At Any Price. Margaret Allison

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      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, she saw the grin creep up his lips. “If needed. I keep an extra set of clothes on the plane, just in case.”

      “Of course,” she said. After all, who didn’t?

      When she stood up, Jack surprised her and said, “Do you have plans this evening?”

      “I, uh, no,” she stammered.

      “Good. I’d like to take you out to a nice dinner. Pick any place you want. We can catch up.”

      “Sure,” she said. She had just the place in mind.

      Joe’s Diner was located on the corner of Main and Howe Streets, almost directly across the street from the paper. It had been in existence ever since Joe Pecorillo first arrived in Albany from Italy in the late 1920s. Since then, it had stayed in the family, passing from Joe Sr., to Joe Jr., to Joe the third. Joe the third, otherwise known as Joey, was about sixty years old and had managed it since Katie was a kid. She, Jack and Matt had spent many hours at Joe’s sharing milkshakes and burgers. Jack even worked there his senior year before college.

      If Jack was surprised by her choice, he didn’t show it. In fact, she thought he seemed relieved, almost happy that she had not chosen a more romantic and quiet place.

      After Jack had shaken hands with Joe they settled into a worn, yet cozy booth by the window. Jack looked around and said, “It’s kind of quiet for Thursday night, isn’t it?”

      Besides them, only three other tables were taken. “Not really,” she said. “I told you, things have changed. I’m sure you noticed the out-of-business signs. A lot of people have left town. It’s hard to find work around here. Unless something is done, Newport Falls is going to turn into a ghost town.”

      “But Lois Lane is going to save it. Or do you see yourself as Brenda Starr?”

      “Neither,” she said coldly. “This is my hometown. I love it here. I love the fact that when I’m sick, I can count on Mrs. Crutchfield to make me chicken soup. I can count on Ms. Faunally to bring me her homemade strawberry jelly in the spring. I can count on the Wellers to entertain the entire town at Halloween. I can count on Mr. Pete to know I’m entertaining if I buy an extra package of steaks at his grocery store. I can count on the wild azaleas to bloom like crazy every summer. I know some people don’t СКАЧАТЬ