Mark studied the fancy machine at the coffee bar. It was new. “I was also stabbed—maybe you shouldn’t have edited that out.”
“Hey, man. It was in the same leg. Nobody would have believed it.” Travis was completely serious. “But you’re back now,” Travis said as Mark pushed a combination of buttons that yielded a small cup of very black coffee with a thin layer of tan foam. “My sister has been kicking my behind in revenue.”
“What’s she got?”
Travis waved him to a chair. “A dating columnist. You know how women are. So right now, she’s got a lot of women running up the page stats. But when you’re on your game, we get the guys and the gals.” Travis mock-punched Mark in the jaw. “Good thing they cut your leg and not your face.”
Mark gazed at him, his expression carefully blank.
“’Cause that face is your meal ticket,” Travis continued.
“Because talent counts for nothing, right?” Mark asked.
“No, because there are a lot of talented people and there are a lot of good-looking people. There are even a lot of talented, good-looking people. But there aren’t a lot of lookers who are willing to work it. They don’t have to. You work it. I don’t know what drives you and I don’t want to know. I’m just glad you do what you do.”
Travis was no slouch in the work/talent/looks department, either. However, he hadn’t made eye contact very often during their conversation—which had been more Travis rambling than a conversation. And now, he’d started bouncing a tennis ball against the wall, repeatedly hitting the same smudged spot. Mark had interviewed enough people to know Travis was holding something back, and that something was going to affect Mark and his return to work.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
Travis stopped bouncing the ball and gazed directly at Mark. “Dancie’s Women’s Guide numbers are better than the Guys of Texas, even with you. Maybe not you being rescued after being captured, but better than normal you.”
All Mark wanted was to get back to normal. Normal was following his subject for days on end, immersing himself in whatever culture he found himself. Normal was not facing hundreds of starry-eyed journalism students three times a week. Normal was not evaluating every conversation and every word of every conversation with dozens of beautiful young women lest he inadvertently encourage romantic fantasies. Okay, maybe there was a little normal there. “So your sister has found something as popular as my column. How exactly am I supposed to take that?”
“You aren’t. That’s why I wasn’t telling you, but you asked.”
“It’s what I do.”
“And I hope you’ll be doing it for a long time.”
“So do I.” There was still an undercurrent of tension in the conversation.
Travis cleared his throat and shifted. “And you shouldn’t worry about today’s quarterly.”
Mark hadn’t. Until now.
“I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to have you here in person to remind my dad of how much of an asset you are.”
“So it isn’t usual for a contributor to come to these meetings.”
“Well, I mean, writers do sometimes.” Travis shifted again and finally got to his feet and walked to the ordinary drip coffeemaker next to the fancy machine. “Like if they’re new and going to be major or there’s going to be changes. Coffee?” He held up the pot after mumbling the last.
Mark shook his head. “Changes that concern me?”
Travis poured two mugs anyway. “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. It depends on Dancie. She’s kinda in the driver’s seat for the first time and, to be honest, I don’t know what kind of a driver she is.”
Travis had asked Mark to be here today. Maybe his sister had asked her heavy hitter to be here, as well. Mark’s mind flickered back to the woman he’d opened the door for. He tried to recall details of her appearance, but basically retained only an impression of glasses, brownish-blondish hair and a bunch of straps. He’d been distracted by the sudden pain in his leg and what it meant and how, or if, he’d be able to conceal it. He hadn’t been paying attention to her, other than getting the impression that while she was young, she wasn’t as young as the females in the journalism classes he taught. “Your sister’s big gun …”
“Piper Scott?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“I guess I can’t expect you to read the competition.” Travis handed him a mug. “The Dating Doc.”
Mark shook his head.
“She’s a dating coach. She’s got some theory about men and their dating personalities that has just taken off.”
“Do you think she’ll be here today?”
Travis sipped his coffee. “If Dancie’s smart, she will. Piper lives here in Austin. They used to be roommates.”
Mark had a feeling. “What’s she look like?”
“Normal pretty—not the high-maintenance kind. Medium tall, good body, but she doesn’t show it off.”
Mark tried to remember the woman at the door, but mostly he remembered her voice. Politely sympathetic with an attractive huskiness. Yeah, he liked her voice, now that he thought about it.
“She’s kind of reserved.” Travis gave a half smile. “Not the party-girl type. The type you’d want to be your sister’s roommate.”
“Gotcha. I think I saw her as I came in.”
“You probably did.” Travis hitched his hip onto the corner of his desk. “Here’s the thing. With you on the sidelines, Dancie’s division has been bringing in the most money and she’s going to make a play for being named partner.”
Mark didn’t like the implication. Actually, it wasn’t an implication. Travis was coming right out and saying that his division had lost ad revenue because Mark hadn’t been on assignment since late last year. Travis would be pushing for his return. Good to know.
Travis sipped his coffee, and Mark did the same. Pretty good coffee. It might even be better than the coffee from the fancy machine.
“Doesn’t your sister deserve to be a partner?” Mark wondered why she hadn’t been from the beginning, but that wasn’t his business.
“She might at this point in time. But she’s going to get married eventually. And then she’ll have babies and she’ll slack off and still get one-third of the profits. Dad will go gaga over the grandkids and he’ll slack off and I’ll be doing all the work for one-third of the money.”
Mark grimaced. “Isn’t that view kind of …”
“Retro?” Travis supplied.
“Not the word I would have used, but yes.”
“Hang political correctness. It’s the truth.” Travis stopped short of slamming his mug on the desk, but he set it down heavily. “Look, Dancie and I had a great childhood. I know people call my mom a trophy wife. So what? Sure, she’s blonde and a lot younger than my dad, but she’s not stupid. And she was there for us and my dad. When I’m lucky enough to have kids, I want to be able to give them a full-time mom, too. And I know Dancie isn’t going to let someone else raise her kids if she doesn’t have to.”
Mark stared unblinkingly. “Some mothers don’t have that luxury.”
Travis caught himself. “Hey, man. I forgot about your mom being in the military. I’m sure she did the best she could.”
Mark clenched his fist so hard he almost forgot about the