“And you failed geography, little sister. How is that possible?”
Tess groaned. “That was in eighth grade.”
“There’s a new artist I need to see. He hasn’t been returning my calls, so I decided to drive up and pay a personal visit.”
“Well, I thought you’d want to know. The Devil’s Own got a great review in Publisher’s Preview,” Tess said. “And the distributors have been calling all afternoon to increase their orders. At this rate, we’re going to have to go back for the second printing before the first is out the door, so I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to put it on the schedule for later next week.”
Tess was head of production at Stamos Publishing. She and Alex had been working together on his new business plan for nearly a year and this was the first sign that it was about to pay off. Until last year, Stamos Publishing had been known for it’s snooze-inducing catalog of technical books, covering everything from lawnmower repair to vegan cookery to dog grooming. But as the newly appointed chief executive officer, Alex was determined to move the company into the twenty-first century. And that move began with a flashy new imprint for graphic novels.
From the time he was a kid, walking through the pressroom with his grandfather, he’d been fascinated by the family business. While most of his peers were enjoying their summers off, he’d worked in the bindery and the production offices, learning Stamos Publishing from top to bottom.
His dream had been to make Stamos Publishing the premier printer in the comic book industry. That way, he could get all the free comic books he wanted. But as he got older, Alex began to take the business more seriously. He saw the weaknesses in his father’s management plan and in the company’s spot in the market and vowed to make some changes if he ever got the chance.
The chance came at the expense of his family, when his father died suddenly four years ago. His grandfather had come back to run the business, but only until Alex was ready to take over. Now, nearly all the extended Stamos family, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, depended upon him to keep the business in the black.
“I’m going to run forty thousand,” Tess said. “I know that’s double the first run, but I think our sell-through will be good.”
“I guess we were right about the graphic novels,” he said, keeping his concentration on the road. Though they weren’t comic books, they were the next best thing. The edgier stories and innovative art had made them popular with readers of all ages. And Stamos was posed to grab a nice chunk of the market. “What else?”
“Mom is upset,” Tess said. “One of her bridge club ladies showed her that Web site. The cool operators site.”
“Smooth operators,” he corrected. “What did she say?”
“That a nice Greek boy won’t find a nice Greek wife if he acts like a malakas. And she also said the next time you come to Sunday dinner, she’s going to have a conversation with you.”
“Great,” Alex muttered. A conversation was always much more painful than a talk or a chat with his mother. No doubt he’d be forced to endure a few blind dates with eligible Greek girls, handpicked by the Stamos matriarch.
“Some people think that any P.R. is good P.R. I don’t happen to agree, Alex. I think you need to do some damage control and you need to do it fast. I’m looking at your profile on this page right now and it’s not good. These women hate you. Heck, I hate you, and I’m your sister.”
“What do you suggest? I’m not about to talk about my love life in public.”
“Who suggested that?”
Alex cursed beneath his breath. “The owner of the Web site called to interview me. Angela…I can’t remember her last name. Weatherall or Weathervane.”
“She wants to talk to you?”
“I guess. Either that, or she wants to yell at me. But I’m almost certain I’ve never dated her.” He cursed softly. “What makes her think I’m the one at fault here? Some of these women are just as much to blame. They were ready to get married after three dates.”
“You have had a lot of girlfriends. Listen, Alex, I know you’re a nice guy. So why can’t you find a nice woman?”
The car skidded and he brought it back under control, cursing beneath his breath. “I’ll figure this out when I get back.”
“So this artist must be pretty good for you to drive through a blizzard to see him.”
“A little snow is not going to stop me,” he replied.
“And this guy isn’t just good, he’s…amazing. And oddly uninterested in publication. The novel came through the slush pile and I figure the reason he’s avoiding me is because he’s got another publisher interested.”
“So, you’re just going to drive five hours in the snow and expect he’ll want to talk business?”
“I’m a persuasive guy,” Alex said. “My charm doesn’t just work on the opposite sex. Besides, if I’m his first offer, then I have a chance to get a brand-new talent for a bargain-basement price. I’m not leaving without a signed contract.”
The car skidded again and Alex dropped his phone as he gripped the wheel with two hands. He gently applied the brakes and slowed to a crawl as he fished around for the BlackBerry. But he couldn’t find it in the dark. “I have to go,” he shouted, “or I’ll end up in the ditch. I’ll call you after I check in.”
“Let me know when you’re settled,” Tess replied.
Alex found the BlackBerry and tucked it in his jacket pocket, then turned his attention back to the road. He knew Door County was well populated, at least in the summer. But in the middle of a Wisconsin winter, the highway was almost desolate between the small towns, marked only by snow-plastered signs looming in the darkness.
Was he the only one crazy enough to be out during a blizzard? Alex leaned forward, searching for the edge of the road through the blowing snow. A moment later, he realized he was no longer in control of his car. Without a sound the car hit a huge drift and came to a silent stop in the ditch.
This time, Alex strung enough curse words together to form a complete sentence, replete with plenty of vivid adjectives. He wasn’t sure what to do. The car wouldn’t go forward or backward. Even if he got the car back on the road, it was becoming impossible to see where the road was. He didn’t have a shovel, so there wasn’t much chance of getting himself out of the ditch.
Alex grabbed his gloves from the seat beside him and pulled them on. If he could clear some of the snow from beneath the wheels, he might be able to get back on the road. If not, he’d call the auto club for a tow. He grabbed a flashlight from the glove box, then crawled out of the car, his feet sinking into a three-foot drift.
Even with the flashlight, it was impossible to see through the blowing snow. Blackness surrounded him as he dug at the snow with his hands. But for every handful of snow he pulled away, two more fell back beneath the tire. Alex knew the only safe option was to wait in the car for help.
He pulled out his phone to call for a tow, but his gloves were wet and his fingers numb from digging in the snow. The BlackBerry slipped
