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He kept his eyes on her while he listened. She refused to fidget. They had two questions to go, but the chance of him agreeing to spend four minutes telling her his life story before he nominated the quality or ability he wanted to magically gain overnight was about as good as her chance of writing something Shona would agree to run. She was doomed.
“Got it. I’ll check. I’ll be there,” he said, already standing. He quit the call. “This is urgent.”
“Five more minutes and we’ll be done.” But he had to write up his part of the story too.
“I’m done now.”
“One minute. ‘If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one quality or ability, what would it be?’”
She braced for a predictable offhand comment about his ability to be free of ridiculous experiments, and he said, “Patience and kindness.”
That was two things, but they were like shiny nuggets of golden goodness, and she was so pleased to have them she gave him a free pass.
What would you rather, be patronized by Jack Haley while learning that he’d had a difficult childhood, or feel his heart thud too fast under your hand while he made love to your mouth?
She was going to need the discipline of a good dozen sun salutes before she knew the answer to that.
Chapter Ten
Gerry Roscoe studied Jack across the forest of paper and the two computers on his desk. He was one of the good guys. As the Courier’s senior legal counsel, he’d saved Jack’s hide on multiple occasions. He was the reason Jack was never troubled with legal fees and could go after crooked players without fearing for his own financial security.
“The story needs to be as tight as a practicing drunk, otherwise Bix will come after you and the paper for everything he can.” Roscoe transferred his attention to Madden, who sat on Jack’s right. “I don’t need to remind you that being sued makes our new owner a very nervous man.”
“But you’re reminding me anyway,” said Madden, as unpleasantly as possible.
It made Jack wonder if that was how he’d come across with Honeywell, as if he resented the very implication of her. Because he did resent her, from the paprika sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks that she didn’t cover with makeup, to the fact that she’d utterly lost her hesitancy with him and had stopped worrying about offending him. She was lonely and hated the city and he was half in love with how hard she tried to hide that and ashamed with himself for how he’d acted with her.
He should never have touched her. It was conduct unbecoming. The ridiculous kiss in front of Bix was reprehensible enough. It was inept, for one thing. She’d surprised him with her kittenish playacting and she’d saved the moment, but he’d kissed her as if he was afraid of catching girl germs. But on the street, on the street, when he could feel Bix’s downfall coming together, he’d kissed her like he was a sick man and she was the medicine that would restore him to life. She’d tasted like hot rain on a sultry night, lit with fireflies and perfumed with orange blossom and the promise of an endless blue-sky morning.
He could tell himself it was all for the story until he traded in his creaking body at sixty to retain his brain till he turned ninety, and it would never be less than a lie.
“I’m reminding you,” said Roscoe, “because on top of the current suit from Sungold Investments, we don’t need another. If you’re going after Keepsake and Bob Bix, Jack, be very clear you have the story and there’s nothing remotely libelous about your accusations.”
“I’ll have more than accusations. I’ll have proof Bix and his associates are deliberately defrauding people out of their insurance payouts,” he said.
“You said that about Sungold and they’re coming after you for criminal libel and emotional distress.”
“They were crooks stealing from pension funds.” That reminded Jack he had an unanswered email from Roscoe requesting additional background notes on the case in progress.
Roscoe checked one of his screens when it pinged. “America’s retirees thank you, Jack. Florida rejoices. They were crooks, but they exploited a loophole, and while you got the regulator to stomp all over them, they’re coming at us for damages to their good name. I signed off on the Sungold exposé and I’d do it again, but the legal fees the Courier spends to keep you out of trouble and the paper in business are not insignificant, and given the current climate of cutbacks—”
“We get you, Gerry.” Madden snipped the lecture about newspaper economics short and stood. Jack followed him upright.
They all knew the situation had changed in the last few years. It wasn’t that Jack was more or less aggressive in going after corruption, or the level of legal action had increased, it was that costs all round had gone up while advertising revenue had fallen, and legal fees were clearly something the accountants felt should be cut. Better that than reporters, and so many of them had already been trimmed away like excess fat.
“Make sure you do, Phil. I heard the Clarion was going digital-only.”
“It’ll never happen to the Courier,” Madden said. “Digital is an important part of our strategy, but the print edition is our heartland.”
Roscoe arrowed in on Jack. “If ever there was a time for you to tread carefully, this is it.”
“Are you suggesting we don’t go after Bix?” It would be the first time management had actively interfered with one of his investigations.
Roscoe sighed. “Fellas, I hate this as much as you do. If what you’ve told me about Bix and what’s happening at Keepsafe is true, I’d like to see the guy stripped of his assets and jailed for the rest of his life. I’d like to see you make that happen, Jack. All I’m saying is our owner is exceptionally cost-focused, and if the price of reporting the truth includes another tangled long-running legal expense, right now it could be bad for all of us.”
“You’re saying don’t get sued,” said Madden.
“I’m saying do your job, bring the bastards to account, but not until your story is a thousand percent watertight.”
