day.”
Something about Oliver Fisk touched Jana’s heart. “Is there a problem at the newspaper?”
“Yes, there’s a problem. Very much so.” He nodded his head vigorously. “Mr. Sayer is closing it.”
Jana’s eyes widened. “The newspaper? Brandon is closing the newspaper?”
“It hasn’t been as prosperous as any of us would have liked,” Oliver admitted. “But I can turn things around. I know I can. If Mr. Sayer would just give me a little more time I could make the Messenger the premier newspaper in the city.”
Jana suddenly understood why she’d seen Brandon reading two newspapers at breakfast. Comparing the Messenger to the very popular Times, no doubt.
“I’ll be the first to say that I lack a great deal of experience in the newspaper game,” Oliver said, lacing and unlacing his long fingers. “But when the editor position fell to me, I was confident I could make a go of it. I still am. All I need is more time.”
“That sounds reasonable to me,” Jana agreed. “In fact, it seems to me that—”
Brandon strode into the room as if he were a force of nature, bringing both Jana and Oliver Fisk to their feet, commanding their attention with his very presence. He wasn’t happy. Jana wasn’t sure who Brandon was more annoyed to find in his sitting room: the newspaper editor—or her.
A tense silence froze the room as Brandon glared at them both, then settled his gaze on Jana.
“Would you excuse us?” he asked, though it was a command not a request.
“But Charles is bringing us refreshment—”
“No, he’s not.” Brandon’s gaze drilled into her. “Would you please excuse us?”
The unreasonable fear that had tickled her stomach hardened into a knot of anger. Jana felt her shoulders square and her chin go up a notch. Yet she didn’t want to make a scene in front of Oliver Fisk.
“Good evening, Mr. Fisk,” she said, managing to sound pleasant as her temper simmered, and left the sitting room feeling as if she’d abandoned the gentle editor.
In the foyer she saw Charles lingering. He didn’t make eye contact with her—he never did—but at least he had the good grace to look uncomfortable that he’d ignored her request for refreshments on Brandon’s orders.
Jana pounded up the staircase, resisting the urge to work off her anger by taking the steps two at a time, and fetched the small book she’d brought with her from Aunt Maureen’s hotel suite today. She took the back stairs down to the kitchen, her footsteps echoing on the bare, wooden risers.
The cook, Mrs. Boone, was busy at the stove while her two assistants chopped vegetables at one of the worktables. The kitchen, equipped to prepare everything from intimate family meals to elegant affairs for hundreds of guests, dwarfed the three women. The aroma of the soon-to-be-served supper mingled with the steam rising from the pots.
Mrs. Boone’s eyes narrowed as Jana approached. Of all the servants still in the household, Jana was sorry to see that Mrs. Boone was among them. A gray-haired, sturdy woman, Mrs. Boone ruled her kitchen with an iron hand. She had no use for suggestions from anyone, including Jana.
But that was fourteen months ago, Jana reminded herself.
“Good evening, Mrs. Boone,” she said.
The woman gave her a curt nod. “Evening, Mrs. Sayer.”
“I wanted to speak with you about the menus,” Jana began and held up the book. “I have some new recipes here that I’d like you to incorporate into the meal.”
“As it should be obvious to almost anyone,” Mrs. Boone said, and jerked her thumb toward the stove, “supper is fully underway, requiring my whole attention. I don’t have time to be discussing things at the moment.”
From the corner of her eye, Jana saw the two assistants glance at her, then turn away quickly.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Jana told her, placing the book on the sideboard beside the stove. “These are the recipes. Include them in this week’s meals.”
Mrs. Boone shook her head. “Mr. Sayer likes his meals just so…in case you don’t know. He doesn’t cater to fancy food or newfangled dishes. Did he tell you to make these changes?”
Jana pressed her lips together. “No,” she admitted.
Mrs. Boone picked up the recipe book, gave it a cursory glance and handed it back to Jana. “When Mr. Sayer says it’s all right to change something, then I’ll change it.”
The cook turned back to the stove, ending their conversation.
Jana’s cheeks warmed, and not from the heat of the cookstove. She turned sharply and left the kitchen.
Fourteen months had passed…and nothing had changed.
As Jana passed Brandon’s study, she spotted him at his desk, flipping through papers. He had, apparently, already dispatched Oliver Fisk. And that didn’t suit Jana.
She walked into the study, Brandon’s earlier dismissal and the cook’s blatant disregard for her instructions still stinging.
“Why are you shutting down the Messenger?” she asked.
Brandon looked up. “You needn’t concern yourself with business matters.”
She stood in front of his desk. “I want to know.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m certain I can follow.”
He studied her for a moment, then sat back in his chair. “I purchased the newspaper two years ago. It was a strong rival for the Times. A few months later, the editor died. The paper floundered. A succession of editors couldn’t revive it. Oliver Fisk is the latest to try.”
“But you won’t give him the time he needs?” Jana asked, hearing the edge on her voice.
Brandon heard it too, obviously, because he sat forward again and began rummaging through the desk. “I gave him six months to show an improvement. That hasn’t happened.”
“Then give him more time.”
“I did.” Brandon opened a lower drawer. “I gave him two additional months—three times.”
“But if even more time is needed—”
“No more time.” Brandon closed the drawer with a thud and looked up at Jana. “The Messenger is losing money every minute of every day. I won’t tolerate that sort of loss any longer. Fisk has another six weeks to turn the paper around, or it will be closed. Permanently.”
“But what about all the employees?” Jana asked. “You can’t put those people out of work.”
“Most of them will find jobs at the Times. The others might find work at one of my other businesses,” Brandon said.
