Enchanted (15 page)

Kathleen leaned forward, observing the various degrees of discomfort each staff member displayed. “The only help I need on this magazine is for you, all of you, to do the work we’ve discussed. If you value your jobs, you’ll work night and day to reconstruct our original plans. I’m in charge, not McKenna O’Brien. You
will
do it the way we originally discussed or you won’t do it at all. Do I make myself clear?”

“Have you discussed this with Mr. O’Brien?” Wayne asked.

She refrained from slamming the pencil down on the table. “What I have or haven’t discussed with Mr. O’Brien has nothing to do with what we’re discussing here. This magazine is under my direction, not his.”

“I suppose you’ve got
him
under your thumb now that that picture was printed in the paper,” Wayne sneered.

What picture? Oh, God. The ones from the Plaza. Why did they have to turn up now?

She stared at Wayne, wishing he weren’t the best art director in town, wishing she could fire him and get him out of her sight. But she couldn’t resort to tactics like that. She needed their respect, and she was determined to have it.

“You’re a fantastic art director, Wayne. I’d hate to see you fall into the trap of assuming the worst of people when you don’t have your facts straight. We’re running a magazine here, not a rumor mill.” She looked at the rest of her staff. Individually they were tops in their field; collectively they couldn’t be beat. “We all have work to do. It’s not going to be easy getting back on the right path, but that’s what I want you to do. If you have any more questions, remember, I’m the managing editor, not McKenna O’Brien, and I’d appreciate your coming to me with any questions or changes you think should be made.”

She wasted no time at all leaving the conference room, Jon following closely on her heels.

“Great job, Kathy.”

“They probably hate me.”

She stopped suddenly. “Have you seen the picture Wayne mentioned?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t die of shock when you do. Mac and I spent some time together, and we got caught leaving the Plaza.”

Jon grinned and she smacked his arm. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We talked. That’s it.” Kathleen resumed her rapid pace toward her office and Jon tried to catch up with his very stubborn and very long-legged boss.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“No, but you thought it.”

“I know you, Kathy.”

Again she halted and Jon nearly smacked into her back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She turned to face him, her expression somewhere between outrage and embarrassment. “That I’m too stiff and liberated to hop into bed with a man? Is that what you think? If it is, you’re not the first one to guess incorrectly.”

Jon laughed. “You’re losing it.” He wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Let’s go to your office and close the door.”

The late-afternoon sun poured through her window, and Kathleen shut the blinds and collapsed into her chair.

Jon sat across from her, crossed his legs and leaned back to the point where the chair nearly toppled over. “Want to tell me about it?”

“No,” she stated. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. Why did everyone assume that just because she loved her job and loved to work that she was a feminist? Sure she believed in equal pay for equal work. Sure she felt more women should be at the top in major corporations, but that would come in time. More and more women were rising to the top. Soon things would be on a more even keel. But why did some men think a woman couldn’t hold a responsible job and be a wife, a mother, or a lover at the same time?

“You’ve got that faraway look on your face again,” Jon said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that crush you used to have on Mac never disappeared.”

“No, but it should have.”

Jon leaned forward, the chair once again touching on all fours, and rested his forearms on Kathleen’s desk. “Why?”

“He’s insufferable, unforgiving, unbending.”

“Sounds like love to me.”

“Hate is more like it.”

Jon tried his hardest not to laugh. “You hate the man who sent you a fortune in roses? My God, Kathy. What did he do?”

“You want the truth, I’ll tell you the truth.” Kathleen pushed out of her chair and tried to escape the overpowering fragrance of the roses which only reminded her of Mac, but there was nowhere in her small, cluttered office to run. So she stood by her bookcase, pulled one long-stemmed yellow rose from its vase and absently plucked its petals.

“Where should I begin?” she asked, talking to herself more than to Jon. “Okay. Let’s dispense with the problems he has with my attire and my hairstyle and get straight to the biggest problem of all. He wants me to quit my job so I can be at his beck and call whenever he wants me.”

Kathleen turned around, looked at Jon’s smug smile, and came to the conclusion her friend and confidant wasn’t much different from Mac. But she needed someone to dump her frustrations on, and Jon was in the right place at the right time.

“The man likes to pretend that he’s not a chauvinist. He puts on a big show by putting women in top positions in this company, but when it comes down to
his
woman, he wants some subservient, ditsy female who’ll peel his grapes and fetch his slippers. Well, I’m not that woman.” She tried to keep her tear-streaked face hidden from Jon, but the room was too small, and she knew he could see. She tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand, but the darn things continued to flow from her eyes.

Jon went to her side, gripped her arms and pulled her close. “No one ever said love is easy.”

“I’ll get over it.” She pushed away from Jon and went back to her desk and pulled out the notes she had made the night before when she couldn’t sleep.

“I’ve got some ideas for our advertising problems.” She kept her eyes down and flipped through the loose pile of tearstained papers while Jon once again took his seat across from her. With a Kleenex pulled from a nearly empty box, she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and regained her composure. She sat straighter in her chair, leaned over the desk, and highlighted her ideas.

“I want a mass mailing to go out within two weeks. I want the picture of that woman in the limo in every mailbox in every major city.”

“That’s easy enough. But, Kathy, Mac was right about the woman. She did look good. I think you should leave it alone.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. The skirt’s too short, the hair’s too wild. Stick some glasses on her, lengthen the skirt an inch or two, straighten the hair. Work with Wayne on it and show me what you come up with. She’s too flamboyant.”

“I take it you don’t want orthopedic shoes?”

“No, but not
four
inch spikes, either.” She grinned. “Then I want you to get a mailing list of all female executives— federal government, state government, big corporations and small corporations. I want the names of doctors, lawyers—”

“You’re forgetting the woman at home.”

“No. Get a list from
literary clubs and the like
. I want women who like to read. The ones who buy books buy magazines, too.”

“And what am I going to do with this list?”

“Send a premier issue to each of them—free. I want it in their mailboxes the day before it hits the street.”

“This is going to cost a bundle.”

“If McKenna O’Brien wants to make money, he’s going to spend money. Lots of it.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

“I want
Success
to have a position right next to
People
at
supermarket
check-outs
.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Improbable, yes. Impossible, no. Get hold of the distributors and find out how we can do it.”

“You might have to sell your soul for that one.”

“I’ll sell just about anything to make this work.”

oOo

Ashley stared at the photo in
The Tattler
which had mysteriously showed up on her doorstep, the picture circled with a broad red felt-tip marker.
McKenna O’Brien and unknown beauty. Reliable sources say they checked into the penthouse suite of the Plaza after meeting for the first time in the lounge. They were not seen again until 5:30
A.M.
O’Brien, the publishing tycoon, recently ended his long-term relationship with socialite Ashley Tate.

Ashley threw down the paper and fumed. How dare Mac let himself get caught by those cutthroat photographers, and how dare they mention that he and I called it quits. How did they even know?

She didn’t know which angered her the most—the reference to her and Mac, or the fact that he was with that woman. How could he possibly settle for someone like her after spending ten years with me? she wondered. In Ashley’s opinion, he couldn’t compare the two. She would win, hands down.

It took only a matter of minutes for Ashley to reach Mac’s apartment. She hated standing at his door, knocking like a common person instead of someone who had every right to come and go at will. How could he possibly have asked someone else to retrieve the key to his apartment? His secretary, of all people. Didn’t he have the guts to ask for it himself? Remembering that enflamed her wrath. She pushed the buzzer over and over again, then pounded her fist on the door. When she heard the click of the lock, she turned the knob and pushed, not caring at all that she might injure the person standing on the other side. She wouldn’t give that funny old woman another chance to keep her out. It didn’t surprise her to see the housekeeper barring her way, standing firm, fists on hips, just inside the door.

“I have to see Mac.”

“My, my, my. Aren’t we in a rush.”

“Out of my way. I know where to find him.”

“He’s in the kitchen eating lunch.” Merry’s warmth disappeared with the appearance of Ashley. Her words came out cool, short, and very unfriendly.

“Don’t give me that. He doesn’t eat at this time of the day. I’ll find him in the exercise room.”

“Suit yourself,” Merry said, moving
to
let Ashley by. “You’ll only waste time by looking there.”

Ashley stormed down the hallway and threw open the door to the well-equipped room. Not a trace of Mac. She turned around, only to be confronted by the strange-looking woman.

“Where is he?” Ashley hissed.

“I believe I already told you.”

Ashley pushed the older woman aside in her rush to the kitchen. What the hell is he doing in the kitchen? He doesn’t know how to cook. Besides, kitchens are for servants.

Her eyes widened when she found him, munching away on a plateful of cookies, a tall glass of milk in one hand to wash down the sugary Christmas-cookie icing.

“Want a cookie?” he asked, holding up the plate with a grin.

“Since when do you eat cookies?” Ashley stood with her arms crossed, staring directly into the eyes of the big man seated at the table.

“Since the day I broke up with you. And, you know what? I’ve never been happier.” He silently toasted her with his glass, tipped it upright, and drank half the glass of milk in one continuous gulp.

“You’re disgusting,” Ashley screeched, grabbing up the plate of cookies. She looked around the room, obviously trying to decide what to do with the plate now that she held it in her hand. She didn’t know the first thing about cooking or cleaning, but she did know a thing or two about modem kitchen conveniences. She spied the trash compactor, pulled it open, tossed in the cookies, plate and all, shoved it closed with her foot and turned the knob. She listened to the whirring crunch, then sneered at Mac. “That’s what I think of you and your cookies. Now,” she yelled, throwing the paper on the table in front of him. “What is the meaning of this?”

He didn’t look annoyed. In fact, he ignored her rampage, got up from the table, and walked out of the room, paper in hand. Ashley ran after him, furious that he could so coldly turn his back and walk away.

She stared at his retreating back, taking in his appearance. His casual attire usually consisted of slacks, shirt, tie, and sweater—but not today. Ashley cringed at the faded blue jeans and, worse yet, a red-and-blue plaid cowboy shirt with pearlized snaps.

She ran in front of him, putting her hands on his chest to stop him from moving any farther. “What’s going on, Mac? Why did you end our relationship? Why are you having an affair with Kathleen?” She tugged on his shirt. “Why are you dressed like this?”

“Stop yelling,” he demanded in a low, soothing voice. He took her hands in his and led her to the couch where he forced her to sit.

“Are you ready to talk calmly?”

She took several deep breaths. “Possibly.”

“First off,” Mac said, “our relationship ended a long time ago. You know that, don’t you?”

She pouted. “I thought we had a good relationship.”

“Good? Mediocre is more like it.” He sat in the chair across from her, folded his hands and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Look, Ash. I don’t want to do or say anything to hurt you, but it’s over.”