After That Night

He looked as if he might address that, but Debra Lee interrupted smoothly with “Shelby should be here any minute. Shall we get started without her?”

Without waiting for them to answer, he nodded and turned, stepping back into the suite’s living area. She and Lauren followed in his wake, and Jenna couldn’t help noticing how tall he was and the easy, confident way he moved. From shopping with her father and brothers, Jenna knew men’s clothing, but nothing they had ever chosen off the rack could match the fine-tailoring of Bishop’s charcoal double-breasted suit.

He offered them the couch, while he took the easy chair across from them and Debra Lee disappeared into another room. Jenna assumed it was to locate Scott, the poor guy who’d missed the management changes at Castleman Press. She wondered if he would lose his job over it.

Unbuttoning his jacket, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, Mark Bishop spent a few minutes listening to Lauren as she discussed the pictures she intended to take. He didn’t seem to mind the idea that she wanted mostly candid shots. In fact, Jenna was left with the impression that he didn’t care one way or the other.

Jenna continued to stare down at his file in her lap. The questions in front of her were only a black-and-white blur. She could feel her heart racing. Random questions popped out at her as she tried to settle on which one to ask first. Should she start slowly and build to the more intimate ones? Or jump in with something daring, as Vic was likely to do?

Oh, hell, Jenna thought, what does it matter? You’re not on 60 Minutes, trying to unravel a political scandal. Just pick something.

But when her eyes finally focused and she did, she saw that the question dealt with positions in bed, one of Vic’s naughty inquiries, and Jenna knew it would take more than a red power suit to prepare her for that one. She swore she could feel the tips of her ears turning pink and wished she’d told Max to give her a haircut that covered them.

“Any time now, Miss Rawlins,” Mark Bishop said into a silence that had become foolishly long.

She jerked her head up to discover that he was staring at her. Dark, curious and assessing, it was the sort of look that could make you forget about breathing for a heartbeat or two. There, Jenna thought. Those eyes are what made Shelby Elaine Winston fall in love.

Her heart began to beat faster; she could feel it in her temples. She blurted out, “Do you wear boxers or briefs, Mr. Bishop?”

He let out a little huff of surprised laughter, and Jenna was aware that even Lauren had turned her head to stare at her.

Somehow she kept from lowering her glance in mortification.

His lips had curved into a smile. “I must say, you get right to the point.”

How had the situation gone so wrong, so fast? The part of her brain still capable of rational thought took over again, thank goodness. She cleared her throat and offered him a smile full of regret. “I apologize for being so personal,” she said. “Let’s start with something less…intimate, shall we?” A quick look down at her notes. “How did you and Miss Winston meet?”

He nodded, obviously willing to forget that first question. “We met a couple of years ago at a charity auction. We spent a very pleasant evening together trying to outbid one another.”

“And you’ve been dating ever since?”

“No. I didn’t see Shelby again until three months ago when one of my newspapers was doing an investigative piece on Senator Winston’s involvement with the Texanol scandal. She stormed into my office and accused me of trying to start a smear campaign against her father.”

It was Jenna’s turn to frown, though she hid it by pretending to flip through her list of questions. It seemed odd to her that Mark Bishop could have met the woman of his dreams two years ago and then been perfectly happy not to see her again until just recently. Evidently it hadn’t been love at first sight.

She looked up when Bishop spoke again. “Senator Winston is the senior senator from Texas.” He paused, as though she needed time for that to sink in. “And by the way, he was found to be completely uninvolved in that debacle at Texanol.”

She knew that, and it irritated her that he would think she didn’t. Did he imagine they were idiots? That they never read the paper? There he sat, cool and elegant in his expensive suit, in his expensive hotel penthouse, like a king greeting his subjects. Was she supposed to find his insults acceptable because they’d been presented with subtlety and finesse? He’d been friendly and charming so far, but what did she really know about the man? He certainly hadn’t wanted to do this interview, she remembered.

Annoyed, she gave him a bright, completely false smile. “Actually, Mr. Bishop, we do stay abreast of current events at Fairy Tale Weddings. In fact, I’m almost sure I read a story about Senator Winston one day in the grocery store checkout line. It was right next to a story about a two-headed baby born in Nebraska.”

Nothing in his posture or features indicated he found her sarcasm offensive. He just continued to stare at her, waiting. Lauren got up suddenly, lifted her camera and began taking another round of pictures.

Debra Lee appeared in the living room at that moment, cell phone in hand. “I’ve got Scott on the line,” she told her boss. “Do you want to take it?”

“Yes,” Mark Bishop replied. He gave both Jenna and Lauren apologetic smiles. “Will you excuse me for one moment, ladies?”

He stood and wandered back out to the terrace for privacy. Debra Lee scooped up their empty iced-tea glasses and retreated to the kitchen.

Lauren was digging in her camera case for more film. She said under her breath, “What are you doing? Don’t piss him off, Jen.”

“He thinks we’re idiots!” Jenna hissed.

“Who cares?”

“I do.”

Before they could say any more, Bishop was back. The breeze on the terrace had fingered his dark hair into soft, imperfect waves. Jenna liked the look better on him and was sorry when he pushed back a lock from his forehead with an impatient hand.

He didn’t sit down again. A beautiful mahogany desk took up the entire corner of the room, and he perched on it, one leg cocked over the edge. The refined, athletic grace of that movement sent an unexpected dart of sexual heat to Jenna’s stomach.

“Now, where were we?” he asked. “Oh, yes. I believe you were taking exception to something I said?”

The question was mild, nonthreatening, but Jenna couldn’t help feeling as though he was watching her a little more closely now. She could feel a blush creeping higher and higher up her neck.

Suddenly she didn’t want to ask any of Vic’s silly romantic questions. She wanted to see Mark Bishop as a real person. Wanted him to see her as a real person. Someone to be reckoned with and taken seriously. He’d piqued her interest with his earlier mention of a buyout of Castleman Press. Curiosity overcame her. “Are you going to buy Castleman Press?” she asked.

He seemed unperturbed by such a bald question. “That depends on the financial climate next quarter.”

As the investment counselor for the magazine, Jenna knew a little bit about Castleman. She read the Wall Street Journal religiously, followed every trend in the stock-market and was always looking for companies FTW could add to their tiny investment portfolio. “Castleman’s stock plummeted sixteen points last week. It’s ripe for a take-over.”

She sensed a restless movement from Lauren’s side of the couch, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Mark Bishop. He was watching her in that silent, assessing way again. Only this time Jenna was also aware of a pull between them, something electric and subtle, something unmistakably sexual. It didn’t seem possible, yet Jenna was sure she wasn’t imagining it; it hadn’t been that long since a man had looked at her this way. Too bad it was coming from someone who was already engaged to be married.

The corners of his mouth lifted into another smile. “Is that opinion coming from your supermarket tabloid?”

She started to smile back, then sobered when Debra Lee leaned close to him. Mark Bishop turned away to speak to her. His comments were brief and businesslike. Jenna felt a stab of pain on her thigh and swung her head around to find that Lauren had pinched her.

“Forget about Castleman,” Lauren whispered tightly. “You’re the only one who cares about that. Find out whether it’s boxers or briefs.”

“But…” Jenna began, then closed her mouth because Mark Bishop had finished his business with Debra Lee and turned his attention back to Jenna.

“My apologies. You were saying?”

Jenna consulted her list and moved on to the next question on it. “So you and Shelby were at odds at first. What, eventually, attracted you to Miss Winston?”

“She’s quite beautiful, of course. She has a good head on her shoulders and comes from an excellent family. Honest, socially conscious. I found her loyalty to her father very admirable.” He stopped, tilting his head inquiringly at her. “Something amuses you, Miss Rawlins?”

How much could she safely say? And how could she put it? Wow, Bishop. Are you sure we’re talking about your fiancée here and not Lassie? No, he’d definitely take offense at that. Jenna’s tongue slid out to wet her lips. “Pardon me, Mr. Bishop, but the readers of FTW would find your answers rather…” She hesitated.

“Unromantic?” he finished for her. “Yes, I expect they would be disappointed. But I’m not eighteen anymore. For me, marriage isn’t about poetry and flowers and silly love songs. It’s a partnership, and I see nothing wrong with two people wanting to make the best arrangement they can.”

She could see he was dead serious, and she hardly knew what to say in the face of his calm practicality. His eyes were like polished steel now, untroubled and frank. Maybe she’d imagined that earlier awareness between them, after all. Her overriding thought was that she hoped Shelby Elaine knew just what kind of bargain she’d made.

“So you see your upcoming marriage as a satisfactory business alliance,” Jenna stated. She tried to keep Vic’s advice uppermost in her mind. Never look as if you disapprove.

“I can see I’ve offended you somehow,” Bishop said, killing her hope that she’d managed to keep her thoughts off her features. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve always found the idea of grand passion rather—” he stopped, searched for the right word and evidently found it “—unreliable.”

“No, I understand,” she replied, although she wasn’t sure she did. “Shall we continue?” Beginning to feel a little edgy and out of sorts, she chose the most foolishly inane questions she could find. “What’s your favorite flower?”