After That Night

Oh, Lord, what had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this! Why did she think this suit would help? She wasn’t a journalist. She was an accountant, and power red or not, he was going to see through her in two seconds flat. She should bow out now, while she still had the chance. She should—

And then suddenly the door to the suite opened, and there was their old friend Debra Lee. She looked a little older, much more sophisticated than Jenna remembered, but her smile was the same. Warm and welcoming. She greeted them with hugs and ushered them inside.

Jenna barely had time to register that the suite was probably big enough to hold most of her father’s house before Debra Lee led them through sliding glass doors and onto a wide terrace that ran the length of the suite.

The summer air was surprisingly cool and refreshing. From the balcony, the tops of the tallest trees from the nearest park were barely visible, waving like ruffled fans in the slight breeze. Beyond them lay Manhattan, its impressive skyline caught in the late-afternoon sunlight.

Lauren, always looking for that next wonderful shot, immediately crossed to the railing. She pulled her camera up, made a few adjustments and began clicking away happily. Never fond of heights, Jenna was content to hang back closer to the sliding glass doors.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Debra Lee said, indicating a pitcher of iced tea and glasses on a patio table. “Mark and Miss Winston had an appointment this afternoon, and I’m afraid they’re not back yet.”

One of Jenna’s pet peeves was being kept waiting, especially since she knew FTW’s office had reconfirmed their appointment just this morning. She’d read once that people who were chronically late were subconsciously flexing their muscles, trying to show who had the upper hand in the meeting. She could just imagine someone like Mark Bishop wanting to send that kind of message. You’re not important enough for me to care about being on time.

But on the plus side, a delayed interview would certainly allow her an easy out. “We can reschedule if necessary,” Jenna said, knowing Vic would be the one to show up next time.

Lauren stopped taking pictures and turned toward them. “No, we can’t,” she said to Debra Lee with a pointed look in Jenna’s direction. “We’ll wait.”

“Good,” Debra Lee replied. Then she suddenly looked sheepish. “I suppose I should have told Vic, but Mark never actually agreed—”

There was a sound behind them, the door to the suite opening and closing with a bang, then a strong male voice calling out, “Deb! Where are you? Get in here!”

Debra Lee gave them a quick smile. “Wait here, please,” she said, then spun around and stepped back into the living room.

Still absorbed in taking pictures, Lauren had wandered farther along the terrace. She was almost completely hidden now by an enormous ficus in an oriental tub. Jenna was standing so close to the exterior wall beside the sliding glass doors that she couldn’t be easily seen, either.

It occurred to her that she should probably move out into the center of the terrace, make sure her presence was noted by whomever had just entered the suite. Instead, she instinctively moved closer to the wall.

The man spoke again, harshly, and though she couldn’t see him any better than he could see her, Jenna felt sure it must be Mark Bishop. “I just spent two excruciating hours listening to that idiot Benchley. He claims there was a major change in top management at Castleman Press last week. Find Scott. Tell him I want to know why it wasn’t in his report. A shakeup like that should have been a red flag that a blind man couldn’t have missed.”

His voice was exactly what Jenna expected—deep, commanding and leaving little room for argument. Nervous tension danced up her spine.

“Right away,” she heard Debra Lee say. And then, “Miss Winston isn’t with you?”

“I didn’t have the heart to make her stay and listen to Benchley, so she went on to Ken’s office to sign some papers. She’ll be here soon. God, I’m whipped. And I need a drink. Benchley’s voice is still making my ears vibrate.”

There was silence for a long minute amid a few small sounds of settling. The rustle of cloth against cloth. The clink of ice being dropped into a glass.

“Your five-o’clock appointment is here,” Debra Lee said at last.

“I don’t have a five-o’clock.”

“My friends from the magazine. You remember, we discussed this yesterday.”

“I remember I told you to cancel it.” There was a quizzical note in Bishop’s voice now. Jenna was sure he must be frowning at his secretary.

“That was before you kept me working on the Brazleton deal all night. I believe you owe me a favor, Mark.”

“Deb, come on. I did this once. How many times do I have to be tortured by these people?”

The remark put Jenna immediately on the defensive.

“I suppose that depends on how many times you expect me to leave my husband and family at a moment’s notice just so you’ll have someone at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day.” Debra Lee didn’t sound a bit intimidated. She’d worked for Mark Bishop a long time, and maybe their relationship had developed beyond the usual employer/employee dynamic.

“You know, there are women at the paper who would kill to work shoulder to shoulder with me. I could have you working in classifieds by tomorrow morning.”

Jenna could hear fondness in his voice and knew he was joking. Debra Lee laughed lightly. “I’ll get the transfer forms. Simple work. Normal hours. No having to second-guess or cater to unreasonable whims. Sounds like heaven to me.”

“Why don’t you do the interview?” Mark Bishop suggested. “You know me well enough to answer any asinine question they might have. Tell them all my secrets. Tell them anything you want. I don’t care. I haven’t slept in…God, I can’t remember how long.”

“Then let’s get started now, and when Miss Winston gets here, most of it will be done. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s what my mother used to say when she took me to the dentist. I didn’t believe her, either.”

“Come on, Mark. These are my friends. I—”

“Owe them,” the man finished her sentence impatiently, and Jenna could imagine him lifting his hand to halt her continued efforts to sway him. “I got it, I got it.”

“It’s true. I could never have gotten through high school without their friendship. Besides, you need to be more visible, more approachable.”

“I don’t want to be more approachable.”

“Then think of it as good PR for the company.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Again there was a rustle of movement from inside the suite. Jenna froze. She was about to come face-to-face with Mark Bishop, and when she did, it would become abundantly clear she’d been standing close enough to the doorway to hear every nasty word. But it was too late now. She remained where she was, feeling resentful and embarrassed and pinned to the spot.

Mark Bishop walked out onto the terrace, Debra Lee only a couple of steps behind him. Because Jenna was so close to the wall, he didn’t see her, and Debra Lee obstructed her view of him. All she got was the impression of broad shoulders and dark hair.

From the far end of the balcony, Lauren turned and approached quickly, hand held out, a smile on her face. “Hello,” she said as they shook hands. “Nice to see you again.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you, too,” the man said mildly, and if Jenna hadn’t heard his complaints with her own ears, she’d never have guessed this was the same man.

“Lauren Hoffman.” She tilted her head past him to catch Jenna’s eye. “And this is Jenna Rawlins, one of the partners of Fairy Tale Weddings. She’s taking Victoria’s place for the interview.”

Bishop pivoted immediately. He was frowning; he clearly hadn’t been expecting anyone behind him. Blood surged giddily through Jenna’s veins and she could imagine color rushing to her cheeks. She stepped forward swiftly, her hand held out in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bishop,” she said in her most authoritative voice. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. It’s very kind of you to agree to be…tortured once again.”

He blinked quickly—just once—but it was enough to give her a moment of confidence. If there was no way to gracefully admit she’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with Debra Lee, she might as well let him know she hadn’t misunderstood a single, unkind word.

Her poise, however, didn’t last. Mark Bishop took her hand in his, holding it a shade longer than necessary. An awkward silence stretched between them like a thin, tight wire.

His head had tilted slightly, as though she was something he’d never seen before, and his mouth, so serious only seconds before, curled up slowly in one corner. It was his eyes that fascinated her, though. They were a dark gray-blue, the color of a stormy sea, yet flecked with light.

“Deb’s told me all about you,” he said pleasantly.

She couldn’t tell what he meant by that, whether he was making fun of her or just making small talk. Either way, she wasn’t going to let him see how much he unnerved her. “And Deb has told us all about you, too.”