“Excuse me,” Mark said politely as Susan and Pat dug into their treats. “As soon as you two are ready, we’ll start the meeting.”
Susan shot him a look from beneath her lashes and blinked but didn’t comment.
It made him crazy when she looked at him like that. No woman blinked with as much effect as Susan Collins. He didn’t know if it was the ridiculous length of her lashes, or the way her eyes had a bit of an uptilt, probably a throwback to some Slavic ancestor.
Susan put down her sticky bun. “Before you begin, I have an item I’d like placed on our agenda.”
Wow. Participation. He could get used to that. “Sure. What is it?”
“Monday morning meetings.”
“Why do you want those on the agenda?”
“Because only a moron would schedule a meeting first thing Monday morning.”
Pat banged her sticky-fingered fist on the table. “Hear, hear!”
“What’s wrong with Monday mornings?” he asked, indignant.
Susan reached into her large brown leather satchel and pulled out a folder. She flipped it open and removed a dozen phone messages. “These all came in over the weekend.”
“What are they?”
She flipped through the messages. “Suggestions from community members about stories.”
He eyed the small stack. “Wouldn’t we need a meeting to assign them?”
“Pat and I have our distribution method already worked out.” Susan tossed the slips of paper onto the table. “Pat, you first.”
Pat stirred through the pile, then made an expression of distaste. “Guess I’ll do one about the rule changes in the Glory High School Homecoming Parade because of the fire that started on the DECA float last year.”
Susan rifled through the papers, finally settling on two small pink squares. “Doc Wilson called to say that his niece just finished her residency and is coming to Glory to join his practice. Someone could do an ‘all-in-the-family’ sort of piece.”
“I know Doc pretty well,” Pat offered.
“Okay, you take it. I’ll cover the Baptist Bake-Off. There’s something wonky going on with it. I need to do some digging.”
Pat perked up. “What’s wonky?”
“There are rumors that money went missing after the last one.”
“How much?”
“A lot. This time they’re bringing in an out of towner to manage things, which they’ve never done, and—oh, a whole mess of things. It wouldn’t surprise me if this became a lead story.”
“That?” Mark asked incredulously. “You have to be kidding.”
“People take the Bake-Off very seriously around here,” Susan said.
“Seems like a piece for the Living Section, not the front page.” Mark ruffled through the remaining pieces of paper on the table. “Most of these stories could be covered with a few phone calls. They’re pretty thin.”
“That depends on how you write them.” Susan selected one of the notes. “Like this one, for example.”
He leaned forward to take it from her, instantly aware of the light, sweet scent of her perfume. He took a deep breath. It was floral and reminded him of a spring rain.
Arlene had worn Chanel No. 5, which was heavier and reminded him of a hothouse flower, which described Arlene exactly—a redneck hothouse flower.
Susan plucked the paper from his fingers and read aloud, “Little PeeWee Rangers Campout.”
“So?”
Pat snorted. “Good God, man! Don’t tell me you don’t know the value of photos of cute little gap-toothed boys and girls?”
“Photos, sure.”
“And a story,” Susan said. “We could include a short history of the PeeWees, get some quotes from adults in town who used to be in the program, and open and close the article with quotes from current-day PeeWees and how the program is changing their lives.”
Mark winced. “Sounds like a lot of column inches.”
The enthusiasm in Susan’s eyes suddenly dimmed and he felt a twinge of guilt. He hated being the one to constantly bring up costs, but someone had to do it. He had to get this paper on its feet for Roxie’s sake. Few people understood all that his sister had faced in the last year. She’d gone through a difficult divorce that had hurt her badly and had shaken her belief in herself. While she was doing well now, especially since she’d met Nick Sheppard, Mark remembered how haunted she’d once looked. It was a look he never wanted to see again, so he’d decided to personally oversee her investment in the newspaper until it was solidly in the black and could provide her with some security.
It was not going to be an easy task; the paper was in far worse shape than anyone knew. But with careful management, and increased revenue, there was a chance he could turn the paper around. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was ready to make the tough decisions. After all, that was what he did for a living: he helped people make the most of their financial decisions, and he was good at it. Very good.
Still, there were times when he hated being the voice of reason, a responsibility he’d carried for most of his life. As early as he could remember, Mother had charged from one personal mess to another, offending half of the town for this, accusing the other half of the town of insulting her over that, and generally overemoting her way through life. From an early age, Mark had removed himself from such shenanigans, but he still got caught in the backlash at times, which had made him all the more resentful of emotional decision making. He liked things neat, contained, and organized.
Susan finished off her cinnamon bun and wiped her fingers. “Mark, why do we even have these staff meetings? We never had them before you came.”
“Yeah,” Pat said. “And the paper did just fine, too.”
Mark put down his cup. “No, the paper didn’t do ‘just fine.’ I’ve been running the numbers and they’re bad.”
Susan paused in taking a sip of her coffee, her gaze locked on his. “What do you mean by ‘bad’?”
“Here, let me show you.” He opened his folder and pulled out a large paper, unfolding it until it covered almost half of the table. “This represents the paper’s total expenses and income.”
Susan leaned forward, the tip of her ponytail brushing the chart.
Mark immediately imagined that ponytail brushing far more intimate things, and his speech evaporated into thin air.
“Wow. It’s even in color.” Pat’s tone conveyed all the respect one might give a fellow classmate who’d not only completed their assignment to draw the solar system, but had brought in a 3-D model as well. “What’s all of that red?”
“Expenses,” he said briefly.
Pat pointed a bony finger. “What’s that little sliver of green?”
“Income.”
Susan whistled silently. “That does look bad.”
“I’ll say,” Pat agreed. “Treymayne, you should change the colors. Blue would look better than all that red.”
“Pat, this chart doesn’t make the paper look anything. It tells the way the paper really is. The simple fact is this: we’re going broke.”
Her face reddened. “Times are tough all over and—”
“Not this tough. If we’re going to keep the doors open, then things have to change, and all of us—all of us—have to work together.”
Pat slammed her cup onto the table, coffee sloshing out and staining the chart. “I don’t need to stay here and listen to garbage like this.” She grabbed her things, her movements jerky. “The paper did just fine before you Treymaynes came along, and it will do just fine once you’re both gone!” She stomped to the door, pausing to look at Susan. “You coming?”
Susan frowned. “Pat, I want to hear how the paper’s doing. You should, too. Mark isn’t trying to—”
“Fine. Stay here, then. I’ll be in my office doing the real work—reporting the news.” With that, she slammed the door behind her.
Susan winced. “Sorry about that.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“No
, but … Pat’s not usually so difficult. She’s just mad because Roxie made me the new editor and not her.”
“You have a degree in journalism and are a hard worker. Pat never went to college, and her writing shows it. Furthermore, she may have more direct experience with the paper, but it was marred by her uncooperative attitude. She’s been trouble to every one of her bosses, including Ty and his father before him.”
“She can be difficult.” Susan took a napkin and blotted the coffee from the chart, then threw the wet napkin into the trash can. “I had no idea things were this bad.”
“Neither did I, or I would have warned my sister when she decided to buy it.” Mark noted the worry in Susan’s eyes and quickly added, “I’m doing what I can to save your jobs. If I have to cut personnel, I won’t start in the newspaper office.”
“If you’re cutting personnel and it’s not me or Pat, then who—” Her eyes widened. “Ray Dobbins?”
“We don’t need a security guard. He’s really a courtesy employee, and he’s so out of shape that if anything really did happen, he’d be next to useless.”
“Mark, he’s worked here for over forty years. You can’t fire Ray.”
“I wouldn’t fire him; I would just lay him off. He would get unemployment—”
“For a few weeks and that’s it. But it’s more than that!” Somehow, they were both standing now, Susan’s hands fisted at her sides, her face flushed. “Mark, Ray lives for this job! You can’t do this to him! You can’t—”
“I don’t want to do it to anyone!” Mark burst out. He caught her amazed look and realized that it had been years—literally years—since he’d lost his temper.
What was it about this woman that made him lose control at the slightest provocation?
He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face, then carefully replaced them. “Susan, why do you think I’ve been working so hard since I arrived? I’ve been trying to save the paper and all of your butts, too. I’ll do everything I can to save Ray’s job. You should know that.”
Susan pressed her fingers to her temples. “You’re right. I just—” She dropped her hands and offered a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. You were just explaining things and I got mad—not at you, but at the circumstances. I had no idea things were so grim and it caught me off guard.”
“I felt the same way when I first found out. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to quit.”
She nodded and placed her hands palm down on the table before her, her fingers spread. “Let’s start over, shall we? Tell me everything. I promise not to snap at you or quit.”
He had to admit, he liked her style. When she was wrong, she admitted it and attempted to do better. He wished more of his vice presidents were so reasonable in their behavior. “What do you want first, the good news or the bad?”
“I’d like some good news, please.”
“There are some solid assets on the balance sheets—the building and the land represent some of the most valuable commercial real estate in Glory. That’s why I moved the newspaper offices to this floor. If we can rent the bottom floor as office space, it’ll take the cost for upkeep of the entire building off the paper’s shoulders.”
“So if we get some tenants for the downstairs offices, then everything will be—”
“Better, but not fixed. We’ll need more than that, though it would be a good start.”
“OK, so we need to rent the bottom offices.” She pulled a small reporter’s notebook from her pocket, flipped it open, and scribbled a line. “What else?”
“The other good news is that while newspapers across the country have experienced dwindling readership, The Glory Examiner hasn’t.”
“We have a loyal base.”
“Apparently so. The subscription rate is remarkably steady.”
“That’s good.”
“That’s excellent. Also on the plus side is that both you and Pat know and understand this community and are well liked and respected.”
To his surprise, she blushed. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, oddly touched by her reaction. It was obvious that she cared deeply about her job.
“Is there any more good news?”
He consulted his notes. “No, that’s about it.”
“Then next up is the bad news.” She fixed her steady blue gaze on his. “Go ahead.”
“The roof and HVAC on this building haven’t been touched in years. It’s only a matter of time before one or both die.”
She drew a line down the page and began a new list. “I never thought of that.” Her pen traveled over the paper. “There’s the elevator, too. It’s ancient, slower than molasses, and sometimes hangs between floors.
“What would it cost if we had to repair both the roof and HVAC?”
Mark liked that Susan didn’t flinch when it came to facing facts. “It could be around $150,000 for a simple repair. For a complete replacement—” He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Ouch.” She glanced over at the chart. “I see that you’ve figured in repair of our printing equipment.”
“I didn’t have enough information to figure out exact repair costs, so I estimated based on past costs.” It was a relief to share the bad news, especially with someone able to see the entire picture. He met Susan’s gaze evenly. “If the printing press goes out then we’re cooked.”
“That’s Ty’s fault,” Susan said, referring to the former owner of the paper. “That ass took every penny he could out of the Examiner and none of it went back in.”
At Ty Henderson’s name, Mark’s jaw tightened and Susan hurried to say, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him.”
For years, Ty Henderson had used a connection to one of the town’s more colorful citizens to perpetrate an elaborate blackmail hoax. When he’d been exposed, he’d taken a hostage—Mark’s sister. Fortunately, Nick had been able to save Roxie and Ty had gone to prison. The entire episode still left a horrible taste in Mark’s mouth.
Susan leaned forward and placed her hand over his, her fingers warm. “Mark, don’t get upset. It happened months ago and Roxie’s safe now.”
“That asshole—”
“Is in jail and your sister is fine.” Susan released his hand. “Back to the Examiner. You’re right about the equipment; it’s so old, we can never find parts. The last few parts had to be custom made, which cost a fortune, and it took weeks.”
Susan tapped a finger on her bottom lip. “You know, we could outsource our printing to the Asheville paper. They have brand-new equipment and can do it in a tenth of the time it takes us.”
“Do they do that sort of thing?”
“Yes, most local papers use them. In fact—” She pulled her notepad close and scribbled across it. “I’ll call them today and get a quote so we’ll have an idea of the costs.”
“Thank you. Would outsourcing make production more difficult?”
“Nope,” Susan said. “The layout and content could be sent via the net, then we’d send someone to pick up the finished newspapers.”
Mark nodded slowly. “That’s an excellent idea.”
“Thank you. Any other bad news?”
“That about covers it.”
“It’s enough.” Susan set her pen down and stared at her list. “Mark, I wish you’d told me all of this before now. I thought you were just changing things to be in charge.”
“I’m not a capricious sort of person.”
No, he wasn’t; everything he did and said confirmed that. She should have known better, but she’d been too infuriated by his bossy manner. “I don’t know what sort of person you are. You moved away as soon as you graduated, and in high school you didn’t even know I was alive.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I knew you were alive. I just wasn’t about to hit on one of my sister’s best friends.”
Susan’s face warmed. “Roxie and I were never that close. You just never noticed me; admit it.”
“I am not going to admit any such t
hing, Collins.” His lips quirked as if he fought a smile.
Susan didn’t think he’d ever looked sexier than he did at this exact moment. “You didn’t pay any attention to me in high school and—I’ll be honest—I didn’t pay much attention to you, either.”
“If I remember right, you were all eyes for Brian Parker.”
“Until he got engaged to Roxie.” Susan made a face. “I can’t believe he cheated on her like that. At her wedding, I remember thinking how perfect they looked. I was so envious.”
“He fooled everyone, including Roxie.”
“Sometimes appearances are just that—
appearances.” She knew something about that from her brief, outstandingly wrong relationship.
“Susan, I need to apologize. I’ve been very focused on getting the paper back on track and I missed the most important resource the paper has—the employees.”
At least he now knew why he’d faced so much hostility with Susan. He’d written it down to Susan’s and Pat’s lack of acceptance of the new order, when the truth was, he’d apparently been as heavy-handed as hell. “In Raleigh I’m the boss; I created that firm and when I decide to do something, I just do it. I suppose I’ve gotten a little spoiled over the years.”
Her gaze warmed and she grinned. “You’ve definitely gotten used to getting your own way.”
“Are you saying I’m bossy?”
“Arrogant, high-handed, bossy—” She burst into laughter, her eyes crinkling. “If you could see your face!”
“It’s probably a good thing I can’t.”
She chuckled. “So what’s next, Treymayne? You’re the bean counter, so tell me about the beans. How many more do we need to save Ray’s job?”
“Including benefits? About fifty thousand dollars’ worth.”
Susan bit her lip, mesmerizing him as her even white teeth sank into her plump lower lip. What was it about her mouth that drew his attention so? Was it the way her bottom lip was fuller and rounder than the shorter top one, giving her a slightly pouty look? Or was it—
“Fifty thousand smackers.” Susan sighed. “That’s a lot of moola.”
“We could do it if we increased our ad sales by a good percent.”