shoulder barely rose beneath the walnut-brown shirt and matching suit coat he wore. “A lot of effort may’ve gone in but a lot of crap came out.”
Setha raised a brow while observing the glossy photo she held. “You don’t agree that sex sells?”
He only spared a second’s glance at the photo before his uncommon hazel eyes returned to her face. “Only if it’s good sex,” he said.
The glossy fell from Setha’s fingers that had once again gone weak.
Khouri bent to retrieve it. Setha fought the urge to shift in her spot as his bright gaze made an astute trek along the length of her legs below the uneven hemline of her skirt.
“So how should we begin this?” she asked once he’d straightened.
Khouri passed her the photo. “That file you’re holding?” he prompted and waited for her nod. He cocked his head toward his desk. “Start by tossin’ it in the wastebasket.”
Setha threw back her head and laughed. Loudly.
“Does your sister know how much you hate her work?” Setha relaxed a bit more on the sofa.
Khouri leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles. “She hates it herself, so no harm done.”
“Right.” Setha scanned the photo again. “So is it my brother’s take on it that you hate?”
“Not at all.” He was already shaking his head. “It’s just obvious that he’s going against what he really wants and tryin’ to please Avra at the same time. That was his first mistake.”
A tiny frown worked its way between Setha’s long, arched brows. “What is it you think he really wants?”
Khouri motioned toward the photo. “May I?” Taking the artwork, he used two other glossies to crop the photo in question.
Setha watched with bland interest. “A woman in a bikini standing over a caption that reads ‘Buy Melendez.’” She smirked. “You’re serious?”
Khouri regarded her more intently. “Machine Melendez is a male-dominated company selling a male-dominated product.”
Setha’s laughter was a bit less humor filled then. “Women do buy the occasional alternator, Mr. Ross.”
“Khouri.”
Dammit, she thought, did he have to make her want to moan when she was trying to make a valid point?
“Can I get you anything?” he offered, easily noticing her strained expression.
Setha only shook her head to decline.
“Your point’s well taken,” Khouri continued, “and in Samson’s defense, what makes him so good at promoting Melendez is that he speaks to the majority of his clientele and he speaks in their language.”
“Chauvinism. Sexism.”
“Good guesses.” Khouri grinned when she gave him a playful wave. “It is what it is. But if Melendez wants advertising in the Review we’re gonna have to come up with something that speaks to all Melendez clientele.”
“Equally?” Setha’s tone was hopeful.
Khouri pushed aside the photos. “We’re not miracle workers, Ms. Melendez.”
“Setha, please.”
“Setha.”
A shiver kissed her skin beneath the material of her white French-cuffed shirt. Thinning her lips, she steeled herself against reacting to it. “So do you know what your sister wants for this campaign?”
“That’s easy.” Khouri took the photos and turned them facedown. “Nothing. She doesn’t think we should even be doing business with your family’s company.”
Once again that morning, Setha broke into full-bodied laughter.
* * *
Avra set the lock on her office door and then took a seat on the edge of her desk. Facing her view of downtown Houston, she dialed out and waited for the connection.
“Avra!” a cheerful feminine voice greeted.
“Off the record, Gwen.”
“Heffa,” Gwen Bennett huffed in the most affectionate tone. “So what’s up?”
Avra trailed fingers through the short, glossy, onyx-colored curls covering her head. “Did you hear about Wade Cornelius?”
“Yeah…” Gwen’s sigh came through the line. “The man was a legend. I’m pretty sure the Houston Journal’s got some sort of memorial planned for him in the op-ed section later in the week.”
“And that’s all?”
“Well, that’s what—”
Avra rolled her eyes. She could practically see the veteran reporter’s internal antennae going up.
“What’s up, Av?”
“You knew he was my mentor, Gwen.”
“Yeah…” Gwen sighed again, that time realizing how hard the man’s death must have hit her friend. “I’m sorry if I sounded crass, I—”
“Have you heard anything else about his death?” Avra moved off her desk and closer to the windows. “All it said on the news was that he’d been—been found… Do you know whether the authorities suspect some foul play?”
“Honestly, Av, I haven’t heard a thing. Is this…something you want me to dig around in?”
Avra hedged instead of offering a prompt reply.
“I promise not to print anything without talking to you first. But, Av, if it turns out that foul play did account for the death, you know it’ll be news.”
“I know.” Avra turned her back on the view and worried the hemline of her silver ruffled blouse. “Look, just do whatever you can to find out whatever you can and keep it quiet for as long as you can, all right?”
“Avra…honey, don’t take this wrong but do you think I will find something?”
Avra began to wear a path before the floor-to-ceiling windows in the office. “I can’t say one way or another. I mean, Mr. C was no spring chicken—high blood pressure, diabetes…so who knows? But it’s nagging at me. Whether anything’s up or not, the cops’ll hide it for as long as they can, and I’m not patient enough to wait on them to share the news.”
“Understood. All right then, girl. I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended and Avra cradled her forehead in her palm.
* * *
After a lengthy discussion, Setha and Khouri broke for a brainstorming session. Seated
