Every Chance I Get

“How’s Wade?” Asher referred to one of their newest clients, Nevil Wade.

“Sharp as usual, but the bloke can’t do much with the so-called help he’s got.”

Business consumed the conversation for several moments. In the midst of it, Talib kissed his nephew’s head and passed him over to his dad.

“So why’re you holed up in here?” Asher queried when a commercial broke into the game. “Tons of people out there are wanting a second of your time.” He tossed his tie over his shoulder and settled in more comfortably with Ahmad. “I’d appreciate the truth,” he tacked on. Seconds passed before he accepted there would be no response from his friend. “You and Misha avoiding each other when you want to be right next to each other…seems pretty stupid.”

“I’ve been considering more exposure for the new branch.” Talib slipped his feet back into the polished tan wing tips he’d been sporting.

“Are you crazy? We’ve been getting exposure left and right.”

“Print exposure.”

Asher smiled. “What have you got in mind?”

The look Talib slanted was answer enough.

“Hell, man, why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

“That’s all I want.” Talib stood and walked over to lean against the tall pine bar in the room. “But she wants no part of it—of me.”

“That’s a lie, you know.” Asher’s voice was light as he nuzzled his son’s hair.

“I’m not so sure it is, Ash.” Talib studied the invisible pattern his index finger traced into the bar top. “She’s more than angry with me. I suspected it before, but now I know.”

Concern shadowed Asher’s light eyes. “You know what?”

“She’s terrified.”

“Of you?”

“I think so. No, no, that’s not right.” Talib pushed off the bar and strolled the room. He stroked the silky whiskers darkening the honey tone of his face. “No, I don’t think she’s terrified. I’m bloody sure as hell of it.”

Misha found solace on a secluded bend along the back porch. She wiggled to a more comfortable position on a cushioned seat and heard a crinkle from the paper she accidentally sat on. She smiled, finding several outdated newspapers belonging to their competition. Silently, she commended Riley’s thoroughness. The girl always liked to see what the other guy was doing, so she could take it one step further—one step better. Despite that, Misha felt her approval waning when she saw a copy of The First Beacon.

Misha placed aside her disgust and browsed the paper. But it just returned full steam when she saw that the Beacon had added a new section to the paper. That week’s edition boasted the debut of “The Word on Entertainment” by editor Justine Duke.

“That shady wench.” Misha seethed with anger as she conjured the image of her former colleague and greatest enemy. The woman’s irresponsible reporting had caused several upsets between Riley and Asher. Not to mention the upsets between Misha and Talib.

Misha felt her anger gradually taper into anticipation. The need for a slice of revenge was rising sure and steady.

“There you are!” Gloria Reynolds’s firm voice filled the area when she waltzed around the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Well, you found me.” Misha made room on the lounge chair and watched as Gloria angled her tall, curvy frame next to her.

“The baby’s baptism is turning out to be the biggest business party of the season.”

Misha had to laugh at the woman’s excitement. “I’ll bet you’ve got enough scoops to keep The New Chronicle thick for the next year.”

“I won’t deny that.” Gloria gave a quick toss of her auburn locks. “But it’s not The New Chronicle I’ve collected the biggest scoop for, but The Stamper Court.” She spoke of the new publication Riley had been slated to run with Misha as her chief editor.

Intrigued, Misha sat up a bit straighter on the lounge chair listening as Gloria talked of a feature on Hud-Mason.

“We’ve already got Asher’s and Talib’s blessings to run with the thing. The co-owners are eager for as much exposure as possible.”

Misha knew that wouldn’t be difficult for them to obtain. Talk of the successful agents was everywhere. Even the advertising world had caught the fever. Talib’s and Asher’s faces were gracing everything from NYC subways to billboards in Times Square.

Misha noted that an exposé would be great for her and Riley’s new publication which was garnering almost as much talk as Talib’s and Asher’s new venture.

“Are we talking more of a background piece or something more specialized?”

Gloria bit her thumbnail and considered the question. “Oh, this would definitely be more specialized.”

Misha reached for her phone to input notes, but realized she’d left it in the baby’s nursery when she first arrived at the party. “Well, I can put Coyt Parsons on it.” She ran down the project in her head. “He’d love the opportunity. He certainly does have a flair for flashy writing and this would probably call for just that.”

“You may want to wait on that.” Gloria scooted to the edge of the lounge. “The board is gonna insist on you handling it.”

“Why?” Misha moved to the edge of the lounge, as well. “I’m an editor, Gloria, not a writer. Trust me, I know my limits.”

“That may be, but you writing the story was the one thing they insisted on.”

“Right.” Misha leaned back and regarded her publisher with clear suspicion in her tilting onyx stare. “Is this what Riley and me are gonna have to look forward to with our new publication? Will the brass always insist on how we should handle our stories?”

Gloria was about to respond, when she paused and looked past Misha. “Not our brass, hon.” She patted her hand to Misha’s knee and stood.

Misha followed the direction of the woman’s gaze to Talib Mason.

Chapter 2

“Talib,” Gloria greeted the man with a nod and soft smile. She hurried from the porch, tuning into the fact that war was in the air.

“What are you doing?” Suspicion all but blazed from Misha’s eyes.

When he approached, she retreated. Talib noticed and it triggered his frustration anew. He moved forward until he’d invaded her personal space quite adequately.

“When would you like to start meeting to discuss the story?”

Misha attempted to make a move around him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“I can send someone out first thing on Monday,” she said.

Talib slipped a hand into a side pocket of his cream trousers and bowed his head. “Gloria did tell you we expect your personal attention on this, didn’t she?”

“Do you realize that I’m a very busy woman?” She blinked hair from her eyes so he could see the full extent of her emotion. “I don’t have to be involved in every stage of research to write this story, you know?”

“For this story, you do. Take it or leave it.”

Her smile was sweet. “I’ll leave it.”