“I agree, but it is a fact that yellow journalism was king—isking—and it has wrought disastrous consequences. My father never recovered. Within a month of being home, he was on his deathbed.”
“Oh no. Mack, I had no idea.”
“And even though my father reviled the newspapers, he still believed inme. He was convinced I was the solution, and so he exacted his promise: I would continue to work for my uncle but steer the paper away from yellow journalism.”
“And you agreed?”
“I would have agreed to anything to ease his passing, but the prospect invigorated me. I was too late to save my father, but what if I could save others from the same fate? Protect entire families from the pain we went through?”
He stared into the frothy, churning wake as the steamer chugged forward. “I began my efforts at once, but my uncle rejected all my ideas. I was about to give up, but then my mother and uncle made an agreement. She would sell our mansion and invest the funds in the newspaper, and she would move in with my uncle and elevate his social status. In return, I would be named heir.”
“Which is why you’ve put up with your uncle’s questionable tactics,” Winnie concluded. “You’re waiting to inherit to enact your changes. It’s all for the greater good.”
“Six more months.” A sense of calm overcame him. She understood him, the foundation had been laid, and she was ready to learn—
“Mrs. West?” A thin blonde woman hovered beside them.
“Yes, that’s me.” Winnie turned toward her, and he fought the urge to snap at the interrupting woman.
“I beg your pardon, but I was also at Mrs. Wilson’s convention. We didn’t have time to talk, and I wondered if you would be so kind as to tell me about your Suffrage Society. I’m looking for a new club, you see.”
Winnie’s face lit with excitement. “Mrs. Metzler, isn’t it? I’d be happy to chat. Give me just one moment.”
The woman moved to another section of the deck. Winnie gave Mack her attention again. “Thank you for sharing your past with me, Mack. It means a lot.”
His heart in his throat, he nodded toward the woman. “Go on, then. Sounds like you might have a new member.”
She squeezed his hand. “You’re a gem. We’ll talk more later?”
“Of course,” he assured her brightly. “Later.”
He took up a post at the railing, glancing now and again at Winnie. Her hands waved animatedly as she spoke, and Mrs. Metzel hung on to her every word. Winnie’s notebook soon made an appearance, and Mack was humbled by her eagerness to claim space in a world designed for her to fail.
He dreaded being the one to dim her sparkle.
What if he didn’t tell her today? What if he went to the office early the next morning and confronted his uncle? What if, by the time Winnie arrived, he had already secured her arealarticle? He would sit her down, calmly explain the initial scheme against her, then override her distress with the solution tied in a pretty bow.Andhe could enjoy these last few hours together on the steamer.
Content with his decision, he smiled into the wind and planned just how he would make his uncle capitulate.
CHAPTER20
Winnie hummed as she made her way down the busy Second Avenue to the Arcade Building. Nothing was going to ruin her mood; not the hazy gray sky, not her tiredness from only sleeping three hours, and not her neck ache from being hunched over her writing desk all night. Today was the day it would all be worth it.
She smiled at a grumpy shopkeeper sweeping his front stoop and waved at a chubby-cheeked toddler intent on escaping her mother. Everything and everyone was beautiful, just like her life. She gave herself a squeeze, even let herself imagine it was Mack’s arms around her. Perhaps she would suggest The Virginia Inn for a celebratory dinner and convince him to leave the office early.
Lost in her musings, she pushed open the building door and strolled toward the stenographer’s room. As always, she was assailed by the noisy clatter of type machines, the shouts of the newsboys as they rounded up their daily allotment, and the shuffling of paper as it chugged through the printing presses. But this time, she relished the familiar cacophony. This was her domain. She knew it in her bones.
She patted the satchel tucked under her arm. It contained her written draft, a one-page labor of love. It was almost embarrassing how many sheets of paper she had gone through to achieve the short piece, first tweaking the content, then perfecting her penmanship. When she handed it over, she needed to know it was the best she could offer. She was tempted to ask for the draft’s return and frame it for posterity’s sake. A little self-admiration was healthy, and she could also admit she looked forward to Mack’s admiration as well.
The new shape their relationship would take intrigued her. One week ago, they’d had a strained employer-employee dynamic. But now? Anyone who saw them interact in the office would pick up on the difference. It would be impossible to maintain a casual facade, not with her heart glowing as bright as a star. She would have to take pains to remain professional at all times. Just because she was involved with the owner’s nephew didn’t mean she would stop performing her work well. If anything, it was an incentive to work harder.
She paused in the fork of the hallway. Should she greet Mack in his office, or wait for him to come to her? She shook her head as her heart pitter-pattered at the possibilities. Three days on Whidbey Island had shaken her foundation. It was still hard to believe the cranky editor who put his foot in his mouth more often than not had been intimidated by her, had been obsessed with thoughts of her. It was a relief to admit, at least to herself, that her own attraction had grown into something deeper than she could have imagined.
When she moved to Seattle, armed with a list of goals to accomplish, romance had been the furthest thing from her mind. After her disastrous marriage, she had wanted only to focus on herself and her budding aspirations. Yet somehow Mack had wiggled his way into her plans and her heart.
Mack’s voice floated down the hall, and her stomach muscles clenched with anticipation. She had never experienced such a visceral reaction to a man before. While she had initially been attracted to her husband, their constant fighting had drained every emotion except frustration. She wasn’t sure how to categorize the current flurry inside her. It was different from anything she’d felt before—was this love?
She gave herself a brisk shake and moved toward his office door. What mattered inthis momentwas not her feelings, but her future as a newspaperwoman. Besides, her shift didn’t begin for another twenty minutes. Maybe she could tempt him into taking a peek at her article before she submitted it to Mr. Anderson.
