Journalist Brandon Langard's blunder was the talk of the
bullpen at Windy City Bizz. The odds-on favorite
for a promotion to feature writer, he'd struck out in his
attempt to get an interview with Jared Ryder.
Melissa Warner and the rest of the sixth-floor magazine
staff watched the fallout with morbid fascination. The
managing editor's door was closed tight, but through the
interior window, it was obvious Seth Strickland was
shouting. His eyes snapped fire, and his face had turned a
mottled purple. Brandon's head was bent and still, his
shoulders hunched.
"They've already designed the cover," photographer
Susan Alaric stage-whispered over the low barrier between
her and Melissa's desks.
"That's because Brandon swore it was a done deal,"
said Melissa, remembering his swagger last week when he'd
announced the plum assignment.
"Nothing wrong with that man's confidence," Susan
returned with an eye roll. Brandon's habit of bragging,
flirting and ogling the female staff had long since
alienated them.
"I was sure he'd pull it off," Melissa had to admit.
Brandon might be obnoxious, but he was also driven and
hardworking. And like all the journalists at the Bizz,
he knew an in-depth article on Chicago's most elusive
entrepreneur and bachelor would clinch the promotion to
feature writer.
That Jared Ryder had made a fortune in the Chicago real
estate market fit Windy City Bizz's mandate for
business news. That he was the heartthrob of half the city's
female population suited the magazine's new focus on
circulation numbers.
Seth became even more animated, gesticulating with both arms
as he rounded his cluttered desk to confront Brandon
face-to-face. The occasional word filtered through the
closed door.
"…incompetent…unreliable…
reckless…"
"Ouch." Susan cringed.
Melissa experienced a fleeting twinge of pity for Brandon.
But then she remembered how he'd eavesdropped on her
conversation with the Women in Business organization last
month and presented the story idea as his own. She still
owed him for that one. Or rather, he still owed her.
She paused on that thought.
It was true. He did owe her one. And maybe it was
time to collect.
It would serve him right if she swooped in on this
particular story. And why not? Seth clearly needed the Jared
Ryder interview. And Melissa would kill for a chance at that
promotion.
Through the window, Seth stopped talking. His breathing went
deep, his nostrils flared, as he set his jaw in a grim line.
Brandon bolted for the office door, and Melissa saw her
chance. She quickly came to her feet.
Susan glanced up quizzically, assessing the determined
expression on Melissa's face. She obviously came to the
right conclusion.
"Do it," she begged with a grin. "Oh, please
do it."
Melissa's heart upped its rhythm. She swallowed hard, trying
not to think about the career-limiting consequences of
failure. If she promised the interview and didn't deliver,
she'd be in more trouble than Brandon.
Still, as Brandon yanked Seth's door open, she tamped down
her fear and made her move.
Her colleagues' gazes hit her from all sides as she made a
beeline for the editor's office. Some probably guessed her
plan. Others would be simply shocked to see her approaching
Seth before he had a chance to calm down. His tirades were
legendary. They normally sent the staff scurrying for cover.
Brandon peeled off to the right, studiously avoiding eye
contact with anyone.
Melissa rapped on the still-open door. "Seth?"
"What?" he barked, without looking up, rustling
through a pile of papers on his cluttered desk.
She took a couple of steps into the office, clicking the
door shut behind her.
His round face was flushed all the way to his receding
hairline. There was a sheen of sweat above his bushy brows.
His white shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up. And his tie
was loose and dangling in two sections over his protruding
belly.
"I can get you the interview," she stated outright,
standing tall, her three-inch pumps giving her a slight
height advantage.
"What interview?"
"The Jared Ryder interview."
"No. You can't."
"I can," she insisted, voice firm with the
confidence she'd learned facing down five older brothers.
"I will. What's the deadline?"
"Ryder left Chicago this morning."
"No problem. Where'd he go?"
Seth glared at her without answering.
"I can do it, Seth."
"He turned Langard down flat."
"I'm not Langard."
"You're not," Seth agreed in a tone that told her
she'd never be as good as Brandon Langard. Then he picked up
his phone and punched in a number.
"Give me a chance," Melissa insisted, closing the
space between the door and his desk. "What can it hurt?"
"We're out of time."
"A week," said Melissa. "Give me a week."
"Is Everett available?" Seth asked into the phone.
Everett was publisher of the Bizz, the head honcho,
the guy who approved the lead headlines and the cover copy.
"Can we at least talk about it?" she pressed.
"Nothing to talk about. Ryder ran off to Montana."
That information took Melissa by surprise. "What's Jared
Ryder doing in Montana?" Surely he wasn't building a
skyscraper in Butte.
"He's holed up at his ranch."
Melissa hadn't known he had a ranch. Sure, there were rumors
he was once a cowboy. But there were also rumors he was once
a spy.
Seth gauged her confused look and raised his bushy brows.
"You didn't know he had a ranch."
She couldn't argue that one.
"It's the foundation of the entire Ryder conglomerate.
How're you going to save my ass when you didn't even know he
had a ranch?"
"Because I will," said Melissa with determination.
Just because she didn't happen to know Jared was a cowboy
didn't mean she couldn't get an interview. "I'll fly to
Montana."
"He hates the press. He really hates the Bizz.
He'll probably run you off his land with—"
Seth's attention went to the telephone. "Everett?"
"I can do it," Melissa said, feeling her big chance
slip away.
"I have a situation," Seth said to Everett.
"I'll get on the ranch," she pressed in an
undertone, her mind scrambling. "I'll go undercover. I
will get you the story."
Seth's attention never left the telephone. "It's the
Jared Ryder interview." He paused, face flushing deeper,
while Everett obviously voiced his displeasure.
"Have I ever let you down?" Melissa went on. She
hadn't. But then, she'd never tackled anything this big, either.
"Yes. I know I did," Seth said to Everett.
"Please," said Melissa, leaning forward.
"I'll buy my own plane ticket."
Seth shoulders tensed. "Langard was the best
I—"
While Everett obviously weighed in again, Melissa searched
her mind for fresh arguments.
"I grew up with horses," she blurted out. Well, one
horse, really. It had lived in a field, on the edge of
suburbia, across the street from her new house. She'd
nicknamed it Midnight. "I'll—"
Seth's glare warned her to shut up.
"—get a job on the ranch."
Seth smacked his palm over the mouthpiece. "Do you know
who this is?"
She gave a small nod.
"Get out."
"But—"
"Now."
Melissa pursed her lips.
Seth's gaze glittered dark with warning as he went back to
Everett. "The Cooper story can take the cover."
Melissa debated a split second longer. But bravery was one
thing, stupidity quite another. She'd pushed Seth as far as
she dared.
She retreated, and Seth's voice followed her back to the
bullpen. "I'll get a photographer on it right away."
Like Brandon had done only minutes before, she avoided eye
contact as she made her way to her desk.
"Susan," Seth bellowed from behind her.
With a darting look of pity at Melissa, Susan rolled back
her chair, came to her feet and headed for the editor's office.
Melissa dropped into her own chair and stared at the
randomly bouncing colored balls of her screen saver. She
could have gotten that interview. She knew she could have
gotten that interview.
"It's Lorne Cooper on the cover," said Susan as she
slipped back into her seat.
Melissa nodded with resignation. "The sports-gear
king." There was a new megastore opening on Murdoch
Street, and "Cruisin' Cooper" was sponsoring a
bicycle race to celebrate.
"The article's written. All it needs is an update and
some new art."
Melissa pulled herself closer to her computer screen and hit
the space bar. "It was written by R. J. Holmes," she
pointed out, voice laced with self-pity. R.J. was one of the
newest journalists on staff, and he was beating her out for
a cover.
"I guess Seth wasn't feeling charitable toward Brandon."
"Or toward me." Melissa's screen powered up on a
search engine.
"What've you got ready?"
"Myers Corp. or the Briggs' merger."
Susan didn't answer.
"I know," Melissa conceded, randomly poking the
H key. "They're even lamer than Cooper."
Not that any old cover story would clinch the promotion.
There was only one story that would catapult her into the
feature writer's job.
She backspaced
to erase
the H and
typed Jared Ryder into
the search
engine.
In a split second, it returned a list of options that
included the home page of Ryder International, Jared's
speech last month to the Chamber of Commerce, contact
information for his new office tower and a link to the Ryder
Ranch.
Curious, she clicked the ranch link.
A brilliant green panorama of trees, meadows and rolling
hills appeared in front of her. The sky was crackling
turquoise, while a ribbon of pale blue meandered through the
meadow, nearly kissing a two-story, red-roofed house
surrounded by pens and outbuildings.
So that was what Montana looked like.
A row of thumbnail pictures lined the bottom of the screen.
"Natural beauty," advertised one caption.
"Surrounded by wilderness," read another. "South
of Glacier National Park."
Susan shut down her own computer, rising to sling three
cameras over her shoulder. "Gotta get to work."
"Have fun," Melissa offered, clicking on a thumbnail
of summer wildflowers. Red, purple, yellow, white. They
really were quite gorgeous.
Susan grinned as she pushed a drawer shut with her hip.
"I will. Headshots today. Then there's a gala Friday
night, and I'm going to hitch a ride on the channel-ten
chopper for the bike race Sunday."
"Shut up," Melissa griped as Susan rounded the end
of the desk.
Melissa would be sitting right here all week long, in the
stuffy, hot office, combing through the minutes of various
City Hall committees, looking for permits or variances or
financial-policy news, anything that might lead to an
interesting business story.
"What's that?" asked Susan, nodding to the computer
screen.
Melissa refocused on the verdant green and bright flowers.
"Montana," she answered. "Where I'd be
if Seth had half a heart." Or half a brain.
She clicked on an area map. There was an airport in Missoula
and everything.
"Not my cup of tea," said Susan, popping a jaunty
plaid hat on her curly brown locks.
"Not mine, either," Melissa admitted, gathering her
own straight, blond hair into a knot at the nape of her neck
in an effort to let the building's weak air-conditioning
waft over her hot skin. "But I'd fly there in a
heartbeat to meet Jared Ryder."
"So do it," said Susan.
"Yeah, right."
"Why not?"
Melissa swiveled to face her coworker. "Because Seth
turned me down flat."
Susan shrugged. "Tell him you're doing City Hall
research from home. Then get on a plane."
Oh, now that seemed brilliant. "Lie to my boss and
ignore his orders?"
"He'll forgive you if you get the story." Susan's
lips curved in a conspiratorial grin. "Trust me."
Melissa let the hair slip out of her hand. The idea was
preposterous.
Susan leaned in and lowered her voice. "If you don't get
the story, somebody else will."
"At least it won't be Brandon."
"Result will be the same."
"Flying to Montana could get me fired," Melissa
pointed out.
"It could also get you promoted." Susan straightened.
"Easy for you to say."
Susan shrugged the cameras into a more comfortable position,
then adjusted her cap. "Up to you. But no risk, no
reward. My biggest payday was when those vandals let the
lions loose at Lincoln Park."
"That was insane," Melissa reminded her. Susan had
been clinging to the branches of an oak tree with a hungry
male lion pacing below when the animal-control officer had
darted the thing.
Another shrug.
"Are you suggesting that if I don't put myself in mortal
danger, I'm not trying hard enough?"