up the slack. He’s right out of school—”
“Oh, c’mon, Nick! A college kid? You can’t be serious!”
“I know,” he said with a grimace. “I felt the same way when Porter told me about the kid. But then I read some of his stuff. He’s good, Logan. Damn good. In fact, his writing reminds me of the way yours used to be. It’s got an edge to it—”
“He’s a kid, Nick! He’s not me.”
“No, he’s not,” he agreed. “But right now, you’re MIA, and he’s the best I’ve got. I hope the two of you get along, but whether you do or don’t doesn’t change anything. Porter says he’s here to stay.”
Picking up the phone on his desk, he pressed a button and growled, “I need to see you in my office.” When he hung up, he told Logan, “You came here right out of college yourself, so remember that. He’s no threat to you. In fact, he may be just what you need to get out of the rut you’re in. A little competition never hurt anyone.”
Logan sincerely doubted that a kid who was still wet behind the ears could compete with an experienced reporter, but he himself didn’t plan to compete with him or anyone else. He was handling his grief, and even though he’d lost interest in his writing after Faith died, he was still a damn good writer. And with time, he knew he would regain the sharpness he’d been famous for in the past.
A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a tall blond man walk in. He didn’t look old enough to shave, let alone be out of college, and if Logan hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was a California beach bum who spent all his time surfing. Logan could almost smell the scent of the ocean as the younger man stepped into the office.
This was the crackerjack reporter with a sharp edge? Logan thought cynically. Yeah, right!
“You rang, boss?”
His tone was far from respectful, his stance slouched. Nick scowled. “I don’t answer to boss. You can call me Nick or Mr. Whitiker.”
The younger man only shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” Turning to Logan, he didn’t bother to hold out his hand. “You must be Logan St. John. I’m Josh Garrison. I heard you were having some problems. Don’t worry. I’ll pick up the slack.”
Logan liked to think he was fairly thick-skinned and didn’t get insulted easily, but there was something about Josh Garrison’s cocky tone and the look in his eye that irritated the hell out of him. “I don’t need you or anyone else to pick up the slack where I’m concerned,” he said coolly. “I’m quite capable of doing my job.”
“Hey, man, don’t get offended,” Josh retorted. “I’m just repeating what Porter told me. The paper’s in a slump and he brought me in to pull it out. If you’ve got a beef, take it up with the old man. I just do what I’m told.”
He turned and strode out without another word. In the silence left behind, Nick swore softly. “Well, that went well. Dammit, Logan, you didn’t have to get your back up!”
“The hell I didn’t,” he muttered. “You heard him. I heard you were having some problems. I’ll pick up the slack. Smart-ass. I don’t care what the ‘old man’ told him, I don’t need him to do my job for me. I was winning awards for this paper when he was still playing tag on the playground in elementary school.”
“Okay, so he wouldn’t know tact if he tripped on it,” Nick conceded. “He sets my teeth on edge, too. But like it or not, we’re both going to have to live with him, Logan. He’s the golden boy…and practically family to Porter. That gives him a get-out-of-jail-free card, so don’t hold out hope that he’ll wear out his welcome anytime soon. He’s too good a writer, and you know how Porter is when he gets a bee in his bonnet that the paper’s not pulling in enough money. He’d hire Attila the Hun if he thought it would bring in dollars.”
“I don’t care. The kid’s arrogant.”
Nick shrugged. “He’s young. You were the same way at his age.”
“I was never disrespectful,” Logan said flatly. Staring at the door through which Josh had walked out, he scowled. “There’s something about him I don’t like.”
“Just do your job and don’t worry about him,” Nick advised. “He’ll show his true colors soon enough.”
Logan had never been one to go out and look for trouble, but he also wasn’t one to sit and wait for trouble to come to him without taking steps to ward it off. He intended to watch Josh Garrison very, very carefully.
Doing some much-needed filing at work, Abby should have rushed through the job, then started printing address labels for the fund-raising-campaign letter Martin wanted mailed by Wednesday. But as she completed the familiar task, she found her thoughts drifting to Logan. She still couldn’t believe how understanding he’d been yesterday when he’d called her—or what a coward she’d been when he’d asked her to have a drink with him!
He probably thought she was scared of her own shadow, she thought with a silent groan. And she really wasn’t. Granted, she had no confidence in herself when it came to men, but she wasn’t afraid of them. The person she was afraid of was herself. And with good reason. She was a lousy judge of men. She’d proved it time and time again. She was thirty-three years old, for heaven’s sake, and she’d never dated a man she wanted to introduce to her family and friends, let alone marry.
Just thinking about it made her cringe. Had she been desperate? she wondered. Was that why she’d gone out with anyone who’d asked her? She’d never felt desperate, just lonely. And horribly insecure. And Dennis and the others like him who’d asked her out had seemed so sure of themselves. She realized now, of course, that nothing could have been further from the truth—they bragged because they were as insecure as she was and didn’t want the world to know it. But at the time, she hadn’t been able to see through their facade.
Never again, she promised herself. She wanted a man who knew what he could do without having to boast about it. A man she could introduce to her friends without having to apologize for his behavior. After only a short phone conversation with Logan St. John, she refused to do as she had in the past and jump to any conclusions about what kind of person he was. He didn’t seem to be insecure, but at this point, there was no way for her to know that for sure…which was why she intended to learn more about him before she decided if she really wanted to go out with him. If he turned out to be the type of person she thought he was, she would meet him for a drink and take it from there. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t waste her time.
Satisfied that she was doing the right thing, she turned back to her desk to retrieve another stack of files that needed to be filed, only to spy a small piece of paper lying on the floor halfway between her desk and the filing cabinet. Scooping it up, she turned it over, thinking it was a piece of correspondence that must have fallen out of one of the files. She saw immediately, however, that it was a handwritten note to Martin.
“Martin, sorry I missed you. We need to talk about the deal. Meet me at the club at the usual time. J.N.”
Who was J.N.? Abby wondered, surprised. Martin was a popular city councilman who had a lot of friends and contacts. She thought she knew most of them, but she couldn’t think of any of his friends who went by the initials J.N.
Frowning, she stepped into his office after only a perfunctory knock. “Martin, do you know anything about this note?
