of it and placed her ankles together while the two men murmured over the document before them.
She deduced that Chase was perfectly able to understand without Spencer’s help, and when she looked up she found that instead of following the finger her father was running down a column, he had lifted his head slightly and was idly staring at her.
Alysia blinked, and he gave her an almost conspiratorial smile before his attention returned to the paper.
Alysia shifted her feet, crossing her ankles and tucking them to one side. As if he’d caught the movement from the corner of his eye, Chase’s attention strayed again, and she was aware that he was interestedly inspecting her ankles, then her calves right up to where her skirt stopped above her knees.
Resisting the urge to tug at the skirt, she curled her fingers around the bag in her lap. Chase’s eyes swept up to her face, and he smiled openly before lowering his head and concentrating on what her father had to say.
He didn’t look up again, and Alysia, after gazing at the art prints on the cream-painted walls, found herself studying the strong male hand that Chase had spread on the desk to brace himself as he bent over Spencer’s shoulder. He had long fingers with short, almost square nails. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and his arm, sporting a businesslike stainless-steel watch, looked muscular and lightly tanned under a dusting of hair. She recalled how strongly it had held her three nights ago, how his fingers had combed through her hair and cradled her nape. Reluctant heat invaded her.
At last her father stopped talking, and Chase said patiently, “Okay, I’ve got that,” before picking up the paper and folding it.
Spencer said, “What about a drink after work, Chase? Get Howard along. We need to do some preliminary planning of the home improvement supplement.”
If Chase was put out at the demand on his supposedly free time, he didn’t show it. “If you like,” he said easily. About to leave, he paused as Alysia opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind. His brows lifted in faint interrogation. “Something wrong?”
Alysia shook her head. To her father, she said, “My car broke down. I’ve called the garage to get the keys from reception and fetch it, and I was going to ask you for a lift. But if you’re not coming straight home—”
Spencer frowned. “You haven’t run out of petrol?”
Chase was trying not to grin, she thought. “I have plenty of petrol,” she said, her chin lifting. “Teething troubles, I suppose.” The car was brand-new.
Her father snorted. “I’ll have something to say to the dealer about that.” His face clearing somewhat, he suggested, “No reason why you shouldn’t come with us. In fact we could all have dinner afterward. Save you fixing a meal.”
“I can get a taxi.” It was much too hot to walk.
Spencer overrode her, apparently unwilling to relinquish his solution. “Tell Howard he’s invited to dinner, too,” he ordered Chase. “He’ll have to let his wife know.”
Seated on a deep upholstered banquette flanking a low polished table, Alysia was next to Chase as they were served predinner drinks.
Howard produced a briefcase and opened a folder. “This is a preliminary draft of the home improvement supplement, but I think we can do better than last year, if we increase the ratio of straight advertisements—”
The three men bent over the folder, effectively blocking Alysia out. Spencer, with an air of giving her a treat, had ordered the cocktail of the day for her, and it had come in a wide, shallow glass decorated with a cherry and a tiny pink parasol. She sipped at it slowly until only a film of creamy foam remained, then sat idly opening and shutting the parasol.
“Alysia?” Chase’s voice was in her ear, and she looked up to find his face quite close. The other two men were still engrossed in discussion. “Another drink?”
“No thanks.” She shut the parasol decisively and placed it in her glass.
Chase’s gaze followed the movement. “How was it?”
“The way it looked,” she answered succinctly.
He gave a small, almost silent laugh. “Pink and sweet,” he said, following her exactly. “Didn’t you like it?”
“It was fine. I just don’t need another.”
He was still looking at her rather curiously, humor curling his mouth, when Spencer called his attention back to business.
After the waitress led them to their table it was Chase who pulled out a chair for Alysia between him and her father. The discussion continued throughout the meal.
“Our clients will provide most of the copy,” Howard said.
Chase leaned back in his chair and picked up his wine glass. “Half the PR people who write those advertorials can’t even spell, let alone string a literate sentence together.”
“So we edit it!” Howard spread his hands. “That’s what we pay sub-editors for.”
“Advertorial?” Alysia queried.
Howard explained. “Articles about our advertisers’ products.”
“I know,” she answered. “Disguised advertising. A cheap way to fill pages.”
Chase gave her a considering look. “You have a problem with it?”
At journalism school this subject had been debated quite hotly. “I think people should know when they’re reading puff for the paper’s clients, not a real product comparison. Will the supplement be labeled as advertising?”
Spencer said impatiently, “People wouldn’t read it.”
“They would if they’re interested in the featured products,” she argued.
“You don’t think,” Chase asked her, “that our readers are astute enough to know that a glowing article cheek by jowl with an ad for the product is a promo?”
“A lot of people trust a newspaper to deliver impartial opinions.”
“Certainly, in the news pages—”
Spencer interrupted brusquely. “People who don’t advertise with us can’t expect free publicity, Alysia. Just let us get on with our planning, my dear.”
Alysia swallowed a protest. She might have paper qualifications but that didn’t give her any clout with these experienced men. “Yes, of course,” she said quietly.
Chase’s eyes were still on her, as if she’d intrigued him, although her views couldn’t be new to any seasoned newspaperman. “I’m interested in what Alysia has to say.”
“I’ve said it.” She looked down at her plate and speared a morsel of pineapple.
“We value your opinion, I’m sure.” Her father gave her a perfunctory smile, but she was more conscious of Chase’s concentrated gaze. “Now, Chase, if we have copy from advertisers there’ll be no need to send staffers…”
No
