Tanya Michaels - Who Needs Decaf?

“My date,” he said. “She writes for the Arts section and was sent to cover this nightmare. You can read all about it in the Sojourner.”

“As it happens, I don’t spend my money on that publication.” Too late, she bit her tongue, wondering what had happened to her resolve not to antagonize.

But he made the switch to antagonism without missing a beat. “I understand I have an appointment with you next week. I appreciate your going through conventional channels, but if you’re coming to grovel, I should tell you now your time would be better off picking out a Christmas tree or something. I’m not backing off your crooked employer.”

“Crooked! Brad Hammond is a great man. Not just as a business visionary and software genius, but a legitimately nice person.”

“If your definition of nice involves stealing,” Nathan retorted. “Are you telling me you honestly believe the similarities between Brad Hammond’s game and Kendra Mathers’s story—a story that first appeared on her site long before the public had any information on Xandria Quest—can be chalked up to coincidence?”

Not about to comment on the case, she focused only on his first sentence. “My definition of nice sure as hell doesn’t involve making snap judgments about people I don’t know, but am more than happy to vilify in order to sell a few papers!”

“I do not make snap judg—” But Nathan cut himself off. She wondered if it was because he had in fact recently leapt to a conclusion about someone, or simply because he’d noticed people were beginning to stare.

Jonathan appeared at the edge of the group of onlookers, and muttering pardon me to several of them, reached Sheryl’s side. “Your wine. I hope white Zinfandel is all right?”

“Sure, thanks,” she murmured, annoyed with the effort it took to pull her gaze away from Nathan’s face and turn to her date. “Jonathan Spencer, Nathan Hall.”

“Oh, the reporter?” Jonathan asked brightly. “You did a great series on industrial effects on the water-front! How you took such dry statistics and presented both the pros and cons of commercialization…”

NATHAN NODDED and managed a gracious response to Jonathan’s words, but it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than Sheryl Dayton. She riled him, no escaping that, but it helped to know he had a mutual effect on her. He doubted that a woman who made her living in PR usually lost her temper.

How devoted to her job was she, he wondered? Would she defend her company even if she knew it was in the wrong simply because she was paid to? Nathan understood the necessity of a paycheck, but in his journalism career, he’d seen too many people sell out their scruples.

Not that he should care so much about Sheryl Dayton, but it bothered him to know he might be attracted to a woman with shady ethics. And he was attracted to her. Wrapped as she was in that slinky fall of soft fabric, which hugged her body and made her eyes glow, how could he not be?

To his right, the crowd parted like a sea before Moses, and a statuesque redhead made her way up the stairs, drawing admiring male stares as she passed. Nathan was used to the Kaylee Phenomenon, but he couldn’t remember his beautiful co-worker ever delivering the kick to his libido that Sheryl Dayton did.

Kaylee stopped at his side with a sigh. “I’m back from the powder room. I suppose we have to watch Act Two now?”

“Only if you want your column to be accurate and well-informed,” he kidded his co-worker.

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m pretty sure I could just turn in the words save your money and cover it. Oh, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Nathan did so, watching Sheryl’s face as she met Kaylee. Most women looked intimidated or envious meeting the supermodel-caliber beauty for the first time, but Sheryl simply grinned and remarked on how awful the show was.

“Well,” Kaylee said, “as long as we still have a minute, I should probably excuse myself to call my—”

“You’d better hurry,” Nathan interjected. “I’m not watching this thing by myself.”

She nodded and stepped outside for a better cell connection. Moments later, the lights blinked to signal the second half, and Sheryl and her date disappeared inside the auditorium. Standing in the lobby, Nathan watched them go, wondering whether he’d interrupted his co-worker specifically so she wouldn’t have a chance to say she was calling her husband, who’d had to work tonight.

Had Nathan wanted Sheryl to think he was on a date just because she had been? Of course, Sheryl wouldn’t know how ironic the idea of his dating Kaylee was. Not only was his friend and co-worker very happily married, she was the person who routinely insisted Nathan should date more.

He changed the subject whenever Kaylee brought it up, but she’d made it clear that she thought Nathan distrusted women because of his mom walking out when he was young. Apparently, Kaylee had been exposed to too much Freud one semester in college. The problems Nathan had in relationships had nothing to do with the mother he barely thought about and everything to do with individual circumstance. Sheryl Dayton was a perfect example.

Yes, he was drawn to Sheryl, he was man enough to admit that. But the inconvenient desire he’d felt both times he’d been around her wouldn’t blur his principles. Her employer had boasted his aggressive company goals in numerous interviews, and if Nathan learned of concrete proof that the man’s ambitions had led him to take advantage of a struggling writer without the same corporate legal resources, all of Seattle would read about it.

Sheryl wouldn’t like it—wouldn’t like him—but that was just too bad. Nathan’s dad, a dedicated police officer, had spent hours lecturing him on integrity, and Nathan was determined to live up to his late father’s ideals. The very ideals that had eventually broken up his parents’ marriage.

Nathan would simply put Sheryl and his curiosity about which was softer, the velvety concoction she wore or her skin, out of his mind.

Although, he’d feel better about the sensible, uncompromising resolution if he weren’t already thinking about seeing her Tuesday.

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