Susan Mallery: Not Strictly Business!

“Enough about me,” she said. “What have you been up to, romantically?”

“Nothing that interesting,” he told her. “No wives, current or ex. I was engaged for a while.”

“Oh. It didn’t work out?”

“She died.”

Samantha’s eyes widened. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It was a few years ago, just before Christmas. Shelby’s car spun out on an icy bridge and went into the water. She didn’t make it.”

“How horrible.”

Samantha was the sympathetic type. She would want to say the right thing, only to realize there wasn’t one. He’d heard all the platitudes possible and none of them had made a damn bit of difference. Not after he’d found Shelby’s note. The one she’d written before she’d died.

“Was it very close to the wedding?” she asked.

“Just a little over a week. We were planning to get married New Year’s Eve.”

She bit her lower lip. “You must hate the holidays now.”

“Not as much as I would have thought. I get angry, thinking about what was lost.”

Not for him and Shelby—he’d done his best to let that go—but for her family. They were good people and he knew they’d yet to move on.

“Relationships are never easy,” she said.

Charlie chose that moment to roll onto his back and offer his stomach for rubbing. Samantha obliged him and he started to groan.

“That dog knows a good thing when he has one,” Jack said.

She looked at him and grinned. “Oh, right. Because you don’t spoil him.”

“Me? Never.” He sipped on his wine. “Are you overwhelmed by work yet?”

“Almost. Ask me again in two days and I’m sure the answer will be yes. There’s so much to do, and that’s what makes it all exciting. This is a great opportunity.”

He was glad she thought so. He wanted energetic people solving company problems as quickly as possible. “Have you heard about the big advertiser party? It’s in a few weeks. It’s an annual function and very upscale. Formal attire required.”

“Really? You mean I have an excuse to buy a new dress and look fabulous?”

The thought of her in something long and slinky suddenly made him look forward to the party in ways he hadn’t before. “It’s not just an excuse,” he said. “It’s an order.”

“And you’ll be in a tux?”

He grimaced. “Oh, yeah.”

“I’m sure you’ll look great. All the women will be fawning over you.”

“Fawning gets old,” he said, doing his best not to read anything into her comment. While he wanted to believe she was flirting, he’d been shot down enough in the past to know that wishful thinking got him exactly nowhere.

“Do you have a lot of it?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling with humor.

“Enough.”

“And just how much is that?”

He sensed they were in dangerous territory, but he wasn’t sure how to avoid getting in trouble.

“I date,” he said cautiously.

“I would guess that you have women lining up to be with you,” she said easily. “You’re good-looking, successful, well-off and single. That’s fairly irresistible.”

Except for Samantha, that had always been his take on it, too. So why did he get the feeling that she didn’t see the list as a good thing?

“Some women manage to resist,” he said. “What about you? Ready to start dating?”

“I don’t think so. Not for a while. Divorce has a way of sucking the confidence out of a person. Or at least it did me.”

He couldn’t believe that. She had always been confident. Smart, funny, gorgeous. “It doesn’t show.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I’m getting by on sheer determination.”

“It’s working.”

He wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about—that she was as desirable as ever and he was willing to prove it.

Not a good idea, he reminded himself. So instead of speaking, or acting, he stood. “It’s late. Charlie and I need our beauty sleep.” He whistled softly. “Come on, boy.”

Charlie rose and stretched. He licked Samantha’s hand, then joined Jack.

She got up and followed them to the front door. “Thanks for stopping by. Dinner was great. I appreciated the company, as well.” She crouched down and rubbed Charlie’s ears. “You’re a very handsome boy. We’ll have to get together again soon.”

Charlie barked his agreement.

Figures, Jack thought with a grin. After all these years, she falls for the dog.

Nearly a week later, Jack sat behind what had been his father’s desk, cursing his agreement to take over the company, even temporarily. Every day brought a new crisis and, with it, bad news. At this point all he was asking for was twenty-four hours without something major going wrong.

He’d already had to deal with the IT people informing him that their Web pages were nearly at capacity and, to support the Web expansion, they were going to have to negotiate with their server. The previous quarter’s report showed magazine subscriptions falling for their three best publications. A train derailment had destroyed nearly a hundred thousand magazines heading to the West Coast markets and he’d just seen the layout for the launch of their new home-decorating magazine and even he could tell it sucked the big one.

There was too much to deal with, he thought. How the hell had his father done all this and run several departments?

Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. He already had the answer to that one—George Hanson hadn’t done it well. Things had slipped and there’d been no time to fix them before the next crisis had appeared. Despite hiring department heads, Jack was still overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work.

As far as he could tell, there was only one way for Hanson Media Group to survive—he had to get more help.

He buzzed for his assistant. When Mrs. Wycliff entered his office, he motioned for her to take a seat.

“I need to get in touch with my brothers,” he said. “Do you know where Evan and Andrew are these days?”

If the older woman was surprised that Jack didn’t know where to find his brothers himself, she didn’t show it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” she said. “Would you like me to try to find them?”

“Please. I suggest you follow the credit-card charges. That’s generally the easiest way.” Evan favored Europe and Andrew tended to follow the seasons—summering in exclusive beach resorts and wintering in places like Whistler and Gstaad.

Jack knew all the psychobabble about siblings. In every family each tried to get his parents’ attention in a different way. For Jack, it had been about being the best at whatever he did. He’d learned early that he was expected to take over the family business and for a long time he’d worked toward that. But in the end, he’d walked away from Hanson Media Group, just like his brothers.

None of them had made the old man proud.

Did Evan and Andrew ever feel guilty? Jack had tried to make peace with his father more than once, but the old man had never seemed interested. All he’d talked about was how Jack should be at Hanson Media Group instead of practicing law.

Jack regretted losing touch with his brothers a lot more than he regretted disappointing his father.

“I’ll get right on that,” Mrs. Wycliff told him. “Have you spoken with your uncle?”

“Not about this,” Jack told her. “But that’s a great idea. Thank you.”

She rose. “I’ll let you know as soon as I locate them,” she said, then left.

Jack buzzed David’s office. “Hi. Are you available?”

“Absolutely.”

The public relations department was the next floor down, on the main level of Hanson Media Group. Here the bright overhead lights contrasted with the rich blues and purples in the carpet and on the sofas and chairs.