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“It’s not helping that you’re this shocked. How bad did I look before?”
“Sorry. You just look so…”
“Professional?”
“I was going to say sexy.”
Jenna frowned. “Oh, dear. That’s not the image I was going for.”
“Maybe not. But it can’t hurt.” She gave Jenna another long, sweeping glance. “And red is really your color.”
Jenna looked down at the suit she wore with its short jacket and stand-up collar. She hadn’t had time to shop for clothes, and this had been the closest thing in her wardrobe to a “power suit.” She’d faced down an IRS auditor in this suit during her brother Trent’s tax investigation the year before.
She noted that Lauren, on the other hand, looked casual and breezy in a khaki shirt and pants with about a dozen deep pockets. Her hair was swinging freely in a ponytail, and the camera bag that went with her everywhere was slung over one shoulder.
“I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself,” Jenna muttered.
The elevator doors opened, and they started down a short hallway where the carpet underfoot was as thick as a blanket of snow. They stopped in front of the penthouse door. As Lauren rapped on it, Jenna said softly, “Just promise me one thing. If you hear my knees knocking, you’ll start talking to cover the noise.”
Vic had provided her with a list of questions, along with a copy of Mark Bishop’s original interview. Jenna hugged it close to her chest. Some of the questions were harmless, just for fun. Some informational. Others, maybe half a dozen, made Jenna blush just to read them. She couldn’t imagine asking them. Or Mark Bishop being willing to respond.
What would Vic do if she came back without a single sizzling nugget about the man? Probably pronounce her a complete failure and never send her on this kind of assignment again. Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
For the hundredth time she ran through the interviewing tips her friend had coached her with over the phone. Listen, listen, listen. Don’t interrupt him in the middle of an answer. Look interested in what he says, never as if you disapprove. Make eye contact, lots of it. Don’t let him see that you’re nervous….
Oh, Lord, what had she been thinking? She couldn’t do this! Why did she think this suit would help? She wasn’t a journalist. She was an accountant, and power red or not, he was going to see through her in two seconds flat. She should bow out now, while she still had the chance. She should—
And then suddenly the door to the suite opened, and there was their old friend Debra Lee. She looked a little older, much more sophisticated than Jenna remembered, but her smile was the same. Warm and welcoming. She greeted them with hugs and ushered them inside.
Jenna barely had time to register that the suite was probably big enough to hold most of her father’s house before Debra Lee led them through sliding glass doors and onto a wide terrace that ran the length of the suite.
The summer air was surprisingly cool and refreshing. From the balcony, the tops of the tallest trees from the nearest park were barely visible, waving like ruffled fans in the slight breeze. Beyond them lay Manhattan, its impressive skyline caught in the late-afternoon sunlight.
Lauren, always looking for that next wonderful shot, immediately crossed to the railing. She pulled her camera up, made a few adjustments and began clicking away happily. Never fond of heights, Jenna was content to hang back closer to the sliding glass doors.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Debra Lee said, indicating a pitcher of iced tea and glasses on a patio table. “Mark and Miss Winston had an appointment this afternoon, and I’m afraid they’re not back yet.”
One of Jenna’s pet peeves was being kept waiting, especially since she knew FTW’s office had reconfirmed their appointment just this morning. She’d read once that people who were chronically late were subconsciously flexing their muscles, trying to show who had the upper hand in the meeting. She could just imagine someone like Mark Bishop wanting to send that kind of message. You’re not important enough for me to care about being on time.
But on the plus side, a delayed interview would certainly allow her an easy out. “We can reschedule if necessary,” Jenna said, knowing Vic would be the one to show up next time.
Lauren stopped taking pictures and turned toward them. “No, we can’t,” she said to Debra Lee with a pointed look in Jenna’s direction. “We’ll wait.”
“Good,” Debra Lee replied. Then she suddenly looked sheepish. “I suppose I should have told Vic, but Mark never actually agreed—”
There was a sound behind them, the door to the suite opening and closing with a bang, then a strong male voice calling out, “Deb! Where are you? Get in here!”
Debra Lee gave them a quick smile. “Wait here, please,” she said, then spun around and stepped back into the living room.
Still absorbed in taking pictures, Lauren had wandered farther along the terrace. She was almost completely hidden now by an enormous ficus in an oriental tub. Jenna was standing so close to the exterior wall beside the sliding glass doors that she couldn’t be easily seen, either.
It occurred to her that she should probably move out into the center of the terrace, make sure her presence was noted by whomever had just entered the suite. Instead, she instinctively moved closer to the wall.
The man spoke again, harshly, and though she couldn’t see him any better than he could see her, Jenna felt sure it must be Mark Bishop. “I just spent two excruciating hours listening to that idiot Benchley. He claims there was a major change in top management at Castleman Press last week. Find Scott. Tell him I want to know why it wasn’t in his report. A shakeup like that should have been a red flag that a blind man couldn’t have missed.”
His voice was exactly what Jenna expected—deep, commanding and leaving little room for argument. Nervous tension danced up her spine.
“Right away,” she heard Debra Lee say. And then, “Miss Winston isn’t with you?”
“I didn’t have the heart to make her stay and listen to Benchley, so she went on to Ken’s office to sign some papers. She’ll be here soon. God, I’m whipped. And I need a drink. Benchley’s voice is still making my ears vibrate.”
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?”
He let out a little huff of surprised laughter, and Jenna was aware that even Lauren had turned her head to stare at her.
Somehow she kept from lowering her glance in mortification.
His lips had curved into a smile. “I must say, you get right to the point.”
How had the situation gone so wrong, so fast? The part of her brain still capable of rational thought took over again, thank goodness. She cleared her throat and offered him a smile full of regret. “I apologize for being so personal,” she said. “Let’s start with something less…intimate, shall we?” A quick look down at her notes. “How did you and Miss Winston meet?”
He nodded, obviously willing to forget that first question. “We met a couple of years ago at a charity auction. We spent a very pleasant evening together trying to outbid one another.”
“And you’ve been dating ever since?”
“No. I didn’t see Shelby again until three months ago when one of my newspapers was doing an investigative piece on Senator Winston’s involvement with the Texanol scandal. She stormed into my office and accused me of trying to start a smear campaign against her father.”
It was Jenna’s turn to frown, though she hid it by pretending to flip through her list of questions. It seemed odd to her that Mark Bishop could have met the woman of his dreams two years ago and then been perfectly happy not to see her again until just recently. Evidently it hadn’t been love at first sight.
She looked up when Bishop spoke again. “Senator Winston is the senior senator from Texas.” He paused, as though she needed time for that to sink in. “And by the way, he was found to be completely uninvolved in that debacle at Texanol.”
She knew that, and it irritated her that he would think she didn’t. Did he imagine they were idiots? That they never read the paper? There he sat, cool and elegant in his expensive suit, in his expensive hotel penthouse, like a king greeting his subjects. Was she supposed to find his insults acceptable because they’d been presented with subtlety and finesse? He’d been friendly and charming so far, but what did she really know about the man? He certainly hadn’t wanted to do this interview, she remembered.
Annoyed, she gave him a bright, completely false smile. “Actually, Mr. Bishop, we do stay abreast of current events at Fairy Tale Weddings. In fact, I’m almost sure I read a story about Senator Winston one day in the grocery store checkout line. It was right next to a story about a two-headed baby born in Nebraska.”
Nothing in his posture or features indicated he found her sarcasm offensive. He just continued to stare at her, waiting. Lauren got up suddenly, lifted her camera and began taking another round of pictures.
Debra Lee appeared in the living room at that moment, cell phone in hand. “I’ve got Scott on the line,” she told her boss. “Do you want to take it?”
“Yes,” Mark Bishop replied. He gave both Jenna and Lauren apologetic smiles. “Will you excuse me for one moment, ladies?”
He stood and wandered back out to the terrace for privacy. Debra Lee scooped up their empty iced-tea glasses and retreated to the kitchen.
Lauren was digging in her camera case for more film. She said under her breath, “What are you doing? Don’t piss him off, Jen.”
“He thinks we’re idiots!” Jenna hissed.
“Who cares?”
“I do.”
Before they could say any more, Bishop was back. The breeze on the terrace had fingered his dark hair into soft, imperfect waves. Jenna liked the look better on him and was sorry when he pushed back a lock from his forehead with an impatient hand.
He didn’t sit down again. A beautiful mahogany desk took up the entire corner of the room, and he perched on it, one leg cocked over the edge. The refined, athletic grace of that movement sent an unexpected dart of sexual heat to Jenna’s stomach.
“Now, where were we?” he asked. “Oh, yes. I believe you were taking exception to something I said?”
The question was mild, nonthreatening, but Jenna couldn’t help feeling as though he was watching her a little more closely now. She could feel a blush creeping higher and higher up her neck.
Suddenly she didn’t want to ask any of Vic’s silly romantic questions. She wanted to see Mark Bishop as a real person. Wanted him to see her as a real person. Someone to be reckoned with and taken seriously. He’d piqued her interest with his earlier mention of a buyout of Castleman Press. Curiosity overcame her. “Are you going to buy Castleman Press?” she asked.
He seemed unperturbed by such a bald question. “That depends on the financial climate next quarter.”
As the investment counselor for the magazine, Jenna knew a little bit about Castleman. She read the Wall Street Journal religiously, followed every trend in the stock-market and was always looking for companies FTW could add to their tiny investment portfolio. “Castleman’s stock plummeted sixteen points last week. It’s ripe for a take-over.”
She sensed a restless movement from Lauren’s side of the couch, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Mark Bishop. He was watching her in that silent, assessing way again. Only this time Jenna was also aware of a pull between them, something electric and subtle, something unmistakably sexual. It didn’t seem possible, yet Jenna was sure she wasn’t imagining it; it hadn’t been that long since a man had looked at her this way. Too bad it was coming from someone who was already engaged to be married.
The corners of his mouth lifted into another smile. “Is that opinion coming from your supermarket tabloid?”
She started to smile back, then sobered when Debra Lee leaned close to him. Mark Bishop turned away to speak to her. His comments were brief and businesslike. Jenna felt a stab of pain on her thigh and swung her head around to find that Lauren had pinched her.
“Forget about Castleman,” Lauren whispered tightly. “You’re the only one who cares about that. Find out whether it’s boxers or briefs.”
“But…” Jenna began, then closed her mouth because Mark Bishop had finished his business with Debra Lee and turned his attention back to Jenna.
“My apologies. You were saying?”
Jenna consulted her list and moved on to the next question on it. “So you and Shelby were at odds at first. What, eventually, attracted you to Miss Winston?”
“She’s quite beautiful, of course. She has a good head on her shoulders and comes from an excellent family. Honest, socially conscious. I found her loyalty to her father very admirable.” He stopped, tilting his head inquiringly at her. “Something amuses you, Miss Rawlins?”
How much could she safely say? And how could she put it? Wow, Bishop. Are you sure we’re talking about your fiancée here and not Lassie? No, he’d definitely take offense at that. Jenna’s tongue slid out to wet her lips. “Pardon me, Mr. Bishop, but the readers of FTW would find your answers rather…” She hesitated.
“Unromantic?” he finished for her. “Yes, I expect they would be disappointed. But I’m not eighteen anymore. For me, marriage isn’t about poetry and flowers and silly love songs. It’s a partnership, and I see nothing wrong with two people wanting to make the best arrangement they can.”
She could see he was dead serious, and she hardly knew what to say in the face of his calm practicality. His eyes were like polished steel now, untroubled and frank. Maybe she’d imagined that earlier awareness between them, after all. Her overriding thought was that she hoped Shelby Elaine knew just what kind of bargain she’d made.
“So you see your upcoming marriage as a satisfactory business alliance,” Jenna stated. She tried to keep Vic’s advice uppermost in her mind. Never look as if you disapprove.
“I can see I’ve offended you somehow,” Bishop said, killing her hope that she’d managed to keep her thoughts off her features. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve always found the idea of grand passion rather—” he stopped, searched for the right word and evidently found it “—unreliable.”
“No, I understand,” she replied, although she wasn’t sure she did. “Shall we continue?” Beginning to feel a little edgy and out of sorts, she chose the most foolishly inane questions she could find. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“Artificial. Silk, I suppose. It’s more costly, but ultimately lasts longer.”
Sorry, Shelby Elaine. Looks like there will be no roses smelling up the house on your birthday. “Your favorite movie?”
“I rarely have time to go to movies.”
“Favorite color?”
“Gray.”
Should have seen that one coming. “Favorite animal?”
“I’d have to give that some thought. I’m not really an animal person. No pets.”
Probably too messy for his tastes. All that mushy unconditional-love stuff.
“I’m a Leo,” Mark Bishop offered. “But then, I think that was established in the last interview.”
She narrowed her eyes, certain now that he was making fun of her. His expression seemed guileless, and yet she imagined he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Changing tacks, she said, “Have you set a date yet?”
“Shelby would like to get married next spring.”
“Where?”
“On her father’s ranch in Texas.”
“And your honeymoon?”
Bishop shrugged. “That hasn’t been decided yet. I’ve told Shelby to pick out any spot that pleases her.”
Are all the decisions Shelby’s? Except for showing up, are you participating in this wedding at all? She clenched her teeth, trying to keep every bit of skepticism she had about these nuptials way, way down inside her. “Do you plan to have children?”
He took a moment to answer that one. Finally he said, “Shelby and I were both only children. We may want a child eventually, but I don’t think either of us is ready to give up our freedom just yet.”
She asked a dozen more questions. None of them seemed to upset or interest him. He danced around the more personal ones, and by the time the interview wound down, Jenna was pretty certain she’d discover later that she’d bitten her tongue completely in two. She wondered how she was going to make anyone find her article the least bit interesting.
Mark Bishop didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Poor Shelby Elaine was going to find it tough going. Jenna felt sorry for the woman, and oddly dispirited herself, like a child who opens the most promising package under the Christmas tree only to find nothing she wants inside. Even the question of boxers or briefs seemed pointless now. She searched her list of questions, trying to come up with something to take back to Vic.