Above the Fold

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  Greta snorted. “Miss Lissie, one day you’re going to see how captivating you are. I pray it be before you turn up an old maid.”

  “There’s nothing inferior about spinsterhood.” Because she had vision and purpose. One day she’d be the owner of the Review, and she’d be able to hire qualified women, enabling them with opportunities to shine. “Did Adam say what he wanted?”

  “Something about taking you out tonight for dinner since you wouldn’t let him get you a birthday gift.”

  Because Adam Kendrew could go through money like she could go through typewriter ribbons. One would think the editor of the finance column would heed his own advice. Wait. Dinner? “Tonight?” She glanced at the clock, her knot of nerves unraveling for the first time since the courthouse fiasco. “That would be splendid.”

  She’d evade Cole and halt Adam’s incessant pleas for dinner in one grand swoop. The perfect plan. Maybe this would be an endeavor she could succeed at. But then, why did her breath stagger in her chest?

  CHAPTER 4

  Of all the restaurants in Pittsburgh, Adam had chosen Ginobli’s. While Elissa once had been mesmerized by the hand-painted murals of Venice decorating the walls and ceiling, her past memories caused this place to lose all appeal. She angled away from the table to her right, the one she’d occupied years ago with the man she purposefully avoided this evening. Fighting a scowl, she stabbed an asparagus tip.

  Adam smiled, the skin around his hazel eyes crinkling. “How’s everything?”

  Awful. “Delightful.” The urge to squirm in her chair snaked across her shoulder blades, but she stiffened against it. Not exactly a lie. The chef had seasoned her baked chicken to perfection, she’d managed not to drip her soup down the front of her caramel-colored dress, and she’d not caught anything on fire. Candles in the middle of a table was an atrocious idea. “Thank you for this evening.”

  Adam’s chin dipped, and his mouth crept up on one side. “Glad you let me celebrate you.”

  He shoved a forkful of pork loin into his mouth, and Elissa tightened her grip on her water. Pork. The same meal being served by Greta to her parents and Cole—Benedict Arnold—Parker. The homey image plaguing her mind made her stomach lurch. He didn’t belong in her house. Or with her family. Or with her, for that matter. The continued befuddlement of how her father simply welcomed—

  “How are you coping with Cole back?”

  The slightest pinch of enmity flavored his tone, and he struggled to keep from frowning. The only person not enthused to throw confetti at Cole’s arrival at the Review, besides her, was Adam. Maybe they could build their relationship on the only thread they had in common—an extreme loathing for Cole.

  “I’m fine. There’s nothing between us anymore.” She smoothed her napkin over her lap, ignoring Adam’s pleased grin. “I believe we can work together as adults.” And as soon as the urge to break her clipboard over Cole’s handsome head vanished, she’d believe her diplomatic statement just as Adam had.

  “Did I hear him call you ‘Spunk’ this morning?”

  “No, ‘Spark.’” That infernal name.

  His eyes loaded with questions Elissa couldn’t bear to answer. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

  An awful one. The sparklers had not only singed her hair, but also her confidence. Not like she’d ever blended in, but her shorn locks had catapulted her deeper in the misfit zone. “Let’s just say Cole is teasing me for something that had happened ages ago.” And she wouldn’t trigger Adam’s memory because it seemed as if he’d forgotten her awkward years. If only she could.

  “Not very gentlemanly. Should I have a talk with him?”

  His eager tone lit warning flares in her mind. Those two didn’t need another reason to fight. “I appreciate the gesture, but I can handle the matter.” The matter who had an attractive face, but a hollow heart.

  “Of course.” He lowered his fork and leaned forward. “Happy birthday, darling.”

  The asparagus lodged in her throat. And now she’d forgotten how to swallow. She lifted her drink to her lips, praying a good flush of water would force the rebellious vegetable to its proper spot. It did. “My birthday was three weeks ago.”

  His lips stretched to a full smile, displaying perfect teeth. “It wasn’t my fault you’ve turned down my every invitation until tonight.”

  Guilt spoiled her last bite of meat, turning it sour in her mouth. Since when had she buckled in her resolve not to give in to Adam’s persistent attention? Maybe since Cole stepped back into her life. No, not her life. Just Pittsburgh. And the Review. And currently her parents’ dining room. But not her life. “Listen, Adam.” She forced her attention from the flickering candle between them and met his gaze. “I don’t want to encourage—”

  “You always say that.” He gave a slight shake of the head, but it didn’t knock the sparkle from his eyes. “Believe me, I know you’re the toughest gal around when it comes to protecting her heart.” His expression softened. “But it’s a heart worth waiting for.”

  Elissa observed him. Could Adam truly be in love with her? Her prevailing thought had always been he wanted her solely because of Father’s status, that he might desire to marry her with hopes of running the Review. She was as protective over the newspaper as she was her own heart, but she’d allowed the latter to get broken. Perhaps it’s healed now.

  “Pardon?” A golden brow arched high on her date’s face, revealing she’d spoken the last bit aloud.

  “Forgive me, Adam. I was …” What was she doing? Reflecting? Dreaming? “I was hoping for something that might never happen.”

  A shadow flickered across his sharp features. Could’ve been from the candle, but the sag in his shoulders revealed her words had wounded him. Was there something unpleasant lurking beyond his genuine countenance, or was she the biggest fool who’d ever worn silk stockings? A handsome, reliable man had offered himself to her more times than she could number, and she’d been stubborn to a fault.

  She stretched her hand across the table, and he clasped her fingers in his. “I really admire you, Adam, but I think I might need more time.”

  “I won’t rush things, Elissa, but can we keep seeing each other?”

  Tomorrow’s leftovers weren’t the only things on the table. There was also the small matter of his heart. She caged a sigh. If his admiration proved honest, maybe she could grow to feel more for him. Perhaps someday love him. Boy, that was a tall order and a lot of maybes, but miracles could happen. “I’m comfortable with that.”

  If only her gut hadn’t clenched at her words.

  The masses loved a good retribution day. Like in the Old West when the sheriff got the drop on the gang of bank robbers. Or on the silver screen when the gorgeous damsel hugged the neck of the prince after he conquered a boatload of pirates. Or in Pittsburgh when Franco Cartelli, a convicted murderer, was sentenced to the electric chair.

  No matter how Cole looked at it, an article about an impending execution didn’t make him feel all fuzzy inside. But … society needed to be informed, and reporting was his job. He fed the paper into the typewriter’s mouth and let his fingers talk for him.

  About halfway into the piece, Elissa stepped into the newsroom. Her tubular dress couldn’t hide her curvy frame. The pale pink color reminded him of soft rose petals, but the look she gave him? All thorns.

  He was tempted to glare daggers himself after showing up at the Tillmans’ last night only to find Elissa out on a date with Kendrew. Cole cut a quick glance at the fair-haired financial reporter five desks away. Jealousy knocked on the gates of his soul, but Cole couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even be angry with the guy. Not this time, at least. He had no grounds to punch Kendrew like he’d had in high school. Though the idea caused his fingers to curl into a fist. It wasn’t the blamed man’s fault Elissa had chosen to eat out with him rather than dine with Cole and her parents.

  As for the meal, it would have been pleasant if Mrs. Tillman hadn’t served cold s
tares with every course. First, at him. Next, at Mr. Tillman. Then at Cole again. Between the two Tillman women, they could freeze the Allegheny River in mid-August.

  “Mornin’, Spark.”

  Only Elissa could make a scowl look striking. “Refrain from the pet names, Mr. Parker.”

  “Just being conversational.” He cracked his knuckles and straightened in his chair. “But if you don’t want to be friendly, Jane and I have work to do.”

  “Jane?” A dark blonde brow spiked then sunk in realization. “You call your typewriter Jane? Because of Jane Austen?”

  Her favorite writer.

  He patted the side of Jane’s metal body. “Absolutely. Thought the name might give me inspiration. By the way, I was wondering if you could introduce me to Elliot Wentworth.” He shouldn’t have enjoyed the rounding of Elissa’s beautiful blues or the inviting way her mouth parted.

  “I—I can’t. Mr. Wentworth only writes for the Review on special occasions.”

  Cole dipped his chin. “Well, if you see the mysterious fellow, please let him know his article on women’s suffrage was the talk of the Dispatch newsroom for days. I found his expressions intriguing.” He couldn’t use the word ‘enchanting,’ because it’d give him away. He’d known from the moment he’d read the byline it was Elissa’s moniker—the last name of the two main characters from Persuasion, Ann Elliot and Captain Wentworth. Her love of Austen novels had never been a secret, and Cole had been compared to Mr. Darcy on too many occasions. Which reminded him. “You kept the dog?” The little spaniel had been his companion for most of last evening.

  She pulled out her seat and paused, her posture stiff like the wooden chair she clutched. “I did.” Elissa’s mouth opened but then snapped shut, her gaze darting to the visitor entering the newsroom. A delivery boy approached her, holding a vase filled with … white lilies.

  Elissa’s tight-lipped smile didn’t fool Cole. She couldn’t be more uncomfortable if porcupine quills lined her pretty dress. Why? He leaned forward in his chair. Who had sent the flowers? Whoever it was knew about her fondness for white lilies. Though now Cole would think she’d prefer yellow roses, given her daily corsage.

  “Thank you.” Eyes wary, she received the arrangement as if it would bite her.

  The delivery boy waved a hand with a “Have a great day,” but Elissa didn’t shift her gaze from the flowers.

  She withdrew the note and read it. Her shoulders relaxed, and a small smirk replaced the fixed frown. Her expression … he wouldn’t call it happy, but relieved.

  His heart smacked against his ribcage. Had she thought he’d sent the flowers? Was that why she’d been tense and agitated? He needed to rethink his strategy. He didn’t want Elissa anxious, but to be … what did he want her to be? Happy and carefree, like when they were young. Before he’d dashed her spirits.

  Setting the card on the table, she rounded her desk and walked down the aisle toward Kendrew. The couple exchanged smiles, tightening Cole’s stomach. While Kendrew’s grin sparkled bright enough to make any dentist proud, Elissa’s hadn’t crinkled her nose.

  Maybe instead of aspiring to get her to throw herself into his arms, his goal should be to make her smile at him. A genuine one that traveled into her beautifully sculpted nose and then danced in her eyes.

  He pushed his gaze to Jane’s weathered keys, knowing full well he didn’t deserve Elissa’s smile. Or her. But if God gave him another chance, couldn’t she?

  “I need your help.” Cole handed Elissa his submission.

  As their fingers touched, the brief contact jolted her insides. Tomorrow she’d place a wire basket on the corner of her desk. Anything to keep from exchanges like this one.

  Her breathing evened, and she glanced at the headline.

  Franco Cartelli Gets Death Penalty.

  The words reached in and grabbed her gut, shivers coursing every which way. “What ... kind of help?” Surely, he wouldn’t ask for advice concerning his article. Not a seasoned reporter like him.

  “I need to put together a classified.” He spread his palms on her desk, drawing her attention to his scarred knuckles, reminding her of the day their paths had first crossed. “I want to hire a helper for my mother.” He bent lower and fixed his eyes on her.

  She took in the angles and planes of his face, only two feet from hers. So familiar yet different. His chin still bore the slight cleft, but somewhere over the five-year span, it had shifted from boyish charm to manly attractiveness. Her fingertip tingled to trace his jawline as she’d done dozens of times in her youth.

  She pushed back in her chair, increasing the distance between them. Wait. Had he said … “A helper for your mother?”

  His head tilted to one side, their gazes locking. “Yes.”

  Her tongue pasted to the roof of her mouth, and she forced her stare onto the coffee ring on her desk.

  “Do you know anyone?”

  She fidgeted with the pleats in her long-waisted dress, glancing up. “Go talk to Roy. He’s head of that department.” And the less she talked to Cole—or looked at him—the better off she’d be. This past week had been trying enough without him bumbling about, invading her space, spiking her heart rate. He didn’t need to know her secret.

  His onyx eyes dimmed. “I don’t know how to list the qualifications. I need a female who can help Mom out with the harder tasks.” He pushed off her desk and tugged his vest straight. “She needs to be responsible. Trustworthy. I’ll be working so I won’t be able to supervise. What if the person should steal or …” He rounded her desk, sunk in his chair, and slashed a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

  Elissa stared. In all the time she’d spent with the spirited Cole Parker, he’d never second-guessed himself. He’d always had a protective edge when it came to his mother, but then … he’d left her too. The sympathetic inclination, though small, dissipated. Any man who’d desert his own mother wasn’t worth a speck of respect.

  Her father’s door opened, and he poked his head out. “Elissa. Please come here.”

  She gave a tight nod.

  Cole dipped his head and raised a brow as if he’d expected a reply, but the only answer she could give him was a turn of her shoulder as she stepped into the office.

  Her father pushed the door closed with his shoe. “I’m wondering how long you’re going to ignore me.”

  She sat in the chair across from his desk and studied a fingernail.

  “Lissie?”

  Light streamed in from the open blinds, striping the floor. She glanced over at the man who’d raised her, provided for her, and most recently betrayed her. “Do you remember the Christmas when I wanted to buy Mother a brooch I’d seen in Shadley’s front window?”

  He scratched his cheek and regarded her with quizzical eyes. “No, can’t recall that one.”

  Of course, he wouldn’t. She puffed her cheeks with air and slowly exhaled. “I even brought you to the store to show it to you. I wanted to work for it. Remember I asked if I could help with anything here at the Review to earn money?”

  Confusion veiled his face.

  “You never answered me. So I worked after school babysitting for the Gershaws.”

  “I remember vaguely.” He slid the chair back and sat across from her. “But I’m going to keep listening because this is the most you’ve said to me in the last four-and-a-half days.”

  “The week before Christmas came, and I still didn’t have enough. So I picked up a few other jobs.” She and Cole had shoveled sidewalks until her arms had burned. “I finally had the right amount, but when I went to buy it, the brooch was gone.” The memory triggered her emotions, thickening her voice. She paused to collect composure. “Christmas morning came. I’d bought her a hat that ended up being too big, and you’d bought her … the brooch.”

  “Oh, Lissie.”

  “I had no clue I’d been in competition with my own father.” Her chest tightened, and she pushed her words around the lump in her t
hroat. “Mother gushed with delight, and she grinned for five minutes. You told her how you just knew she’d love it. But … I wanted to give it to her. I never understood how you could betray me.”

  His gray brows dipped, and he gave a small nod. “I’m ashamed to say, I hardly remember that.” He tapped his pencil, fast at first, then slower. “I do know, I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you. I must’ve passed the window on the way home from work, and the brooch stuck out to me. Probably because you’d showed it to me, but I must’ve forgotten.”

  Which hurt worse, forgotten or betrayed? The only men she’d ever loved had done both. She smoothed the wrinkles of her dress on her thighs, a million retorts tangling in her brain. The steady hum of the newsroom clogged the air more than the hefty odor of the aftershave Father religiously used.

  “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “Because it changed nothing.” Elissa swallowed around the frustration. “You did it again. Took what I wanted and gave it to someone else. Only this one hit harder.”

  “Lissie, I—”

  “How many times have I pleaded with you to give me a chance?” She slid her eyes shut for a couple breaths to keep them from watering. “An opportunity to prove I can write more than an occasional editorial on how to set a proper table? Begged to use my name rather than a fake masculine one? Father, you of all people know how I feel about the injustice women face. You are in the perfect position to advocate for our rights, but you refuse again and again.”

  The seat of Father’s chair could have been upholstered in cactus flesh for all the squirming he was doing.

  “Instead of granting your only child an opportunity to accomplish her dream, who’d you give the biggest headline of the year to? The man who used your influence to get into Columbia then never returned to make good on his commitment to you.” She’d been a fool to believe Cole would fulfill his end of the bargain—work at the paper after college. Though who was to say Cole would’ve been satisfied with the paltry editor job? Not when his name had been viewed by millions across the nation.