Ross was close enough to hear the hitch in Amandaâs breath.
âYou put yourself in danger tonight for a story,â he said. âYou will never do that again, or I will fire you. Understand?â
She nodded, and her lips trembled, and he felt something inside him soften toward her. He wanted toâ¦kiss her.
Back off, he commanded himself. It would be a mistake. Even if he werenât pursuing a story that might lead directly to her father, he couldnât get involved with someone who worked for him.
Amanda, despite her veneer of sophistication, was really a small-town girl at heart. She was the sort of person who believed in love and fidelity and happily-ever-after. All the things he dismissed as fiction.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, the glance tentative, questioning, as if she wondered what he was thinking.
He couldnât let her know.
has written everything from Sunday School curricula to travel articles to magazine stories in more than twenty years of writing, but she feels sheâs found her writing home in the stories she writes for the Love Inspired lines.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When sheâs not writing, sheâs probably visiting her children and her six beautiful grandchildren, traveling, gardening or relaxing with a good book.
Marta loves hearing from readers, and sheâll write back with a signed bookmark and/or her brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at [email protected], or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
Amanda Bodine raced around the corner into the newsroom, sure she was late for the staff meeting. She skidded to a halt at the sight of her usually neat, work-manlike desk that now bloomed with a small garden of flowers. Above it floated a balloon bouquet with a streamer that fairly shouted its message. Happy Birthday. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach.
She glanced at her watch. Two minutes until the editorial meeting. If she could just get everything out of sightâ¦
âMs. Bodine.â The baritone voice dripped with sarcasm, and she didnât have to turn around to identify the speakerâRoss Lockhart, managing editor of the Charleston Bugle. âIt seems your personal life is intruding into the office. Again.â
âIâm sorry.â It wasnât her fault the her large family seemed to take it for granted that they were welcome in her workplace. One noisy visit from two of her cousins had occurred when Lockhart was addressing the staff. He was not amused.
She forced herself to turn and face the man. Drat it, she never had trouble standing up for herself in any other circumstances. Why did her grit turn to jelly in the presence of Ross Lockhart?
Because if you get in his way, heâll mow you down like a blade of grass, her mind promptly responded.
âGet rid of it. Please.â The addition of the word didnât do a thing to mitigate the fact that it was an order. âEditorial meeting, people.â He raised his voice. âConference room, now.â
A rustle of something that might have been annoyance swept through the newsroom, but no one actually spoke up. No one would. They were all too aware that hotshot journalist Ross Lockhart had been brought in by the Bugleâs irascible owner and publisher, Cyrus Mayhew, to ginger things up, as he put it. Lockhart seemed to consider firing people the best way to accomplish that.
Lockhart stalked away in the direction of the conference room before Amanda needed to say another word to him, thank goodness. She should have made sure sheâd regained her professional demeanor before coming back to the office from the birthday lunch with her twin sister. Lockhart already seemed to consider her a lightweight in the news business, despite her seven yearsâ experience, and she didnât want to reinforce that impression.
She moved two baskets of roses and daisies to the floor behind her desk and grabbed a notebook to join the exodus from the newsroom.
âHappy birthday, sugar.â Jim Redfern, the grizzled city desk editor, threw an arm around her shoulders in a comradely hug. âToo bad you have to spend it in another meeting.â His voice lowered. âSittinâ around a table doesnât get a paper out. Youâd think the man would realize that.â
âHe realizes Cyrus expects him to turn us into number one, thatâs what.â