Linda Hudson-Smith: Indiscriminate Attraction

March had once been employed as a senior editor for a San Francisco–based newspaper. Shortly after he’d landed the heralded position of editor in chief with L.A. Press, he’d made his intentions toward Laylah known. When his initial flirtatious hints had gone totally ignored by her, it seemed to her that he’d made a conscious decision to annoy her instead of continuing to try to charm his way into her heart.

The entire staff thought he was a serious pain in the rear. Well, she thought, there is one exception. Amelia Markham thought March was the cat’s meow, the light in lightning. She was often horrible to Laylah because she also knew March had a romantic jones for Laylah.

The intercom line on Laylah’s desk phone suddenly buzzed, signaling an internal call. “Yes, March.” Intuitively, she had known it was him calling to personally make his demands known. He loved to rub her the wrong way, as often as possible.

“Did Joe not give you my message?” March inquired in a sarcastic tone.

“You know he did. Can you give me a few more minutes to wrap things up?”

“Right now works best for me, Miss Versailles. Step on it.” He had spoken in a tone that wouldn’t have brooked an argument from anyone other than her.

Laylah all but slammed down the receiver. Before closing the software program she was working in, she saved her last entries. Since she hoped to get right back to the job at hand, she didn’t bother to turn off her computer.

She looked youthful and fresh, dressed in white denim jeans and a cute red and white polka-dot sleeveless blouse that fit her slightly curvaceous figure to a T. After getting to her feet, she smoothed her hands down the thighs of her jeans, as if she thought the gesture would press out the slight wrinkles caused by sitting.

As she passed by Joe’s desk, she rolled her eyes to the back of her head to show him just how annoyed she was with March’s untimely disruption. Her co-worker was a great guy, sweet as he could be, and they had a great relationship.

Thirty-seven-year-old Joe stood just shy of six feet tall, possessing one of those hard bodies most men worked doubly hard to achieve. Fair complected, with bourbon-colored eyes, he was a dazzling light that brightened up everyone’s day. He wasn’t without a mischievous streak, but Joe was as harmless as a newborn baby.

As Joe was a very spiritual man, numerous staff members sought him out when they were down on their luck. He was always good for an uplifting word of prayer and also a guiding hand. He was the type of man who’d help anyone in need, the type who never met any strangers.

Without bothering to knock on the door, Laylah entered March’s office. Seeing his feet propped up on the desk only annoyed her more, causing a bit of red to infuse her rich, honey-brown complexion. He is such an arrogant, macho-male animal. Nodding in his direction, Laylah took the chair in front of the large desk.

“Good morning to you, too,” he snapped in a gruff tone. “How are the plans coming for Patricia Blakeley’s retirement dinner?”

No, he didn’t call me in here for that! Laylah seethed inwardly. As mad as she was with March, her expression belied how truly upset she was over his insensitivity toward her situation. She was only behind on her deadline because of all the other assignments he’d piled up on her. Many of them were his own. “Everything to do with the retirement party I turned over to Constance Waller, so you’ll have to ask her.”

“Excuse me? When I give you an assignment, it’s inappropriate for you to delegate it. Therefore, you need to get the information I’m after. STAT.”

As Laylah got to her feet, she held her temper in check. “As you wish, sir.” Knowing March hated it whenever she went formal on him, she celebrated inwardly at the frustrated look on his face.

March snorted. “I expect you to report back to me within the next half hour.”

Tired of constantly going toe-to-toe with March, Laylah had begun to seriously consider the generous job offer she’d recently received from L.A. Press’s top rivaling newspaper, the California Herald. The salary they’d offered her was off the chain. The only major drawback was the commute. She lived only a short distance away from where she currently worked and the California Herald was much farther.

Besides the long commute, Laylah had her eye trained on March’s job. As sure as she was breathing, she didn’t expect him to make it much longer in his current position at L.A. Press. He just didn’t have what it took to run a newspaper this size. There were too many serious complaints about his lack of ability. Several had reached corporate level.

She immediately went to Constance’s office, hoping she had the information March needed so she could get back to work. Since when did a retirement party become more important than a feature story, especially when it involved a missing seven-year-old child? If Laylah dared to ask March that very question, he would declare war on her.

Constance welcomed Laylah into her office with a toothpaste-white smile and a slight nod of her head. “What can I do you for, sweet girl?”

Laylah laughed at the backward way Constance had posed the question. “The retirement party for Patricia. Can you give me an update?”

“I’d be happy to. Have a seat while I get everything together.” Constance opened the file drawer connected to her desk and instantly came up with the correct folder.

Laylah took a moment to peruse the file. Instead of taking it with her, she wrote down all the pertinent information. When she was finished, she looked up at Constance and smiled. “You’re a woman after my own heart. You keep very detailed records.” Laylah got to her feet. “I hate to run, but the boss wants this STAT. It’s his time of the month again.”

Constance laughed. “Either that or he hasn’t been laid in a while.”

“That’s probably more like it,” Laylah said, chuckling softly.

“All he has to do to remedy the situation is take Amelia up on her obvious body language. She’d be only too happy to turn out the brother. The girl is on fire for him.”

“You’re too bad. I’m out.” Laylah wasn’t going to touch that comment.

Laylah set the manila folder on the right-hand corner of March’s desk. “All the information you’re after is inside here, sir,” she said, pointing at the file. She then turned and walked away, gritting her teeth out of sheer frustration.

“Not so fast, young lady,” he said. “I need you to go over with me what’s in this folder. You seem to be in an awful hurry.”

Laylah turned sharply on her heel and looked dead into March’s eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I have very important work to do. All you have to do is open the folder and read what’s inside. You can read, can’t you?”

March’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits, hoping Laylah read the danger sign there. It would serve her well to check her tongue. “I can read, but I’d rather you read it to me.”

Exasperated was an understatement for what Laylah felt. She had two choices: she could stay and read the contents of the file to him or she could go back to her desk and finish her feature story. Selecting the last option would more than likely get her fired.

Taking the least controversial way out, Laylah opted to sit back down, praying for an abundance of patience. Slowly, almost methodically, she picked up the folder and opened it. She then read to March the date, time and location of Patricia Blakeley’s retirement dinner, the projected number of guests who had already RSVP’d, the regrets and the numbers of those who hadn’t responded one way or the other.

The meal choices and prices per person were run down for March, as well as the company information on the DJ and his fees. Last but not least, Laylah gave March the list of gifts suggested for the retiree. “No final decision on a gift has been made.”