At Any Price. Margaret Allison
some unresolved feelings.”
“No way. If he still cared a hoot about me he would’ve called or written.”
“I wasn’t talking about Jack.”
Katie stared up from her desk. “I may have cared for the old Jack Reilly, the one without the fancy suits and high-rise office, but I couldn’t care less about the new version. He’s not my type.”
“He was for a very long time.”
“That was before he left town, before he stopped writing, stopped calling. Before he forgot who he was.”
“I think thou dost protest too much.”
Katie felt her cheeks heating up. “I guarantee you, whatever feelings I had for Jack Reilly are no more. Sure, he may still make me nervous,” she said, remembering the way her heart had accelerated when she first saw him again, “but that’s normal.”
Marcella raised her eyebrows.
“My interest in Jack Reilly is purely professional. I called him only as a last resort. I mean, wait till he gets here. You’ll see. It’s no accident that we’ve had to wait a gazillion minutes. Jack’s so cocky now, so arrogant, so full of himself…”
“And so behind you,” Marcella said.
Jack stood in the doorway. He’d heard almost every word of Katie’s litany against him. But it hadn’t angered him. In fact, he was flattered he could still squeak genuine emotion out of the normally reserved town sweetheart.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “My meeting ran a little long this morning.”
He pretended not to notice the look of absolute horror in Katie’s eyes. He saw her glance at Marcella. “No problem,” Katie said quickly.
“And then my pilot had some last-minute things to take care of before we took off.”
“My pilot?” asked Marcella. She shot Katie a look, impressed. “You have your own plane?”
Jack nodded. “Anyway, I can see I’m interrupting. I’d be happy to wait, though. How long do you think you’ll be? A gazillion minutes?”
“Nice to see you again, Jack,” Marcella said, rushing past him.
“Look, Jack,” Katie said. Her normally pale face was beet-red. “I’m sorry about that. You know me. I never liked to wait.”
Jack’s smile faded. “Yes,” he said. She certainly had not waited for him. “I know.”
“Well,” she said, breezing past him. Jack recognized her perfume. It was soft yet enticing, the same scent she’d worn in high school. She turned to face him. Then she flashed him the smile he had committed to memory. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Katie had the sudden urge to throw up. How could she have been so stupid, talking about him like that when he was due any time? Whatever her history was with Jack, she had to get over it. After all, she needed him. This paper needed him. Without him, the entire town was sunk.
But still… She thought of the way he’d mentioned his pilot. It was as if he wanted her to know that he didn’t fly commercial anymore. He had his own private plane. Well, big deal! He may be a hotshot in New York, but she would always be able to cream him with a snowball.
She showed Jack around the offices. He seemed unimpressed, almost bored. He sat through the various meetings with a stone face, every now and then interrupting to ask a question.
At one point, when she and Marcella escaped to the ladies’ room, Marcella grabbed her arm and said, “Oh, my God, he’s so gorgeous…I mean, he was always gorgeous but not like that. What happened to him?”
“It’s the suit,” Katie replied, trying to convince herself. And they both laughed. For it was apparent that underneath the expensive suit, the crisp, starched shirt and the pearl cuff links, Jack was every bit the muscular hunk he had been in school.
At the end of the day, she led him back to her office. “I’d like to meet with some of those reporters you talked about,” he said.
“Right,” Katie replied. She picked up her phone and dialed Luanna Combs, her most recent coup. Luanna had worked at the Baltimore Sun for ten years before joining The Falls. But Luanna didn’t pick up her extension.
Katie hung up the phone, distressed. She checked her watch. It was almost six. Except for today she wouldn’t expect Luanna to be at the office past five-thirty. After all, that was part of the deal, part of why she was able to woo high-level staff. She promised flexible work hours and little overtime, a family-friendly environment.
She glanced at Jack. He crossed his arms.
She swallowed and tried another extension. Bobby, the assistant for the reporters, picked up. “Where’s Luanna?” she asked.
“She left. Said she was really sorry, but she got a call from school. Her kid’s got red spots all over—they think it’s chicken pox.”
“What about Brett?” she asked. Brett Wilson was her top reporter, whom she’d somehow snagged from the Los Angeles Times.
“Tanker overturned on Route 44. Brett’s covering it.”
“And Shelley?” she asked, already anticipating the answer.
“Gone. Her husband got the stomach flu so she had to pick up her kids from day care. Turned in her story, though. Damn good.”
When she hung up the phone, Jack raised his eyebrows and said, “Well?”
“They’re not here.”
“None of them? Where are they?”
“The three I wanted you to meet aren’t… Well, they’re not available right now.”
“This newspaper’s future is riding on three employees? That’s why you haven’t increased revenues? Because you’re paying top dollar to only three—”
“They’ll be in tomorrow,” she said crossly. “If you can’t stick around to talk to them, well, I guess I’ll just thank you for your time and see you out.”
He hesitated a moment. “They’ll be available tomorrow—guaranteed?”
“Guaranteed,” she said. Even if she had to watch their kids for them and cover the newsbeat.
“Okay,” he said.
“You’ll stay?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded as he flipped open his cell phone and called his office. She could hear him talking to his secretary, rearranging his schedule. “And call Carol,” he said. “See if you can reschedule her for another night.”
Jealousy stabbed her heart. Carol? He was obviously canceling a date.
She cleared her throat, as if trying to rid herself of poisonous feelings. She had no business being jealous. Instead, she should be feeling sorry for the poor woman. After all, he didn’t even have the decency to call himself, his secretary did it for him.
He shut the phone and told her, “One more day.” He looked at his watch. “Does Mrs. Crutchfield still run the inn on Main Street?”
“Yep,” Katie said. But she didn’t see this new Jack Reilly comfortable in a simple country inn. She was certain he would prefer accommodations that offered room service. “But there’s a nice Hyatt in Albany.”
“The inn will be fine. I’ll ask Greg to drive some clothes over.”
“Who’s Greg and what clothes?”
“Greg’s my pilot. He does a bunch of things besides just flying planes.”
“You mean he’s a valet, too?” She couldn’t help the sarcasm.
Once again,