Show & Tell

by Rhonda Nelson

  Rupali laid a soft, bejeweled hand on her arm. “Did you experience any breakthroughs this weekend? Did your world shift and come back into brighter focus?”

  Unbidden tears stung her eyes. A short laugh erupted from her throat and she nodded. “Yes,” Savannah choked out. “It did.”

  Rupali nodded in understanding. “Good. I’d hoped you would. My third eye is my strongest chakra, and I had a feeling about you,” she told her. “I know that you’ll have cause to doubt, but you’ll be all right now, you know.”

  “Thank you,” Savannah said, inexplicably reassured by this woman’s calm assessment.

  To her surprise, Rupali leaned forward and hugged her in a motherly fashion, a gesture Savannah hadn’t had in such a long, long time. She blinked back tears once more. “Go, child,” Rupali told her. “He’s waiting.”

  Savannah withdrew from Rupali’s embrace and hurried out to the car. Knox took one look at her and his jaw went hard. “What happened?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Savannah said shakily, wiping the moisture from beneath her eyes. “Just women stuff. It’s nothing. Really.”

  Knox didn’t look convinced. “You’re sure you’re all right? You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  His concern touched her deeply, made her want to vault across the seat, plant herself in his lap, and rain kisses all over his outraged face. A champion, what a novel experience. Savannah’s heart galloped in her chest and joy fizzed through her, until finally it bubbled right out of her mouth in a stream of delighted laughter.

  Knox looked at her askance. Worry replaced the outrage. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” Savannah said emphatically. For the first time in her life everything felt all right.

  14

  ON ANY GIVEN DAY, Knox typically enjoyed walking into the offices of the Chicago Phoenix. His world. He loved the hustle and bustle, the murmur of conversation and the ceaseless ring of the telephones. This was the chaotic world of the newsroom, where breaking news mingled with the mundane, juicy gossip and the occasional super-hot exposé.

  Their tantric sex piece wouldn’t be considered any of those things, Knox knew, and yet it had turned out to be a great story that both he and Savannah were very proud of. The article had come together so seamlessly that it had, as predicted, practically written itself. He and Savannah had simply framed it up with words, ones that he hoped would do justice to their experience with the ancient technique. The piece had been informative, skeptical in a humorous way, yet left plenty of room for possibility. Ultimately it had let readers draw their own conclusions.

  Knox had always worked alone, had always considered writing a solitary business. But, to his delight, he and Savannah had worked extremely well together. Their styles complemented each other and they intuitively played to each other’s weaknesses. In short, they were great together. They wrote like they made love—splendidly.

  Knox had left Savannah at her apartment eight hours ago and, during that time, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

  He simply couldn’t.

  She consumed his every waking thought and had even invaded his dreams. And he wanted to know her every thought, her every dream, her every secret. He wanted to learn all of her little idiosyncrasies, to wake up with her in the morning and go to bed with her each night. He wanted to shower her with the affection she’d missed as a child, to make up for every heartache she’d ever experienced. He wanted her to trust him…and he wanted to be her hero.

  Basically, he just wanted her.

  Knox felt the perpetual smile he’d worn since yesterday morning when his whole world had changed. To his surprise, he found himself whistling as he strolled into work this morning.

  It had been late when they’d arrived back in Chicago, so after dropping Savannah off at her apartment, Knox had brought the piece down here to leave for Chapman to proofread. His boss usually arrived a good hour before the rest of the staff, and Knox knew that Chapman would be eager to read the article. Knox was equally eager to hear what Chapman thought of it.

  A look through the glass confirmed his boss was in. Knox rapped on the door and Chapman beckoned him inside.

  “It’s brilliant,” Chapman said. “It’s damn brilliant. I read it first thing this morning.”

  Knox slowly released the pent-up breath he’d been holding. “Thank you, sir. We’re proud of it.”

  “And I have a surprise for you—it’ll run with your byline only.”

  Something cold slithered through him. Knox blinked, certain he’d misunderstood. “Come again?”

  “You’re not sharing your byline. I never intended for you to. Ms. Reeves needed to be taught a lesson, Webber, and this is the way I’ve planned to do it.”

  Fury whipped through Knox. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on—”

  “And you don’t need to, as it doesn’t concern you.”

  “Doesn’t concern me?” Knox repeated hotly. “Like hell. I just spent the entire weekend working with her. We—not I—just wrote a great piece.” Knox glared at him. “She did the work, she deserves the credit.”

  Chapman smiled infuriatingly. “Be that as it may, she’s not going to get it.”

  Knox fisted his hands at his sides and silently willed himself to calm down. Beating the hell out of his boss, which was exceedingly tempting at the moment, wouldn’t benefit anyone.

  He’d heard stories about Chapman’s legendary ruthlessness—hell, everyone in this city had—but had always thought they’d been exaggerated. While he’d never considered Chapman a friend, he’d nonetheless always respected the man and his opinion. Clearly, that was at an end, Knox thought, swallowing his bitter disappointment.

  “I don’t appreciate being dragged into this,” Knox said, his jaw set so hard he feared it would crack. “Furthermore, I don’t care for your methods.”

  “You don’t have to.” Chapman narrowed his eyes. “Have you forgotten who is the boss here, Webber, whose name is on that door? If so, let me refresh your memory—it’s mine. I do things my way, and people who don’t realize that—or choose to ignore it—pay accordingly or end up unemployed. Have I made myself clear?”

  Knox smirked as a red rage settled over his brain. “Perfectly.”

  With that, Knox pivoted and stormed from Chapman’s office. He knew any argument was pointless. Several co-workers called out greetings, but Knox wasn’t in any frame of mind to play the amiable rich boy today. He needed to intercept Savannah before she came in this morning and prepare her for Chapman’s little bomb.

  More important, he needed to make sure she understood that he hadn’t played any part in it.

  Anxiety roiled in his gut and his heart stumbled in his chest as the implications of what had just transpired in Chapman’s office fully surfaced in Knox’s furious mind.

  He could lose her because of this.

  He could lose her.

  He’d forced her hand, had gone to Chapman and had made her go on that assignment when she’d expressly and repeatedly insisted that she didn’t want to go. She’d undoubtedly believe that he’d been in on it, that he and Chapman had plotted out her punishment together. Hell, even he had to admit that he looked guilty. What was it he’d told her? Don’t make me play hardball. Knox snorted and shook his head. What a pompous idiot he’d been.

  It wouldn’t matter that they’d made love all weekend, that they’d shared the most mind-blowing, soul-shattering sex, that he’d all but told her he’d fallen head over hills in love with her. Granted, he hadn’t said those words per se, but surely she’d understood the implication. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, for pity’s sake.

  But none of it would matter, Knox needlessly reminded himself. She didn’t trust him with her heart yet and if she talked with Chapman before Knox had a chance to talk to her, he most likely would never get the opportunity.

  Nausea curdled in his stomach.

  Just what in the hell had she s
upposedly done that would make Chapman sink to such measures of retribution? Knox wondered angrily. What unforgivable offense had she committed? Knox hadn’t heard the first rumor, so whatever it was had been kept quiet. Secrets didn’t typically last in a newsroom, but obviously this one had.

  Knox breathed relief when the elevator doors finally opened, hurried inside and impatiently stabbed the button for the lobby. In the end it didn’t matter what she had or hadn’t done.

  The only thing that mattered was making sure that she understood that he hadn’t had anything to do with this mess—that he hadn’t betrayed her, and he would do whatever was necessary to make her believe it.

  His insides twisted with dread and he broke out in a cold sweat. He wouldn’t lose her, dammit. Knox slammed his fist into the elevator wall.

  He couldn’t.

  SAVANNAH ROCKED back on her heels and waited patiently for the elevator to deliver her to the eleventh floor, home of the Chicago Phoenix. She’d awoken this morning with a lighthearted smile and the irrepressible urge to get to work. Savannah knew her anxiousness had less to do with the desire to do her job and more to do with the desire to see—and do, she thought wickedly—Knox.

  It had been late by the time they’d gotten back to Chicago and, though he’d all but turned her into a quivering puddle of need with that marathon goodnight kiss, Savannah hadn’t asked Knox to spend the night. He’d been very proud of their piece—as had she—and Knox had wanted to swing by the Phoenix and leave the article on Chapman’s desk so that he could read it first thing this morning.

  Though she didn’t particularly care for their boss, it was obvious that Knox valued the older man’s opinion. Savannah supposed that in absence of his father’s approval, Knox had attached special meaning to Chapman’s. She had the old bastard’s number, though, and knew Knox’s trust had been misplaced. She dreaded when Knox would reach that conclusion as well. She’d swallowed more than her share of disappointment and knew that it left a bitter aftertaste.

  As for her, Savannah had wanted to get here early this morning to hear Chapman’s opinion of the story as well. She hoped that, having gone on this little trip at his bidding to serve penance for her so-called offenses, he would back off now and let her return to her job.

  Savannah chuckled. Her punishment had backfired.

  Big time.

  Chapman had sent her on this trip with the notion of knuckling her under, of humbling her. Little did he know that she and Knox had found something indescribably perfect together, that they’d spent the weekend in hedonistic splendor, and that he’d unwittingly forced her to admit what her heart had known all along—Knox Webber was The One.

  Rather than continuing to nurse her animosity toward Chapman, it occurred to Savannah that she should thank him instead.

  Doing the tantric piece with Knox had been utterly wonderful. They’d worked amazingly well together and the story had only served to whet her appetite for more. She was tired of covering the mundane, had grown weary of the half-assed assignments Chapman had foisted upon her since she’d pissed him off. With luck, when she walked into the office this morning, things would have finally changed for the better.

  Savannah had no more than set foot out of the elevator when Chapman summoned her into his inner sanctum. Suppressing a secret smile, she squared her shoulders and strolled in.

  “Good morning, sir,” Savannah said.

  “Good morning,” he returned, his smile a wee bit too smug for Savannah’s liking. A finger of trepidation slid down her spine. “I’ve had a chance to read the article you and Webber did.” He inclined his head. “Great stuff.”

  Savannah’s tension eased marginally and she smiled. “I’m glad you like it, sir. Knox and I are very proud of it.”

  He winced regretfully. “I’ve only got one minor revision, though.”

  “Certainly. What’s that?”

  “The byline,” Chapman said, his fat lips curling into a malevolent smile. “I’m eliminating a name from it—yours.”

  For all intents and purposes, the ground shifted beneath Savannah’s feet. Her ears rung, and nausea pushed into her throat. She blinked, astonished. “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “What?”

  “I never intended to let you take credit for this story. You need to learn some respect, Ms. Reeves. You also need to learn to heed my wishes. From this day forward, you will do that. Do you understand?” he asked in softly ominous tones. “I am the boss here and you will answer my questions when I ask them, regardless of your so-called journalistic integrity…or else. Let this be a lesson to you, my dear. Don’t screw with me. You’ll lose.”

  “But I did the work,” Savannah said angrily.

  He leaned back in his seat and stacked his hands behind his head. “But you won’t get credit for it, or any other article until you learn some respect.”

  The implication of everything she’d just heard hit Savannah like an unexpected blow to the belly. She swallowed her disappointment, her anger—ate it until she thought for sure she would vomit.

  A horrible suspicion rose. “But Knox—”

  “—has done and will always do exactly what I tell him to,” Chapman said meaningfully. His eyes glittered with evil humor. “He’s a model staffer.”

  Savannah crossed her arms over her chest and snorted with bitter regret. Her world dimmed back into its usual muted focus and the light heart she’d enjoyed only moments ago instantly turned to lead. “I see,” she finally managed. She had to push the words from her seared throat.

  “Good,” Chapman said. “I thought that you would when you’d been shown the bigger picture.”

  Without further comment, Savannah turned and walked out of Chapman’s office, through the busy newsroom, and eventually out of the building. She got into her car and, amazingly dry-eyed, drove across town to her small efficiency apartment.

  For those long interminable minutes, she was utterly and completely numb. It had been like Chapman’s words had cut off the circulation to her feelings, had prevented her from experiencing even the least amount of emotion.

  But the second Savannah entered her apartment, that tourniquet was released and the pain ripped through her, wrenching an anguished, silent sob from her throat. It drove her to the floor, the weight of the torment so unbelievably unbearable.

  Savannah knew this woeful routine, had been a player in this all too familiar scene. But she didn’t understand now any more than she ever had, just exactly what she’d done to deserve this kind of heartache. What made her so unworthy of even a sliver of happiness? A lump formed in her tight throat. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks and splashed onto her shaking hands. She bit her lip to stem the flow, but it didn’t work. The pain was an emotion that had to come out, and this was the body’s natural way to cleanse itself of hurts.

  He’d known, damn him. He’d had to have known, and Chapman, the vengeful jerk, had all but told her so.

  Knox has done and will always do exactly what I tell him…

  And obviously he had, Savannah thought miserably as another dagger of regret twisted in her chest. Knox had forced her to take that trip, hadn’t he? Had gone to Chapman when she refused. Savannah didn’t think that Knox had known why she was going to be punished—he’d seemed genuinely curious about that—but she didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d known what was going to happen. He’d known that Chapman never planned to let her have that byline. Had known that all of her effort had been for naught.

  And if that weren’t a bad enough betrayal, he’d let her go and make a fool out of herself by admitting her damned attraction. Had let her give him her body—and her heart, though he didn’t know it. Humiliation burned her cheeks and her heart drooped pitifully in her chest.

  Savannah had fancifully imagined spending the rest of her life with him, had imagined them working together, celebrating accomplishments, holidays, all of life’s major events. She’d imagined waking up with him and going to bed
with him. Had imagined a happily-ever-after.

  She pulled in a shaky breath as another tear scalded her cheek. Clearly it had all been just that—a figment of her lonely imagination.

  The whole weekend had been about the story, after all.

  KNOX HAD SPENT the entire day and the majority of the night trying to make Savannah listen to him. But she wouldn’t. He’d repeatedly knocked on her door. He’d alternately called her cell and her home phone number, had even filled her answering machine tape with the whole sordid explanation. But none of it had done one whit of good, and as the day had progressed, he’d become increasingly panicked and afraid that nothing ever would.

  The one and only time she’d answered the phone, it had not been with a customary hello, but a couple of succinct words that, frankly, he couldn’t believe she’d said. He’d been so shocked she’d hung up on him before he’d had the time to frame a reply.

  Knox was at a loss. He simply didn’t know what else to do. He’d tried reasoning with Chapman once more, but to no avail. Chapman held fast to his position and wouldn’t relent. The story would run with Knox’s byline only, and Knox knew if that happened, he and Savannah would never be able to patch things up. Frankly, even without that in the scenario, he wasn’t so confident that he could bridge the chasm between them.

  Though he knew that he shouldn’t be, a part of him was angry with her for thinking so little of him. How could she possibly believe that he’d known about this? After what they’d shared, what they’d done together, how could she continue to doubt him?

  True, evidence certainly existed to the contrary, but he’d honestly thought that after he’d explained everything, his word would have been enough to exonerate him. Knox blew out a frustrated breath. It probably would have been with anyone but Savannah. She’d been hurt, disappointed too many times. She didn’t trust anyone. He wondered—even if by some miracle they got past this—would she ever fully trust him? Or would she continue to paint him with the same brush of uncertainty she used on everyone else?