for a new angle on the latest local school’s annual jog-a-thon and/or bake sale.” Sherry leaned over the desk, her blue eyes pleading with his. “Please.”
“So, you think you’re up to a challenge?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she cried with enthusiasm. “An exposé, something undercover. I’m perfect for it.” Straightening, she waved both hands over her far-from-hidden bulk. “Who’d suspect a pregnant woman?”
“All right, you want a challenge, you got a challenge.”
Opening up the side desk drawer that the people who worked with him laughingly referred to as no-man’s-land, Owen took out a canary-yellow file folder and handed it to her.
Sherry took the folder from him, noting that it felt as if it hardly weighed anything. Opening it, she discovered that there was a reason for that. It was empty.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She raised a brow, waiting.
“Fill it,” he told her mildly.
Pregnancy had all but eradicated her normally ample supply of patience. It was difficult to keep emotion out of her voice. “With what?”
“With a story on St. John Adair.”
Second verse, same as the first, she thought. This wasn’t what she’d been talking about. “But—”
Knowing what was coming, Owen cut her off. “Not just a story, a biography.” For emphasis, he spread his bony hands out in the air, as if touching the pages of a phantom newspaper. “I want everything you can find on this man. More.”
And here, just for a moment, she’d thought he was being serious. Instead, he was asking for one of those simpering write-ups in the People section. Frustration threatened to cut off her air supply. She tossed the folder on his desk in disgust. “Owen, this is just a dressed-up fluff piece on steroids.”
“Oh, really?” He picked up the folder. “St. John Adair, raider par excellence of the corporate world, the mere mention of whose name sends CEOs dashing off the sunny golf course and to their medicine cabinets in search of the latest high-tech antacids. The man who’s fondly referred to as Darth Vader by even his closer associates. The man who has no biography, is said to have arrived on the scene full-grown, springing out of some shaking multi-mega business corporation’s worst nightmare.”
She was aware of the man’s name, but not his awesome power. The focus of her interests lay elsewhere. “Business corporations don’t have nightmares.”
Owen’s thin lips curved. “They have Adair,” he contradicted. “And we have nothing on him. No one does.” He held out the folder to her. “You want a challenge, there’s your challenge. Find out everything you can on Adair—find out more than everything you can on him,” he amended. “I want to know what elementary school he went to, what his parents’ names are, does he even have parents or was he suckled by wolves in the Los Angeles National Forest like Pecos Bill—”
Sherry struggled to keep back a smile. This was way over the top, but she had to admit, Owen had her curious. “Pecos Bill didn’t grow up in the Los Angeles National Forest—”
“Good, that’s a start.” He tendered the folder to her again. “Give me more.”
Eyeing him, she took the folder from Owen. “You’re serious.”
“Yes, I’m serious. Nobody else has managed to get anything on him or out of him other than ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ I came, I saw, I conquered.”
“I don’t need the translation, Owen. Julius Caesar, talking about his triumphs,” she added in case he was going to clarify that for her, as well.
Owen had launched into his coaxing mode, one of the attributes that made him good at his job. “You can be the first on your block to find something out on him.” He pretended to peer at her. “Unless, of course, you think it’s too hard—” He reached for the folder.
It was a game. She knew what he was up to and because of the friendship that existed between them, played along. She backed away to keep him from reaching the folder. “No, it’s not too hard.”
The grin transformed what could charitably be called a homely face into an amazingly pleasant one. “That’s my girl.”
She looked at the folder, already planning strategy. “When’s the deadline?”
“The sooner the better. You tell me.”
Now that she thought of it, she remembered her father saying something about Adair. Something along the lines of his coming out of nowhere and creating quite a sensation. Her first impulse was to call her father and ask if he had any connections that could lead her to the man, but she quickly squelched that. She wasn’t about to walk a mile in borrowed shoes unless there was no other way. She didn’t want to be her father’s daughter, she wanted to be Sherry Campbell, use her own devices, her own sources.
She turned the folder around in her hand. “And you really think of this as an investigative piece?”
Owen gave her his most innocent expression. “Is this the face of a man who’d lie to you?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “As I recall, you’re the one who told me about the Tooth Fairy.”
To that, he could only plead self-defense. “Your tooth had fallen out. You were crying your eyes out.” He spread his hands out. “You were five years old. What was I supposed to do?”
“Exactly what you did.” Wheels began to spin. Mentally she was already out of the office. Sherry slapped her hand across the folder, her eyes sparkling. “Okay, you’re on.”
“Great.” He was already back looking at the computer screen. “Don’t forget to shut the door on your way out.” The assignment she’d brought in was still on his desk. He held it up. “And give this other piece to Daly.”
She darted back to retrieve the paper. “I’ll do it in my spare time.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Good.” The familiar sound he was waiting for didn’t register. Owen glanced up from his screen. “The door?”
Sherry nodded as she crossed the threshold and eased the door closed behind her.
A smile sprouted and took root as she deposited the assignment into the yellow folder and tucked it under her arm. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d been after, but if it was a challenge, then she was more than up to it. God knew she needed something meaty to work on before she completely lost her mind.
The woman’s voice, crisp, clear, with “no nonsense” written over every syllable, echoed in Sherry’s ear, “No, I am afraid that Mr. Adair is much too busy to see you. Try again next month. At the moment he’s booked solid.”
The woman sounded as if she was about to hang up. “The man has to eat sometime,” Sherry interjected quickly, hoping for a break. “Maybe I could meet with him then.”
She could almost hear the woman sniff before saying, “Mr. Adair has only working lunches and dinners. As I’ve already said—”
Undaunted,
