Moonstruck In Manhattan

No. Turning, from the window, Zach’s frown deepened as he glanced around the room. This wasn’t his father’s office anymore. It was his. How could he expect his employees to accept that until he did?

Moving toward the desk, he gripped the back of the leather chair. His glance fell immediately on the small ceramic Christmas tree sitting on one of its corners. His first impulse had been to remove it. He didn’t like reminders of the season. But he recalled the day he and his mother had brought the small tree to the office. He’d been five and his mother had let him sit at the desk while they waited for his father to join them. His gaze shifted to the gold-plated pen, still in its stand. He ran his finger over the engraved inscription. It had been a gift to his father from the president of the United States.

He’d been using the pen to draw pictures when his father had walked in. What Zach remembered most clearly about the incident was not his father’s anger. His childhood had been littered with occurrences when he’d failed to behave the way a McDaniels should and his father had lashed out at him. No, what he recalled most about that fateful day were the tears his father’s lecture had brought to his mother’s eyes. She’d taken him skating at Rockefeller Center right after they’d left the office. It had just been the two of them and it was the last memory he had of his mother.

Pushing away from the chair, Zach turned back to the window. He rarely let himself think of his mother, yet it was the second time today that she’d popped into his mind. Earlier, he’d been reminded of her when the taxi with that woman in it had pulled away from the restaurant. For a moment, he’d thought of another taxi, one that had taken his mother away to the hospital that fateful day while he’d stood helplessly watching from the curb.

Ridiculous, he thought as he firmly pushed the image away. The childhood nightmare hadn’t plagued him in years. And he hadn’t been helpless this time. He’d copied down the license plate of the departing taxi.

Pulling his notebook and pen out of his pocket, he flipped it open and looked down at the numbers. If he hired a P.I., he could find out exactly where his mystery woman had gone. All he had to do was make a phone call. If he couldn’t trace her that way, he’d have the investigator approach her dresser and her other champion in the chef’s hat. One way or the other, he could see her again—if he wanted to.

He’d be much better off worrying about the fact that he did want to see her again than about some childhood memories that were much better off forgotten.

What exactly had gotten into him at the restaurant? That was the question his aunt had asked him the moment he’d returned to the table. He hadn’t had an answer for her. He could hardly believe he’d nearly gotten into a fight in a public place over a woman he’d never met before. He rarely acted on impulse.

Indeed, he prided himself on thinking things through, weighing all the pluses and minuses before he acted. But he’d had an overpowering urge to protect that woman in the bar. Then he’d acted on impulse again when he’d asked her to join him for lunch.

He didn’t know anything about her, only that she was different from the type of woman he was usually drawn to. He’d always been able to read them, predict what they would do. Not one of them would have thrown herself between three men who were about to start throwing blows!

His frown deepened. She needed a keeper. And that was just the kind of woman he always avoided. Still, he’d found her almost…irresistible.

Moving back to the desk, Zach frowned down at the license number. In his head, he could list all the minuses of getting in touch with her. He couldn’t afford the time for any kind of relationship right now, not when his dream was within reach. It was his body that was giving him problems. His body wanted to see her again.

Hell, he wanted her. He had from the moment he’d walked down the steps into that bar and gotten a good look at her. And he didn’t even know her name—yet. His frown deepened as the significance of the yet sank in.

“Well, you certainly are lost in thought.”

Zach glanced up to find his aunt Miranda facing him across his desk.

“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” she said studying him. “Are you all right?”

Smiling, he closed his notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. “I should be asking you that. You’re the one they attacked after the meeting.”

“They’re upset,” she said. “Change has that effect on people.”

“And you’re upset too, aren’t you?”

“Me? Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You looked as if you were in pain during the meeting.”

Miranda waved a hand. “That was because of my feet.” Sinking into a chair, she stretched her legs out in front of her. “I should have insisted we take a taxi from the restaurant. These boots were definitely not made for walking!”

“You’re avoiding a direct answer. Were you upset by some of the plans I unveiled for the magazine?”

Miranda raised her perfectly arched brows. “First I’m cross-examined by your staff and now you.”

“Answer the question.”

“And to think that I was the one who encouraged you to go to law school.”

This time Zach said nothing. He merely waited.

“I still say you would have made a much better attorney than your brother if you’d decided to practice law. I would have loved to have seen you in a courtroom.”

“You’re stalling, Aunt Miranda.”

She sighed. “I wasn’t upset, merely surprised that you’re making so many changes all at once.”

Zach’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m nuts to want to change the focus of the magazine to include other cities besides New York?” That had been a big problem for some of the editors at his meeting.

Miranda shook her head. “Not at all. It’s bound to increase your subscription numbers because it will appeal to more readers.”

“Then what is it that you’re tap dancing around? I’d rather you came right out with it. You didn’t seem to object to my idea to change the tone of the magazine and to attract a more intellectual audience.”

“Good heavens, no. I’m all for a magazine that makes me think. It’s your father who wouldn’t have approved of that. He’d have told you that if you appeal to the eggheads, you’ll be slashing your sales by fifty percent.”

Zach studied her. “But you’re not saying that.”

“Not at all. I told you at lunch. Metropolitan has been in trouble for the past two years, even before your father became ill. Some changes are essential and I think that if anyone can turn it around, you can.”

“But?”

Miranda wrinkled her nose at him. “There’s no but. Really. I’m just a little concerned that Bill Anderson will turn in his resignation. He has a very short fuse, and he has a lot of influence over the rest of the staff.”

“How many others will follow suit?”

Miranda thought for a moment. “Hal Davidson will send out his résumé and make sure he has a firm offer before he leaves. And Carleton Bushnell is so grumpy all of the time, it’s hard to read him.”

Bill Anderson had been covering the New York sports scene for almost twenty years while Hal Davidson’s field had been politics. He’d rather not have to replace them, but it could be done. “What about Esme Sinclair?” Zach asked. A rather tall woman who dressed like a fashion plate and wore her steel gray hair pulled back tightly into a ballerina’s bun. Esme had always intimidated him. She reminded him of the strict housemistresses he’d run up against in the boarding schools he’d been sent to.

“She’ll stay. She’s been with the magazine almost from the beginning. I think your father relied on her quite a bit.”

“But I’m planning to eliminate the fashion and gossip stuff,” Zach pointed out.

“That’s the kind of stuff I frequently pick up a magazine to read,” Miranda said and then quickly slapped a well-manicured hand over her mouth. “Sorry! Forget I said that. I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Zach studied her for a moment. “That’s the but you wouldn’t talk about earlier, isn’t it?”

Miranda sighed again. “I wasn’t going to say it—but women do read a lot of magazines. And Esme has printed a couple of articles lately that have not only been highly amusing, but they’ve increased newsstand sales.”

Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised that you approve of them. ‘What Makes a Man a Hottie?’”

“Did you read it?”

“No. And I didn’t read ‘How to Hook a Hottie’ either. Selling sexual innuendo is definitely not the way I want to go with the magazine. I can’t imagine what Esme was thinking. I was rather hoping that she would consider retiring.”

“Esme’s been running the magazine since your father’s illness. It’s only been under her watch that the sales figures have picked up a bit.”