“I know you can. I’m so happy we’ve met, Miss…?”
“Mrs. Winnifred West. And are you the Miss Clementine Lewis named on this flyer?”
“One and the same.”
“I’ll be at the meeting.”
“Glad to hear it. I look forward to learning more about you.” They bid each other goodbye, and Miss Lewis wandered toward another pair of women at the intersection.
Winnie hovered on the sidewalk, emotions coursing through her. Miss Lewis’s belief in her, though they had just met, infused her with excitement and gumption. If a new acquaintance believed in her ability to write, why shouldn’t she do the same? Yes, she could lose her job, and yes, it could be difficult to find another one.
But it was not impossible.
She owed it to herself to try once more, tomakeMr. McEntire listen. Before she could lose her nerve, she raised her chin and marched back inside.
CHAPTER2
Mack Donnelly’s gaze lingered on the gorgeous redhead fleeing his presence. He’d seen her around the office, but she wasn’t dressed in her normal white shirtwaist and dark skirt. Instead, her pistachio green suit had done magic to her emerald eyes and robbed him of coherent speech. He glanced down at the empty mug in his grip and shook his head. What kind of foolish comment had he made instead of an apology?
“Mr. Donnelly?”
Mack dragged his attention from the retreating stenog to find his secretary beside him. Christ, he hoped she hadn’t witnessed his blunder. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Pagliuchi?”
“I know your meeting is due to begin, but Mr. Hibben sent an update.”
Mention of their head compositor had his attention. “Did the birthing go well?” When she nodded, he grinned. “Grand news. Send Lloyd a bottle of scotch. As for Nancy—well, what would you have wanted after little Tommy’s birth?”
“Cake. Lots of cake.”
His lips twitched. “Add a cake and a message for Lloyd to take the rest of the week off.”
“I know you like to give the new fathers paid leave,” she said, wringing her hands, “but we’re already short-staffed because of that nasty stomach illness.”
“I’ll step in when needed.” At her skeptical look, he added, “It’s been a few years, but I haven’t forgotten how to set the type. In the meantime, Mr. Zeller can take Lloyd’s shift. He’s been asking for more experience.”
“I knew you’d have the answer.” Mrs. Pagliuchi beamed and then hurried away.
Mack leaned back on his heels and savored the satisfaction warming his chest. He loved solving all the little problems at the newspaper, relished being the person everyone went to when they needed something. He was damned good at it, even if his uncle thought he was wasting valuable time that could be better spent sweet-talking investors.
“Answer for what?”
Mack’s smile faded as he turned to face Emil Anderson. Mack had once considered his fellow editor a close friend. But that was before the Silas Griff murder case a year ago. Mack’s stellar coverage had almost convinced his uncle to give him more privileges at the paper, but then Emil ruined his chances by morphing into his uncle’s lapdog. Emil was now as likely to be found in Horace’s office as his own, which meant Horace had stopped relying on Mack so much. It also meant that whenever Mack had a different opinion, he was outvoted.
It had been a very long year.
“Just scheduling issues.”
Emil cocked his head to the side. “Why are you concerning yourself with scheduling? Your uncle wants you to—”
“Speaking of, he’s waiting for us.” Mack strode down the hall toward the editor-in-chief’s office, Emil irritatingly close on his heels. “Let me guess, you’re already planning on agreeing with him.”
“On what?”
“Onanything.”
“I don’tagree with everything he says.”
“You have ever since that brief stint of yours in Tacoma.” He squinted at Emil’s closed expression. “Makes me wonder what was so godawful there that had you running back into Horace’s arms.”
