the skin on her arm was. There were deep creases in the thin, waxy skin between her knuckles. The editor’s hand was nearly on top of his own before Nick understood that the middle-aged woman intended to touch him. He jerked away from the contact.
“I appreciate your concern,” Nick heard himself say. “But I’m okay. Really. It’s not Sam I’m talking about. I was talking about Sara. It’s too soon for you to ask me that.”
The twenty years that separated them were suddenly visible in the senior editor’s face. “I see.” Daly shifted in her chair, recovering her composure.
“I’ve only known her for a few weeks,” Nick explained.
Daly nodded, taking her time. “I thought that an assignment like this might be good for you. That you might want to work a little.”
Nick made an effort to meet the woman’s steady gaze. “I appreciate that,” he said. “But like I told you, Laura, I’ve only known her for a few weeks.”
“The gala’s a big event,” the editor said, ready to press the point. “The cream of Seattle society’s going to be there. Jason and Jillian Hamlin are about the closest thing to a king and queen we’ve got here in the Pacific Northwest. When they throw a charitable ball like this, they put on a real show. They’ve booked the whole of Benaroya Hall, and I hear the symphony’s going to be there tonight playing dinner music while the guests eat meals catered by a chef they’ve flown in from Paris.” Nick was aware of Daly’s censure. “One of Hamlin’s companies—Hamlin Waste Management—just earned a twenty-million-dollar bonus for cleaning up that toxic spill in Elliott Bay a month ahead of schedule.” Daly shook her head. “As if he didn’t have enough money already. They’re going to bring the house down, Nick. You can be sure of that.”
“Aren’t you going yourself?”
“Me?” Daly smiled. “I’m a newspaper editor. That’s all I am. The press isn’t invited.” She leaned forward. “You get pictures, and it would be a scoop for us. Not just the red-carpet stuff. Pictures from inside.”
Nick shrugged. “I can’t do it.”
“Think about it some more,” the editor said, apparently oblivious to Nick’s increasing distress. “The pictures would make the Sunday supplement.”
“Sara invited me as her guest.”
“Ask her, why don’t you? See what she says if you tell her you’re bringing your camera.” The editor leaned back comfortably in her chair and looked up to signal the waiter, turning her attention to the meal.
“I’ve got to go,” Nick said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re ready to order?” the waiter asked, standing over Nick’s shoulder. Daly lifted a hand to stay the tall, thin man.
“This was a mistake,” Nick said. “I’m not hungry. I can’t do this.”
“Sit and talk to me, then,” the editor said, changing her tone. She waved the waiter away. “We don’t have to eat. You know you’re more than just a reporter to me, Nick—”
“You wouldn’t ask me to do this if that were true.” Nick raised his eyes, expecting to have stung the editor with his words. The expression on Daly’s face, though, remained gentle. Unfazed. “Look—I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to talk to you, Nick. Seriously. Not just about the gala. I’m not being coy.”
Nick wouldn’t be persuaded. “Another time.”
Laura Daly examined him, then seemed to give up. “Another time,” she echoed.
Aware of the shadow of deep concern darkening the editor’s eyes, Nick pushed his chair away from the table and strode to the exit. Daly was still watching him as he shoved his way through the doors past a few customers, and Nick knew it. He couldn’t decide what her expression was concealing. Was it concern for him? Or was she allowing herself to wonder whether he had slid a knife into his brother’s chest? Nick took a deep breath of fresh air, grateful to be outside.
chapter 11
After leaving Daly at the
“I appreciate your concern,” Nick heard himself say. “But I’m okay. Really. It’s not Sam I’m talking about. I was talking about Sara. It’s too soon for you to ask me that.”
The twenty years that separated them were suddenly visible in the senior editor’s face. “I see.” Daly shifted in her chair, recovering her composure.
“I’ve only known her for a few weeks,” Nick explained.
Daly nodded, taking her time. “I thought that an assignment like this might be good for you. That you might want to work a little.”
Nick made an effort to meet the woman’s steady gaze. “I appreciate that,” he said. “But like I told you, Laura, I’ve only known her for a few weeks.”
“The gala’s a big event,” the editor said, ready to press the point. “The cream of Seattle society’s going to be there. Jason and Jillian Hamlin are about the closest thing to a king and queen we’ve got here in the Pacific Northwest. When they throw a charitable ball like this, they put on a real show. They’ve booked the whole of Benaroya Hall, and I hear the symphony’s going to be there tonight playing dinner music while the guests eat meals catered by a chef they’ve flown in from Paris.” Nick was aware of Daly’s censure. “One of Hamlin’s companies—Hamlin Waste Management—just earned a twenty-million-dollar bonus for cleaning up that toxic spill in Elliott Bay a month ahead of schedule.” Daly shook her head. “As if he didn’t have enough money already. They’re going to bring the house down, Nick. You can be sure of that.”
“Aren’t you going yourself?”
“Me?” Daly smiled. “I’m a newspaper editor. That’s all I am. The press isn’t invited.” She leaned forward. “You get pictures, and it would be a scoop for us. Not just the red-carpet stuff. Pictures from inside.”
Nick shrugged. “I can’t do it.”
“Think about it some more,” the editor said, apparently oblivious to Nick’s increasing distress. “The pictures would make the Sunday supplement.”
“Sara invited me as her guest.”
“Ask her, why don’t you? See what she says if you tell her you’re bringing your camera.” The editor leaned back comfortably in her chair and looked up to signal the waiter, turning her attention to the meal.
“I’ve got to go,” Nick said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re ready to order?” the waiter asked, standing over Nick’s shoulder. Daly lifted a hand to stay the tall, thin man.
“This was a mistake,” Nick said. “I’m not hungry. I can’t do this.”
“Sit and talk to me, then,” the editor said, changing her tone. She waved the waiter away. “We don’t have to eat. You know you’re more than just a reporter to me, Nick—”
“You wouldn’t ask me to do this if that were true.” Nick raised his eyes, expecting to have stung the editor with his words. The expression on Daly’s face, though, remained gentle. Unfazed. “Look—I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“I wanted to talk to you, Nick. Seriously. Not just about the gala. I’m not being coy.”
Nick wouldn’t be persuaded. “Another time.”
Laura Daly examined him, then seemed to give up. “Another time,” she echoed.
Aware of the shadow of deep concern darkening the editor’s eyes, Nick pushed his chair away from the table and strode to the exit. Daly was still watching him as he shoved his way through the doors past a few customers, and Nick knew it. He couldn’t decide what her expression was concealing. Was it concern for him? Or was she allowing herself to wonder whether he had slid a knife into his brother’s chest? Nick took a deep breath of fresh air, grateful to be outside.
chapter 11
After leaving Daly at the
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