LITMIR.BIZ

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Linda queried.

      He made a dismissive noise, unprepared to think positive things about Claire Marsden right now.

      “Well, I think she’s very attractive,” Linda continued.

      “Compared to the Russian women’s weight-lifting team, you mean?”

      “Whatever did she do to get you so offside?” Linda asked, her eyes wide at his unaccustomed cruelty.

      He shrugged, suddenly aware that he’d actually allowed himself to get quite worked up.

      “We just had a little…transport dispute this morning.”

      “I see. Well, she’s a nice person. My niece Ronnie spent a week doing work experience with her recently. Claire was very supportive and helpful, and Ronnie is really inspired to have a go at journalism now.”

      He paused in the act of flipping open the lid on his notebook computer.

      “Why didn’t you ask me about the work experience? I’d have been happy to have Ronnie up here.”

      Linda made a noise in the back of her throat. He recognized it as her deeply skeptical grunt and decided he was offended.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “Oh, come on, Jack. You’re hardly the most patient of men. I didn’t want you breathing down Ronnie’s neck, making her nervous. Besides, you’re far too good-looking and Ronnie’s far too young and blond for my personal comfort.”

      He leaned back in his chair, happy for any opportunity to crank his assistant up a little.

      “Blond you say? Just how old is she?”

      Linda shook her head and slapped his mail down onto his desk.

      “Keep your trousers on and read your mail, Mr. Sexy,” she said.

      He took another big slurp of latte while he waited for his computer to boot up. A dialogue box flashed onto the screen and he typed in his password, flicking idly through the few letters Linda had just given him while the computer logged in to the company network.

      Nothing exciting there. In his role as managing editor, he oversaw the production of six monthly magazine titles. It meant he got a lot of mail—most of it dull. Today he had a complaint from one of the tour operators they’d profiled in a recent Travel Time issue, which could go straight in the recycling bin, and a couple of letters to the editor from two of the other titles he managed.

      He turned his attention to his e-mail, his eyebrows rising with surprise as he saw he had a message from the Big Kahuna himself, Morgan Beck. He scanned the note quickly, then called Linda in.

      “Can you cancel my two o’clock and reschedule it for me? I’ve been summoned upstairs by God.”

      “Can do. Anything else?”

      He flashed his most disarming smile, turning on the charm shamelessly. To her credit, Linda remained steadfastly unaffected, instead shaking her head ruefully.

      “Don’t waste your little-boy-lost routine on me. What do you want?”

      “Do you think you could also swing past the post office and collect the mail from my personal box? I haven’t had a chance to get over there since I flew back into town yesterday.”

      “Jack, we’ve been over this. I’m more than happy to collect your personal mail for you every day during my lunch break. Just give me the key to your box and it will be taken care of.”

      Sliding the small key from his key ring, Jack hesitated before handing it over.

      “I feel bad asking you to run personal errands for me,” he confessed when Linda made an impatient noise.

      “Well, get over it. You’re a good boss, you don’t treat me like a slave, and I’m happy to help you out however I can.”

      Overcoming his personal scruples, Jack shrugged and handed the key over. Linda gave him an amused look as she slid it into her hip pocket.

      “Don’t worry—I’ll let you know when you’ve crossed the line and turned into a heartless corporate shark.”

      “My deepest, darkest fear. How did you know?” Jack joked.

      “I’m psychic. Which is why I suspect it’s useless suggesting you tidy yourself up a bit before your appointment with Mr. Beck,” Linda said, her tone indicating she already knew his response.

      “You are psychic, you know. It’s uncanny,” he said, loving that he could annoy her.

      Linda’s eyes flicked down to his black, three-quarter-length cargo pants, slip-on sandals and unironed Hawaiian shirt.

      “You’re lucky Mr. Beck likes you,” she said on her way out of his office.

      Jack snorted, his mood shifting abruptly as her words triggered a memory.

       Luck.

      What a concept. What a stupid, random, insane, cruel concept. He was very quiet for a moment as he stared out unseeingly at his view. And then he remembered that big smear of lipstick across Claire Marsden’s face and he laughed to himself all over again.

       CHAPTER TWO

      BUSY. THE THOUGHT registered somewhere between Claire’s third impromptu meeting of the day and the fourth phone call from the client she’d been wooing for the past six months. Now that they’d signed the contracts, Hillcrest Hardware were keen to have their new custom magazine in their hot little hands.

      Ironic, if you had the time to appreciate such things. She’d spent so long explaining, and illustrating, and cajoling to bring them to the point of saying yes, and now they were more keen than she was. And she was pretty damn keen.

      Despite the fact that it was well past midday and she still hadn’t read her e-mail, she paused to appreciate the larger-than-life blowup of the front cover for the launch edition of Welcome Home magazine that was leaning against her office wall. Gleaming floorboards reflected light from wide, white-framed windows, and a rustic wood dining setting graced the center of the tastefully decorated room. Color Your World read one of the cover lines, while another claimed Bring Your Garden to Life in an Instant. A little bubble of pride blossomed in her belly. After all the hard work, they were finally a go.

      Her own magazine. Based on a concept she’d created. Executed just how she thought it should be executed. It simply didn’t get better.

      She was the one who had seen the opportunity for a custom magazine within the Hillcrest Hardware chain. She’d watched the growth in demand for decorator magazines, and she’d found a progressive hardware retailer in the marketplace who was looking for a new way to create relationships with its customers. It had made sense to her to answer one need with the other, just as it had made sense to the executives at Hillcrest when she’d pitched it to them six months ago.

      Now she was about to launch a new magazine title into the Australian marketplace, an important, key part of her five-year plan. Soon, if she played her cards right, the corner office and senior management status she coveted would be hers—it was just a matter of time.

      Today was Wednesday; by this time next week, she should have editorial sign-off from her client, and the magazine should be well into production. Another week or so later, and the first edition would be rolling off the printing presses.

      A goofy smile still wreathing her lips, Claire clicked the mouse on the e-mail icon on her computer screen and watched as her in-box registered way too many notifications. Sighing, she realized she was going to have to get her assistant to prioritize them for her, alert her to the urgent ones and print the rest off for her to read in bed later that night. Another fascinating evening.

      It was just as well there was no man also planning on sharing her bed.

      She paused

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