"Okaaaay—are we all having a meeting?" Jessica checked the calendar covered with chaotic scribbles behind her laptop. "I have an interview this afternoon, but if I need to reschedule—"
Skip let her voice fade. "No meeting called yet, but you might want to cancel that interview."
"Why?"
"Mr. Vincent wants to take you to lunch today." He paused for effect. "Just you." When she said nothing, Skip continued. "Three Oaks at noon. Bon appetit. And good luck. I even asked if he wanted anyone else there. And he knows you just came to the magazine."
What the hell? As the newest hire, it sounded like she was getting the axe. Skip must think so, too. At least the editor wanted to ease the blow with a nice lunch. Three Oaks was a five-star restaurant downstairs, in the same building. Jessica had never splurged either the time or the money on her lunch hour to that degree. After hanging up the phone, she tried to keep her mind on her research, but it was difficult to stay motivated. Why go to any trouble this morning, when I'll be out of a job this afternoon?
At 11:55, Jessica picked up her purse and made her way to the elevator with everyone else. Donna was still bubbling about the flowers on the elevator, but she didn't pry. "Wanna try that new Mexican place down the block today? I think it's stopped raining."
"No," Jessica smiled nervously. "I have a lunch appointment. Maybe tomorrow." Except that tomorrow, she'd be out of a job. Donna had become a friend. Jessica might lose her job, but she decided that whatever it took, she'd hang on to Donna. Impulsively, she laid her head on Donna's shoulder. "Mexican would be nice."
They parted ways at the lobby. "See you later," Donna called with a wave before hailing someone from HR. Donna never ate lunch alone.
Jessica stood on the marble floor, taking a few deep, cleansing breaths while people fanned around her from all directions. She pivoted and marched more confidently than she felt through the spotless glass doors of Three Oaks.
A slender hostess with bouncing red curls greeted her, asking her name before checking the reservation list. "I'm meeting a Mr. Vincent? Is he—"
"Right this way, Miss Daniels. Mr. Vincent is expecting you."
Jessica followed the hostess, allowing herself to dilute a measure of anxiety by drinking in the elegant surroundings. It wasn't a huge restaurant, but every inch, and from what she'd heard, every bite, was delicious.
"Miss Daniels. Welcome."
He was dressed in an impeccable navy suit, with a starched white shirt and green tie that matched his eyes perfectly. He stood, extending his hand. "Dillingsworth Vincent, at your service."
D.V. Bathroom Guy. Jessica's knees went weak at the touch of his hand as she slid into the booth across from him.
Maybe she wasn't about to be fired after all.
Chapter 4
"Worth" Her While
"Dillingsworth Vincent. D.V.," she said quietly. "Very clever. I assumed it stood for Darth Vader, which I guess it did, in a way."
"Dillingsworth is a ridiculous name," he said. "Please, call me Worth."
"As in, you'll make it 'worth' my while to have lunch with you?" Jessica was determined not to come off as unprepared and unsophisticated as she suddenly felt.
Worth laughed, and she was appalled at how delightful the sound was. Shortly before, she had practically been in tears because he was sorry he had—well, all the things he'd done in Rita's bathroom at the party—and now she could feel herself being charmed all over again. He even smelled good. What is that scent? She frowned, remembering it from the bathroom. To avoid going down that mental path again, she took a sip of water.
"Would you like a glass of wine, Miss Daniels?' he said. "I presumptuously ordered lunch, but whatever you'd like can be arranged."
You are the poster boy for presumption, she thought but said only, "Water is fine, Mr. Vincent."
Worth did something tantalizing with his eyebrows and smiled in defeat. He held up his hands in a time-out formation. "Can we start over? I'm your new editor, Worth Vincent. I'd like for you to call me Worth. I'd like to call you Jessica. I want all of my employees to follow suit. I am not singling you out in any way. Is that acceptable?"
Jessica said that it was. Maybe he had been drunk that night. Clearly, he wished it had never happened. He had asked for permission, even. She tried to squelch all thought of that horrible party. Was that just days ago?
After that, however, her mood improved. As lunch was served, she and Worth talked about his mother's acquisition of the magazine. No, she hadn't been Mrs. Vincent for decades and was now on husband number five. Unlike with many older women, he said, her men didn't keep getting younger. The marriages just kept lasting shorter periods of time as the old coots finally succumbed to what, his mother assured him, was almost always death by passion.
"My father was a lifelong newspaper man," Worth explained while eating his salad. "He would be devastated at what has happened to the industry now—layoffs, everything going digital. Molly—I've always called my mother by her first name, at her request. Molly wants to recapture a little of the old magic, as my father called it, with this magazine." He paused and waited until Jessica looked up from her own plate. "Which is where you come in."
"Me?" she stammered, blushing at her grammatical faux pas. "I mean, I? I come in, how? In what way—"
He laughed softly at her discomfort but not unkindly. "This isn't an interview, Jessica. You have a job already. I was just hoping to change your role a bit."
Instantly, her eyes narrowed. So that's his angle. "I haven't been writing features for long, but if you want me to be your secretary or—"
"Or?"
Jessica laid down her fork. Why do I have such a short fuse with this man? She
