floor as she pressed her ear harder against the door. Mr. Chapel spoke with staff crime reporter Anton Perugi. She recognized the muffled voices and could make out most of what they said.

  “We mustn’t report this unless there is proof that she’s missing,” Anton said.

  “She hasn’t been seen in three days. Her family has filed a missing person’s report. Given the circumstances, the governor would want press coverage on his missing niece. Perhaps she’s run away or is tanked somewhere not knowing there is a search for her,” Mr. Chapel said in a steady voice. Norma could hear he was stressed.

  She scanned the press room to see if anyone noticed her eavesdropping, but no one had. She pressed her ear even harder against the door as the two men continued to talk.

  “Mr. Chapel, I don’t believe the Daily should run this story. There is no proof the governor’s niece is in danger. No need to cause alarm. I’m certain she’ll show up in no time.” Anton’s voice dropped.

  Norma strained to hear the conversation.

  When the door swiftly opened, Norma jumped back. Anton brought his hand to his mouth, eyes wild, and Mr. Chapel raked a hand through his dark hair, his eyes droopy at the corners—maybe he’d not slept since Friday.

  “Pardon me, miss,” Anton said in a squeaky voice.

  She stepped aside, giving him space. She nodded and waited for him to leave the shadowy corner of Mr. Chapel’s office.

  “Could I possibly have a word with you, Mr. Chapel?” Not waiting for an answer, Norma stepped into his office and sat on the stiff chair across from his large desk.

  Mr. Chapel closed the door and said in a loose voice, “I think we are passed the formalities, Norma.” But he then retracted a bit. “Well…in private at any rate.”

  There’s a private?

  “You seem tired.” Norma still held her weather copy. The pencil slipped from her fingers, landing against the tiled floor, and she bent over to pick it up.

  Straightening, she became aware of Mr. Chapel’s intense stare on her legs.