There was silence for a long minute amid a few small sounds of settling. The rustle of cloth against cloth. The clink of ice being dropped into a glass.
“Your five-o’clock appointment is here,” Debra Lee said at last.
“I don’t have a five-o’clock.”
“My friends from the magazine. You remember, we discussed this yesterday.”
“I remember I told you to cancel it.” There was a quizzical note in Bishop’s voice now. Jenna was sure he must be frowning at his secretary.
“That was before you kept me working on the Brazleton deal all night. I believe you owe me a favor, Mark.”
“Deb, come on. I did this once. How many times do I have to be tortured by these people?”
The remark put Jenna immediately on the defensive.
“I suppose that depends on how many times you expect me to leave my husband and family at a moment’s notice just so you’ll have someone at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day.” Debra Lee didn’t sound a bit intimidated. She’d worked for Mark Bishop a long time, and maybe their relationship had developed beyond the usual employer/employee dynamic.
“You know, there are women at the paper who would kill to work shoulder to shoulder with me. I could have you working in classifieds by tomorrow morning.”
Jenna could hear fondness in his voice and knew he was joking. Debra Lee laughed lightly. “I’ll get the transfer forms. Simple work. Normal hours. No having to second-guess or cater to unreasonable whims. Sounds like heaven to me.”
“Why don’t you do the interview?” Mark Bishop suggested. “You know me well enough to answer any asinine question they might have. Tell them all my secrets. Tell them anything you want. I don’t care. I haven’t slept in…God, I can’t remember how long.”
“Then let’s get started now, and when Miss Winston gets here, most of it will be done. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“That’s what my mother used to say when she took me to the dentist. I didn’t believe her, either.”
“Come on, Mark. These are my friends. I—”
“Owe them,” the man finished her sentence impatiently, and Jenna could imagine him lifting his hand to halt her continued efforts to sway him. “I got it, I got it.”
“It’s true. I could never have gotten through high school without their friendship. Besides, you need to be more visible, more approachable.”
“I don’t want to be more approachable.”
“Then think of it as good PR for the company.”
“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
Again there was a rustle of movement from inside the suite. Jenna froze. She was about to come face-to-face with Mark Bishop, and when she did, it would become abundantly clear she’d been standing close enough to the doorway to hear every nasty word. But it was too late now. She remained where she was, feeling resentful and embarrassed and pinned to the spot.
Mark Bishop walked out onto the terrace, Debra Lee only a couple of steps behind him. Because Jenna was so close to the wall, he didn’t see her, and Debra Lee obstructed her view of him. All she got was the impression of broad shoulders and dark hair.
From the far end of the balcony, Lauren turned and approached quickly, hand held out, a smile on her face. “Hello,” she said as they shook hands. “Nice to see you again.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you, too,” the man said mildly, and if Jenna hadn’t heard his complaints with her own ears, she’d never have guessed this was the same man.
“Lauren Hoffman.” She tilted her head past him to catch Jenna’s eye. “And this is Jenna Rawlins, one of the partners of Fairy Tale Weddings. She’s taking Victoria’s place for the interview.”
Bishop pivoted immediately. He was frowning; he clearly hadn’t been expecting anyone behind him. Blood surged giddily through Jenna’s veins and she could imagine color rushing to her cheeks. She stepped forward swiftly, her hand held out in greeting.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bishop,” she said in her most authoritative voice. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. It’s very kind of you to agree to be…tortured once again.”
He blinked quickly—just once—but it was enough to give her a moment of confidence. If there was no way to gracefully admit she’d been eavesdropping on his conversation with Debra Lee, she might as well let him know she hadn’t misunderstood a single, unkind word.
Her poise, however, didn’t last. Mark Bishop took her hand in his, holding it a shade longer than necessary. An awkward silence stretched between them like a thin, tight wire.
His head had tilted slightly, as though she was something he’d never seen before, and his mouth, so serious only seconds before, curled up slowly in one corner. It was his eyes that fascinated her, though. They were a dark gray-blue, the color of a stormy sea, yet flecked with light.
“Deb’s told me all about you,” he said pleasantly.
She couldn’t tell what he meant by that, whether he was making fun of her or just making small talk. Either way, she wasn’t going to let him see how much he unnerved her. “And Deb has told us all about you, too.”
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?”