Moonstruck In Manhattan

She frowned right back at him. “Is there a problem with the contract?”

“When Ms. Sinclair negotiated it, she wasn’t aware that I was taking over as editor-in-chief of the magazine and she had no way of knowing that I intend to make rather sweeping changes. What I want to propose to you is that I—”

The intercom on his desk buzzed and he leaned toward it to press a button. “Ms. Parker, I’d like you to see that I’m not—”

The last word of his sentence was drowned out by an angry voice that poured into the room. “…that idiot that I want to see him right now and I don’t care who’s in his office! Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.”

The door sprung open and a tall man with gray hair and a thickening waist strode into the room and tossed a letter in Zach’s direction. It bounced off his shoulder and fell to the surface of the desk.

“That’s my resignation,” the man said, his face growing more flushed by the moment. “I’m sure it’s what you wanted.”

“I’m sorry you feel the need to resign,” Zach said.

“Sorry? Oh, you’re going to be even sorrier when you get the rest of the resignation letters in the interoffice mail. But I wanted to do more than drop you a letter. I wanted to tell you a few things to your face.”

“Go right ahead,” Zach said, keeping his tone very even. “Perhaps you’d let me know why you feel you have to leave the magazine.”

“Why? You know damn well why. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve covered New York sports teams for the past twenty years and you made it quite clear at that meeting that you won’t be needing my expertise anymore.” He snorted. “Or anyone else’s either.”

“I never said that.”

“Not in so many words. But what exactly am I supposed to do when you start ‘spotlighting’ other cities? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs?” Pausing, he waved a hand. “But that’s not the real reason I’m walking out. You want to know what it is?”

“Yes,” Zach said.

“Because running this magazine is just a game to you. When your big plans fail, you’ll just shut the whole thing down and go on to another career. I said as much to your aunt, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“From now on, I’d appreciate it if you’d bring your complaints directly to me. Leave my aunt out of it.”

The man’s chin jutted out. “Fine. I’ll tell you just what I told her. If your father had wanted you to run this magazine, he would have left it to you outright. I told her she was a fool to turn it over to you.”

Zach circled around the edge of his desk. “I don’t take kindly to anyone who calls my aunt a fool.”

“I call ’em like I see ’em.”

Springing up from her chair, Chelsea stepped into the older man’s path just as he was about to stride forward. “You don’t want to do this.”

“The hell I…” Stopping short, he glanced down at her. “Who are you?”

“Chelsea Brockway.” She extended her hand.

Frowning, he studied her for a moment, his eyes moving from her head to her feet, then slowly back up again. Finally, he took the hand she offered.

“And you’re…?” she asked.

“Bill Anderson. Former sports editor.” His eyes narrowed. “Brockway. You wrote that article on ‘What Makes a Man a…’ what was it again?”

“A hottie,” Chelsea said as she tried to extricate her hand, but Bill held onto it.

“That’s right. A hottie. My wife and daughter read it.” For the first time since he stormed into the room, his expression lightened. “They had to explain to me what a hottie was.”

“Did they like the article?” Chelsea asked.

Bill nodded. “Told me I should read it and pick up some tips.” Then he glanced over her shoulder at Zach. “You’re wasting your time here. He’s going to run this magazine right into the ground. If you want, I could put in a good word for you at several other places.”

She smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve just signed a contract for three more articles and you know what they say about ‘a bird in the hand…’” She let the sentence trail off and tugged on hers. When Bill didn’t take the hint, she said, “Speaking of hands…”

“Look, I’m headed down to Flannery’s to join the rest of the staff for a drink. Would you like to join us?”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

Chelsea felt Zach stiffen behind her. “The lady would like her hand back.”

She didn’t have to turn to get a sense of the intensity in Zach McDaniels’s eyes. She could feel the heat of his gaze boring into her back. Since her hand was still in Bill’s, she could feel the temper begin to build again in the older man.

“Mr. Anderson, I’ll be happy to join you and the rest of the staff just as soon as I can.” Using her free hand, she grabbed the envelope that had fallen on the desk. “In the meantime, I think you ought to take a little time to reconsider your resignation. Talk it over with your wife and your daughter. You know, you should never make an important career decision while you’re angry.”

When Bill finally released her hand to take the letter, Chelsea stifled a small sigh of relief.

He glanced at the envelope and then back at her. “You think I should consider staying on?”

“Definitely.”

“You believe his plan for the magazine will work?”

“I have the utmost confidence in him,” she said without hesitation.

“All right.” He nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“And talk to your wife about it,” she said.

He nodded again as he turned to walk to the door. Before he left, he glanced back at her. “You’ll come down to Flannery’s?”

“Sure,” she said.

ZACH TIGHTENED his rein on his temper as he watched the annoying Bill Anderson disappear through his office door. If the man had kept Chelsea Brockway’s hand in his one more second, it would have bubbled up in spite of his efforts. Just as it had that morning in the restaurant when that bartender had put his head up her skirt.

It couldn’t be jealousy he was feeling, could it? He’d already reminded himself that she wasn’t his type. And he hadn’t been wrong about that, he thought as he studied her. She was standing at the front corner of his desk her face turned toward the door. She had none of the sophistication and polish that he usually found attractive in a woman. Her short blond hair looked as if she’d styled it by running her fingers through it. Her skin was paler than he recalled and the sprinkle of freckles that ran along the curve of her cheekbone told him that she wasn’t even wearing makeup.

As far as the clothes went…he skimmed them swiftly with his gaze. They couldn’t be called even remotely stylish. The most that could be said about the green sweater was that it matched the color of her eyes. Then there was the skirt. He frowned as his gaze skimmed it from her waist down the length of those legs. From the side, he could see that it fit rather too well, and the way it hung smoothly over her hip and clung to her leg made him wonder if she wore anything beneath it.

What exactly had that chump she called her dresser seen when he’d poked his head under it?

The thought had something hot boiling up in him all over again. This time he recognized it as jealousy. He didn’t like it when another man touched her for the simple reason that he wanted to be the one doing the touching. Right now his fingers were itching to trace her cheekbone, and then the more stubborn line of her jaw and then…

Chelsea cleared her throat. “You mentioned a problem. What is it?”

“You.” The word was out before Zach could stop it.