Want Ad Wedding

That won a halfhearted laugh from Molly. Cindy Freesdon was the Sentinel’s resident busybody. She didn’t doubt that all interested parties would have turned to Cindy for information when the inflammatory personal ad showed up in the Sentinel’s Monday edition. “Thanks,” she told Cindy. “I’m already going to get fired. I’d rather not be humiliated on top of it.”

Cindy pursed her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s kind of a lost cause. If it makes you feel any better, I did make them feel guilty as sin about it.” She shrugged slightly. “There’s not a person in this room you haven’t bailed out at one time or another.”

“This is my family,” Molly said simply. “I’ve always thought of it that way.”

“That’s obvious.” Cindy tapped a long fingernail on Molly’s overladen desk. “So that’s why everyone’s pretty much drawn the same conclusion—there’s no way you would have risked what you’ve got here by running that ad simply because you were miffed about the argument you and Reed had on Friday.”

“You don’t think so?”

Cindy gave her a pointed look. “I may not be the investigative reporter you are, Molly, but I know a lover’s tiff when I see one.”

Molly exhaled a weary breath. “I don’t suppose it would do me any good to deny that.”

“Probably not.”

“It’s a long story. It was a joke—my friend, JoAnna—” She shook her head. “I don’t have time to explain it right now. He’ll be here soon.”

Cindy stole a glance at the clock. “Forty seconds, if he’s on time.”

“He’s always on time.”

“Good point.” Cindy dropped the copy of the paper on Molly’s desk. “Lunch today? You can fill me in then.”

“Sure. I’ll be fired by then, anyway. At least I won’t have to clock out,” she said bitterly, the hated time clock—one of the many unwelcome changes Sam Reed had brought to the Payne Sentinel.

The antique clock that had kept vigil over the newsroom for nearly a century chimed nine. Precisely on schedule, the wide glass doors swung open, admitting a gust of chilly October air and forever suspending the rest of Cindy’s comment. The usual busy hum of activity in the newsroom ground to a halt. Fingers stopped typing, and chairs stopped creaking. Chatter ceased and pencils stilled. Only the lonely hum of a printer punctuated the eerie calm as one hundred eyes turned simultaneously to watch the drama unfolding at Molly’s desk.

Pluck, Molly reminded herself, as she met the steel-colored gaze of Sam Reed. He had a right to be furious. Since she’d seen the morning paper, she’d known this was going to turn ugly. She’d seen Sam angry only once. A member of the editorial staff had deliberately fabricated a source—forcing the Sentinel to issue a public apology. The look Sam had given the man could have melted glass.

Molly fully expected to find that same look in his eyes when she met his gaze. What she found, instead, stole her breath. Yes, his normal cool, implacable calm was gone, but she couldn’t quite pin a name to the expression in its place. A banked fire made his eyes look darker than usual—like storm-laden skies on a hot summer day. But what threw her the most was the slight sparkle that made him look as though he was enjoying himself.

This was going to be worse than she’d imagined, she thought with a sinking sense of dread.

Sam held her gaze for several long seconds, then announced a breezy “Good morning” to the staff. In the six weeks he had been running the paper, he’d arrived every morning at precisely nine o’clock. And every morning, he’d breezed through the newsroom without acknowledging the existence of the fifty or so employees who warily watched his daily trek to the elevator. No wonder then, Molly mused, that his butter-soft voice had the impact of a class-four tornado. She was surprised when the collective intake of breath didn’t rustle the piles of papers on her desk.

Damn him, she thought as she studied his normally implacable features. Dark hair framed a face made of angles and planes. There wasn’t a soft edge on the man. And he was definitely enjoying this. Like a cat, she mused, moving in on a helpless mouse and savoring the poor thing’s moment of doom.

Sam crossed the two steps to her desk and subtly shifted his briefcase so Cindy had to ease to the side. He planted the Italian leather case amid the clutter and leaned in with the smooth confidence of a predator.

At least, Molly thought wryly, her colleagues would have something to remember when she was gone. The spectacle he was causing was the stuff newsroom lore was made of. Despite herself, she had to suppress a small bubble of amusement. She didn’t think Sam would appreciate knowing that his legacy at the Sentinel was going to be reduced to newsroom gossip.

Something in her expression must have flickered, tipping him that he’d momentarily lost the upper hand. Swiftly, he produced a daisy from his left coat pocket with enough flourish to ensure he had her complete attention. He dropped it in her pencil cup, then leaned so close that Molly had to force herself not to retreat. While her colleagues raptly watched, Sam cupped Molly’s face in his large hand and pressed his mouth to her ear. “In my office in ten minutes.”

An unmistakable thread of steel undergirded the soft command. “Okay.”

He stood, trailing his fingers along the line of her jaw as he stepped away from her desk. Flashing Cindy Freesdon his million-dollar smile, he brushed past her and made his way to the elevator.

The doors slid smoothly shut before anyone breathed. In the vacuum that followed, a small crowd formed around Molly’s desk.

“My God, Molly.” David Ward straightened his wire-frame glasses. “You really did run that ad, didn’t you?”

Priscilla Lyons threw Cindy an accusing glance. “I told you.” Priscilla pinned Molly with a hard look. “Come on, Molly—we’re dying here. How long have you been involved with him?”

Molly reached for her patience. “This isn’t what you think.”

Priscilla’s eyes twinkled. “No? Sparks have been flying between you two since he got here a few weeks ago.”

David laughed. “A daisy, Molly?” He glanced at the pencil cup. “The man brought you a daisy.”

Cindy laughed. “If it had been a rose, that might have been suspicious, but daisies? In October?”

“He’s annoyed,” Molly assured them.

“Mm-hmm.” Priscilla looked unconvinced. “I wish someone would get annoyed with me that way.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

That made Cindy chuckle. “It was the look in his eyes that practically did me in. Lord, did you feel the electricity popping in here?”

“My monitor dimmed,” supplied one of the copy editors.

David planted his hands on Molly’s desk. “We’re your friends.”

“We’ve been watching you and Reed go at each other for weeks,” Priscilla added. “I should have known something was up.”

“Nothing,” Molly said through clenched teeth, “is going on.”

Cindy tapped her fingernail on Molly’s desk. “You can’t leave us in suspense like this. It’s not fair.”

Molly stifled a weary sigh. As much as she enjoyed the family-type atmosphere at the Sentinel, today it was making her feel claustrophobic. She’d already ducked two calls from her sisters this morning before she’d left her apartment, and was certain the rest of the Flynn clan would be calling for answers before the day was out. Her family was nothing if not persistent. She reached for the envelope on the corner of her desk, sliding it into her pocket as she stood up. “Look. I have to get upstairs. He’s expecting me.”

“I’ll bet,” Priscilla drawled.

Molly ignored her. “I’ll tell you all what happened as soon as I get back.”

“We’ll be waiting,” David assured her.

THREE MINUTES LATER, she walked into the outer office of the upstairs suite where Sam Reed controlled the Payne Sentinel. Had it only been six weeks? It felt like a lifetime. “Morning, Karen,” she greeted the young woman behind the reception desk. “He’s expecting me.”

Karen gave her a sympathetic look. “So he said.” She shot a quick glance at his closed door, then dropped her gaze to the classified section on her desk. “Er, Molly—”

“It’s a long story,” Molly assured her.

“I can imagine.”

Molly paused, deliberately stalling for time. “Do you think he’s going to kill me when I go in there?”

Karen’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Nooooo,” she said thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem mad or anything.”

Molly didn’t think that was a particularly good sign. “No?”