“Who?”
“She’s Managing Editor of The Urban Sophisticate magazine. This is her second call today.”
Lassiter remembered. “Right,” he murmured, annoyed with himself. He’d put her off all week, but he knew she needed an answer by the end of the workday. Though Lassiter wasn’t a man to waver when a decision needed to be made, this time he was torn. “I’ll take the call,” he said, laying aside his pen.
“Line two, sir.”
He picked up the receiver. “Hello, Ms. Lubek.”
“Mr. Dragan,” came the woman’s husky voice. She sounded to be about fifty. “I hope you’ve decided to let The Urban Sophisticate do that ‘Home For The Holidays With Lassiter Dragan’ article.”
“I’m flattered by the interest,” he said, honestly. He’d been weighing the pros and cons all week.
“That doesn’t sound like a firm yes,” Jessica Lubek said. “What can I say to convince you? Have I mentioned our ‘Home For The Holidays’ issue is always our bestseller for the year?”
“Yes, Ms. Lubek,” he said. “I know it would give Dragan Ventures invaluable exposure.”
“Worth millions in advertising dollars. We have an international readership, as I believe I’ve mentioned.”
“True.” He paused. He’d already explained to her that he hadn’t granted any interviews for years. Since she had been patient and was being so persistent, he decided to explain. “You see, Ms. Lubek—”
“Call me Jessica,” she interrupted.
“Thank you, Jessica. Let me repeat, your offer intrigues me. It’s just that the last time I was featured in a magazine, the experience wasn’t one hundred percent positive.”
“Really?” She paused, and Lassiter suspected she was puffing on a cigarette, no doubt the reason for her low, raspy voice. “Would you mind my asking what the problem was that’s made you so publicity-shy?”
He glanced toward the window wall in his corner office, staring out at the overcast afternoon. Snow fell thick and fast. Traffic would be a bear getting home. He checked his watch. Three o’clock. He wished it were five. Wished this decision were made, once and for all. “I suppose you deserve to know, since I’ve kept you dangling all week,” he said. “You see, five years ago, Midas Touch Monthly did a story on me. Do you know it?”
“Certainly. I read their article on you. It was a good piece. Midas is a fine business magazine. Forgive my boasting, but its circulation is much smaller than ours.”
Lassiter’s chuckle was ironic. “Exactly. But even with its limited circulation, after that article came out, I found myself…” He paused. There wasn’t a graceful way to put it, so he decided just to say it. “Well, due to that article, I found myself the matrimonial objective of a rabid horde of silly women.” He cringed, recalling the havoc that experience wreaked.
“Oh?” Jessica Lubek said, and he could hear her blow out smoke again. “That’s a shame, Mr. Dragan.” He detected the smile in her voice. “It must be hell being rich and handsome.”
He was surprised by the woman’s bluntness. “You’re quite right to be sardonic. Wealth has many perks. As for handsome, it’s in the eye of the beholder. Unfortunately as far as I could tell, these women didn’t care if I looked like a stubby wombat.”
“A stubby wombat?” Jessica Lubek cut in, still sounding like she was grinning. “As I said, I did read the article, and it included a picture of you. In all honesty, Mr. Dragan, you look about as much like a stubby wombat as a prize stallion looks like a jackass.”
Lassiter experienced unease spiced with displeasure at her continued amusement at his expense. He supposed it could sound comical to someone who’d never experienced it. “The fact is, they wanted to marry rich, come Hades or high water, wombat or jackass. They camped outside my privacy gate, shrieking at me, throwing themselves on my car whenever I came and went. One had herself mailed to me in a huge box.”
He was surprised at how troubling the recollection was, even five years later. He was a private person, and his privacy had been blown all to blazes. “The intrusiveness became a hindrance. Women invaded my office building. I could get nothing done for a month.” He picked up his gold pen and began a restless tapping on his desktop. “That’s why I’ve refused to be featured in articles ever since.”
She chuckled aloud. “I know a lot of men who would do anything to get that kind of attention. Including my husband.”
“They should be wary of what they wish for. Trust me, being harassed by scheming, greedy women is no picnic.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, exhausted and ambivalent. It had been a long, hectic week, and this was not what he needed right now. “I have to admit,” he went on, “the article did bring me some lucrative clients, practically doubling my business.”
“So you have a dilemma.” She no longer sounded amused.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I wish I could reassure you that it won’t happen again, but I can’t.” She exhaled a prolonged blast of cigarette smoke, so audible he could almost smell it. “Publicity is a double-edged sword.”
He clamped his jaws, brooding over whether the offer was a business opportunity he couldn’t afford to refuse, or if he was insane to consider it? Was the untold wealth the publicity would bring worth the inevitable upheaval it would cause his well-ordered, intensely private lifestyle?
To Lassiter, everything was business-related. “Home” to him meant an investment, a tool to promote his company and increase his prosperity.
When asked about his heritage, Lassiter often joked, “Daddy was in steel—spell it any way you want,” meaning “steel” or “steal.” Lassiter was a bottom-line man. With anything he took on, he expected a profit. And this article would garner him a huge one.
That was why his hesitation to accept the offer annoyed him. It should be a no-brainer! But he also knew everything and everyone had a price. What price was he willing to pay for millions in free publicity?
What he needed was some way to benefit from the article without the disruptive burden of brazen, money-grubbing females. If he could just come up with a way to accomplish that.
“I gather none of them snared you?”
The question caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, I gather you’re not married,” the editor said.
Lassiter winced at the thought. To him, women were like anything else—assets or liabilities. On the asset side he counted the luscious “arm candy” he dated. Female liabilities included the screaming swarms that had invaded his home and business. The “assets” enjoyed the benefits of his luxurious lifestyle, for their companionship. Because they benefited for what they offered him, he never felt guilt or obligation once a relationship had run its course. As for marriage, he had no interest in “family.” He saw no profit in it.
“Did you hear me?” Jessica asked.
“Yes, I—”
The
