Excerpt of Read All About It by Carol Rose

“Why not assess men on their qualifications as our mates? If we want to marry responsible, intelligent men, we should only go out with men who are like that. And we ought to think of every date as a job interview," Lindsey Graham concluded on a triumphant note. "I think I'll write a book on a head-hunting approach to finding a mate.” Around her, the nearly empty newsroom was quiet. Although she enjoyed working for the Fort Worth Post, Lindsey was always glad when the real news hounds cleared out for the day, chasing their stories. Writing features suited her just fine. She preferred to avoid the seamier side of life that made the front page. "You're just saying that because you've had a string of bad luck recently," her friend, Cheryl, reminded her, looking up from her food column. "I mean, how else can we explain the fact that two of the last four guys you've dated had brushes with the law?" "It's not like I've dated felons," Lindsey sighed. "One guy had some traffic tickets that went to warrant and the other guy got cross-wise with the IRS. Still, I've decided that treating the men I meet as applicants for the job of husband is the best approach. No muss, no fuss. Less risk. I don't know why I haven't thought of this before!" Caught up in her own inspiration, Lindsey didn't immediately notice the look that came into Cheryl's face, her gaze fixed on something just behind Lindsey. When she noticed her friend's expression, dread streaked up her spine. Someone was standing just behind her, listening to their conversation ... and Lindsey knew with utter certainty who it was. If she hadn't been enthusiastically talking about her dating theory, her own internal warning system would have given her the usual alert. "I'll bet you've made a list," Jack Casale drawled finally, stepping around where she could see him. Since the day he'd started working at the Post, heading up the features department as her direct supervisor, Jack's presence had drawn a flushed, heated reaction from Lindsey's body every time he came near. "What?" she squeaked. "A list," he said, a teasing smile hovering on his face. "Of all the things a guy has to do to win you over." "He doesn't have to do anything." She wasn't sure why she felt so instantly defensive, but some instinct was warning her that a man as attractive as Jack Casale presented a danger to her ordered world. "Sure he does," Jack insisted. "He'd have to have a lucrative career, go to church, bring you roses, ask your permission before touching your-" "I don't see that it's so terrible to want a man who can support himself," Lindsey retorted, "and some guys obviously can't figure out when or where a woman wants to be grabbed." The smile faded from Jack's face. Lindsey knew she shouldn't remind him of the one and only intimate moment they'd shared. Particularly since it had ended badly. She'd found herself alone with him in an office after the annual Christmas party. An accidental brush against him, the locking of their eyes, for one long moment-his hands on her arms-she'd known he was going to kiss her. What a kiss it had been. For days she'd thought of nothing else but the heat of his touch. And afterward she'd panicked. She'd certainly been kissed before, but something about Jack Casale scared the living daylights out of her. He was too male, too impertinent, signified too much danger. So she'd pulled away from his hold and in her embarrassment, had seemed affronted. She knew what he'd thought of her. It hadn't been a very graceful rejection. But Jack's behavior since then, while reinforcing her impression of him as a gonzo newsman, had reassured her on the sexual harassment issue. He was her boss, but he'd never once allowed what had happened between them to affect work. "So you do have a list?" he prompted, clearly not thrown off by her subtle reference to their past. "Yes," she said defiantly. “Job qualifications." "You have a list?" Cheryl leaned forward, searching Lindsey's desk. "Let me see it." "I have it on disk," Lindsey admitted, not looking away from Jack's challenging gaze. "And you think you could actually pick a husband that way?" Jack asked incredulously. "Certainly." just at that moment, she wished she felt as certain as she sounded. He always threw her off stride. All that damned testosterone in one well-packaged male. "What about love?" "If I found a man who met all the qualifications," Lindsey lifted her hand as if conjuring the hypothetical creature out of the air, "I'm sure I'd fall in love with him. He'd be perfect for me." "Just like that? Because the guy fit a list?" Jack's dark brown eyes turned skeptical. "Well, who wouldn't love a sensitive and intelligent man? A man with good values and a compatible lifestyle?" "A great butt wouldn't hurt," Cheryl said wistfully. "I thought love was more about intuition and gut instinct," Jack retorted. "That's sex." Lindsey glared at him, trying not to remember the power of his touch. "Intuition and gut instinct are what people fall back on when they don't bother to plan and look ahead." Jack laughed then, a masculine shout of amusement. She felt the slow burn of irritation. Maybe she shouldn't be so outspoken with the man. He was, after all, her editor, but there was no hiding that the two of them had very different methods of doing everything. A hard-hitting foreign correspondent before taking this job, Jack Casale liked to live on the edge, courting conflict and waiting till the last minute to make a decision. He made her crazy. She'd always preferred a safe and steady pace. A few surprises in life made it interesting, but too much surprise just felt like chaos. Since his arrival on the job, Jack had pushed her at every turn, demanding a harder edge, a more confrontational angle. "I tell you what," Jack said when his amusement subsided. "I'll give you a story you can plan out." She watched him warily. "Test your theory," he said. "Find some guys that meet your qualifications and go on dates with them." Lindsey gasped. "What!" "What a great idea," Cheryl said, her face lighting up. "It'll be an experiment for you and a good story for the paper," Jack said, his gaze taunting. "Don't be silly," Lindsey protested. "I'm dead serious." Jack propped himself on a nearby desk. "Let's see. We have to keep it manageable-have you date a certain number of men." "I'm not dating anyone," Lindsey declared, feeling once again that she'd been run over by a freight train. "That's good,"" her editor said, deliberately misinterpreting her statement with a slight smile. "We don't have to worry about some poor schmuck getting jealous." "No, Jack," she said with an edge in her voice. "You can't make me date people for my job." Jack's eyebrows lifted, a glint of challenge in his gaze. "Why wouldn't you want to? According to what you were saying to Cheryl, you're ready to find the right guy." "Yeah," Cheryl piped up. "You'd just be writing a story on something you've wanted to do anyway." "Don't encourage him," Lindsey said through clenched teeth. "He's trying to make me eat my words." "But you could make him eat his words," Cheryl said. The image gave Lindsey pause. Before Jack Casale had entered her life, she'd never had a competitive bone in her body. Now she wanted to see him grovel. Still, reporting on her dates for everyone in Fort Worth to read? "I can't do it anyway," Lindsey said, hiding her relief. "There aren't many guys that meet the criteria." "You don't need many," Jack said. "Maybe three." "I don't know three," she said, breathlessly trying to stop his momentum. "Otherwise, I'd be dating them already." "I belong to a big singles group," Cheryl volunteered. "I bet we could find three guys there that would come close." Lindsey groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "I thought you were my friend." Jack laughed again, leaning toward her. "A friend who's helping you find Mr. Right." "And getting a good laugh from you in the bargain," Lindsey retorted, feeling suddenly flushed from his nearness. "I want you to know I'm doing this under protest." "That's pretty much the only way you take my suggestions," Jack said, his voice sardonic. Lindsey glanced up, holding his gaze a moment before looking away. The man rubbed her the wrong way and, despite all her good intentions not to let him get to her, she found herself frequently resisting his recommendations. "You find three guys that match up to your list," Jack said, “and you go out with each of them, say, three times. That ought to give you a chance to double-check their resumes. Then you write your story and report what happens." "Whether I fall in love or not?" she asked bitterly. "Hey, I'm being generous," Jack said, his tone silky. "If I wanted to disprove your theory, you'd get to fall in love with just one guy. This way you're the Goldilocks of the dating world. Try out their porridge and their chairs." "And their beds?" Lindsey asked, taunting him. The expression in Jack's eyes changed as he straightened from the desk. "That's up to you, Goldi. But remember, in the fairy tale, our heroine fell into those beds alone." Lindsey picked up the manila envelope of blank "job application" forms for her dating story. She closed her eyes, fantasizing what she wanted to do to Jack. His death should be a slow one, perhaps brought on by terminal boredom, watching reruns of infomercials for eternity. Maybe something more violent. ... After searching her memories of action films, Lindsey's conscience kicked in. Okay, so maybe he didn't exactly deserve death. Jack Casale wasn't all bad. Certain parts of him were quite nice, if that word could ever be applied to a tall, muscular reporter whose mere presence was enough to alarm cautious females. To her disgust, she had to admit that, apart from his need to constantly bait her and the fact that he loved to get into and out of trouble, he was a decent editor. Maybe he wouldn't insist on her doing this story. Remembering how tolerant Jack had been with a reporter in his department, a man recovering from alcohol dependency, Lindsey felt the beginnings of hope spring in her heart. Perhaps he'd just been acting on the paper's management policies in that case, but maybe, too, he might actually have a reasonable side. Maybe he'd reconsider assigning her this story ... if she tried to make him understand. She couldn't just let him have everything his way, despite the fact that he was her boss. And even if she couldn't get him to change his mind, she might get something she wanted from him in exchange. Lindsey stood up and threaded her way through the sea of desks. It couldn't hurt to try. Jack felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck and knew Lindsey was in his doorway before he looked up. She stood hovering there, an uneasy glimmer in her green eyes, her golden blond hair falling sleekly below her chin. Before he could stop himself, his brain catalogued everything about her-the rounded breasts beneath a clingy knit top, the skirt that ended far enough above her knees to expose a graceful length of slender leg. In that flash, fantasies spilled into his mind. How he'd like to explore every inch of her creamy thighs, kiss those breasts till she begged him to take her right there on the desk. Within seconds, his professionalism overruled his libido and Jack leaned back in his chair. "What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling because he knew it irritated her. Lovely Lindsey could use some irritation. Why such a beautiful, intelligent woman had settled for life in the slow lane was beyond him. She needed someone to shake her up a little now and then, in his not-so-humble opinion. She stepped into his office, walking forward to sink into the chair that faced his desk. If her smile seemed a tad too firmly fixed, Jack still couldn't fault it. He sat there for a moment, enjoying the novelty of having Lindsey come looking for him. "Listen," she started, nervousness evident in the way she chewed the inside of one cheek. "This dating story .... " "Yes?" She drew in a deep breath. "Would you reconsider?" "Why?" He let his gaze move over her features, the lovely lines of her nose and jaw. If she'd seemed less scared, he might have pursued an office romance despite the fact that management frowned on fraternization.