Lois Lane Tells All Page 7

“I suppose we could add a sales flyer and—”

  “No. If we add pages, it will just increase costs and negate the ad sales. We’ll have to reduce the content.”

  “No.” Susan shook her head vehemently. “You can’t reduce our reporting space. Why do you think our readers are so loyal? It’s because we consistently deliver a quality product. If you really want to see a significant increase in revenue, then add two more pages of content and expand our coverage area to some of the smaller towns nearby. That will increase the paper’s value as well as increase our potential readership, which should mean an increase in circulation. Then we can raise ad prices to meet our revenue goal.”

  “Collins, there’s no way people would pay more to advertise than they do now. You’re at price saturation as it is.” Frankly, he was surprised at how much people were willing to pay to put an ad in the paper as it was. “Susan, the simple truth is this: we need more income, which means more ad sales. I’m going to ask you and Pat to start being more aggressive about that.”

  “Pat and I already cover the entire country’s events, and write all of the content, and—because of you—now we also take turns working the front desk and answering the phones. When, exactly, are we supposed to sell more ads?”

  She had a point. Again. He pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto the chart. “We’ll have to figure out some way to make it happen.”

  “We’ll see.” She gathered her notepad and coffee cup. “Meanwhile I’ll call the Asheville Citizen-Times and get their rates for outsourcing our printing.” Susan sent him a fast smile and left.

  Mark watched her go. What that woman did for a pair of jeans was almost criminal.

  He went to the conference room doorway to watch her walk toward her office, each confident stride long and sexy. When he worked in Raleigh he was surrounded by attractive women—lawyers and accountants, legal assistants, ad execs, and marketing personnel—but none had intrigued him like this blue-jeaned, pony-tailed, sensually charged Lois Lane wanna-be.

  He had to admit: they sure knew how to grow ’em in Glory, North Carolina.

  Chapter 5

  Dear Bob,

  I’m a young, sexy, slender Virgo looking for a hot young man in his 20s, preferably tall, dark, and handsome like Toby Keith, and ready for a good time, if you know what I mean.

  Where can I find me a man like that? I’ve done checked out the Baptist Singles Group, but none of them could sing “Lay You Down” by that Twitty fellow without giggling like a fourth grader. I need me a no-nonsense man with a good set of lungs.

  Where do I look now?

  Signed,

  Likes ’Em Younger

  Dear Likes ’Em,

  Tundy Spillers, is that you?

  Boys, here’s a hot one for you! If you like to dance and look even vaguely like Toby Keith or a member of his band, call The Examiner office today and leave a message.

  Tundy’ll call you right back!

  Sincerely,

  Bob

  The Glory Examiner

  July 9, section B2

  Susan put down her beer with a thunk. “Bull! Women are easy to understand.”

  Six pairs of masculine eyes stared at her in disbelief.

  Poker night was Susan’s favorite night of the week. Every Wednesday at seven sharp, she opened her garage to six of the town’s bachelors, and over the years she’d grown very fond of them.

  Nick Sheppard, the town sheriff and Susan’s boss when she’d been the county dispatcher, tossed a chip into the center of the table. “Susan, I don’t know what you’re drinking, but you should probably get yourself some water or coffee.”

  René Gaspard, the town’s fire chief and renowned womanizer, grinned. “Or maybe a nice calming glass of milk?” His faint Cajun accent left most of Glory’s bachelorettes panting.

  Susan snorted. “You all know I’ve only had one beer. Admit that it’s men who say one thing and do another.”

  Ethan lowered his cards, his brows high. “And women don’t?”

  “Not as much as men.”

  “Susan, ma chère,” Rene drawled. “Men are easy to understand. We want pizza, beer, and nakedness.”

  Susan would have to pass that on to Connie, who drooled every time René, with his mocha skin and pale green eyes, walked past.

  Jeff grinned. “I know some women who’re into those things, too.”

  Susan nodded. “That’s true. Personally, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night.” She’d been surprised when Jeff had arrived tonight, since he was supposed to be doing cross-country flight training with a student pilot, but at seven he’d strolled in, saying they’d gotten rained out.

  He slid a chip into the center pile. “The real secret isn’t beer, pizza, and nakedness. It’s in getting them all at the same time.”

  “That,” René declared, flashing a grin that made a dimple flicker across his cheek, “would make me downright mellow.”

  Steven Van Doren nodded. A fireman, he worked with René and idolized the slightly older man. “Docile, even,” he agreed.

  “Like a lamb,” chimed in Jeff.

  Doc Wilson tilted back his head so he could see the cards through the bottom part of his glasses. “I’d be comatose.”

  Susan sighed. “You guys are never serious, are you?”

  René looked offended. “We are being perfectly serious!”

  Nick nodded. “I’d do a lot of things if Roxie’d bring me pizza and icy beer in the nude.”

  “You or her?” René asked, trying to look innocent.

  Nick returned the favor. “Does it matter?”

  They all chuckled and Susan had to laugh with them. “I thought you all would be a big help, but I can tell I was hoping for too much.”

  Ethan put his cards facedown on the table and pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Anyone want one?”

  “I’ll take one.” Jeff took one with relish.

  “Me, too,” Susan said, holding out her hand. She sniffed it and smiled. “Mmm, that’s smooth.” She placed the cigar on the table and used the edge of a beer cap to slice the end.

  “That’s a neat trick.” Jeff held his out and she cut the end for him. “Thanks, Suze.” He lit his cigar and puffed a few times. “So … what sort of help do you need?”

  Susan took the lighter and lit her cigar. “Advice. You guys have always been there for me.”

  Doc Wilson lifted his beer. “You know it.”

  Nick nodded. “Anything you need, just say the word.”

  “This is about Mark.”

  “We’d guessed that,” René said dryly.

  She blinked. “How?”

  Nick shrugged. “Because you and he seem inseparable lately.”

  Though no one looked directly at her, she felt their attention as strongly as if a spotlight lit her. “We’re trying to stabilize the paper’s finances,” she said in a cool voice, flipping a chip into the center pile. “It’s all work.”

  René shrugged. “Working with someone and trying to date him can be tough. In New Orleans, there was a woman I once worked with …” He sighed happily. “I don’t know what was hotter, the fires we fought at work, or the fires we lit afterward.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Jeff threw two cards facedown on the table. “Two.”

  Nick dealt the pilot two cards. “René, why haven’t you mentioned this firewoman before?”

  René sniffed. “Why bring up old news?”

  Steve threw three cards onto the table. “He never mentions her here because he’s been too busy telling us about her at the fire station. According to René, she’s a long-legged blonde bombshell and a real wildcat in bed.”

  “Excuse me,” Susan said. “I believe we were talking about me.”

  “Oh, right.” Steve waved a hand. “Continue.”

  “Well, I used to love to go to work and write articles about the community and represent Glory—you know, try to show who we really are.”

  René appeared confused
. “Are you talking about The Glory Examiner?”

  Susan stiffened. “Of course I am! It’s an important part of our community. Without it, we’d just be a small section in the Asheville paper. Glory deserves more than that.”

  Ethan removed his cigar and looked at Nick. “She really loves her job, doesn’t she?”

  Nick nodded. “I thought she just wrote the Dear Bob column.”

  Jeff looked up from his cards. “Susan writes ‘Dear Bob’? I didn’t know that.”

  “She’s written it for years—” Nick began.

  “Guys, I need some help, damn it!”

  They all blinked at her, then Jeff put his cards down and gestured around the table. “You guys, too. She’s serious.”

  They all put down their cards. “OK,” Nick said. “Lay it on the table, Collins.”

  Finally! She put her own cards down. “Mark’s in charge of the paper until it begins to turn a profit. He and I have different views on a few things, and, well … I have an idea about how to turn the paper around, but I think he might disagree.”

  “So?” Jeff said, looking baffled.

  “So I want him to listen to my proposal as if I were on an equal footing.”

  “You’re not on an equal footing now? You’re the editor-in-training and he’s just a temp accountant.”

  “It’s not him,” she said, exasperated. “I just don’t want to appear fatuous when I’m trying to—when I want to— You know how you want to make an impression, and you worry that …” She could see by the six pairs of eyes fastened on her that not one of them had the faintest idea.

  Maybe she should have asked advice from Roxie or Connie. But Roxie was Mark’s sister, and Connie had the hots for him—as well as every other bachelor in town. So neither of them would be unbiased sources for some good old-fashioned advice.

  Besides, she’d thought she would get the best advice from other men, who understood the male psyche. The trouble was, none of her poker partners seemed to have spared much thought for how their psyches worked and seemed just as mystified as she was.

  So now she was once again stuck. She had an idea—a radical, perfectly wonderful idea—but she was fairly certain Mark would reject it out of hand. The idea had been burning a spot in her too-busy brain for the last four days, and she was determined to present it. But what method would work best with Mark? Should she demand that he follow her suggestion? Or ask politely and hope with fingers crossed that he agreed?

  There had to be some way she could present her idea that would slant Mark’s approval in her favor. But what?

  She sighed. “Look, guys, it’s hard to explain.” Even to herself. The last week had been crazy-busy. Mark’s revelation about the newspaper’s financial status had made them partners in a way they hadn’t been before.

  And as the days passed, she’d discovered more about his fascinating personality. One, that he was adorably devoted to his sister. And two, he was one of the most opinionated men she’d ever met. If he didn’t like an idea or person, it took a lot for him to change his mind, which was why she wanted to give her idea every advantage possible.

  Nick opened another beer. “Susan, if you want something from Mark, just tell him what it is. If it makes sense to him, he’ll do it.”

  “I can’t just tell him that this is a great idea. I have to convince him of it. So I need him to listen to me with an open mind.” She looked around the table.

  There was silence.

  “That’s it?” Ethan finally asked. “You don’t think he’ll listen to your idea?”

  She nodded.

  “Whew!” Jeff said. “I was afraid it was something serious.”

  “Me, too,” Nick admitted.

  “It is serious!” Susan snapped.

  Doc Wilson leaned back in his chair. “Men, I think our lovely hostess wants our expertise. We should hear her out.”

  “Thank you. I just wish Mark would try to see where I’m coming from. I think he’s beginning to trust my instincts on the job, but I want more.”

  Jeff nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

  “To me, too,” Ethan said.

  “And me.” René reached for his cards.

  “Hold it! I’m not done.”

  Jeff groaned.

  Steve sighed.

  Nick held up a hand. “C’mon, guys. Susan provides beer and beef jerky and the use of her garage for our poker games. She deserves our undivided attention.”

  “Sometimes I even order pizza,” she added.

  René grimaced. “Susan, I’m sorry. Tell Uncle René what you need from us.”

  “I guess I just want your advice—as guys—as how to present my idea to Mark.”

  “Mark seems determined to make the paper a success and you know more about it than most people,” Nick said. “Not that it’s not a good paper now.”

  “I love ‘Dear Bob,’” Doc said. “I also like the sports and the comics.”

  “And the horoscopes,” René added.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in the power of the moon,” he said dramatically. He was promptly rewarded when Ethan tossed a wadded-up cigar paper his way.

  Susan sighed. “Just forget it.” She collected her cards. “Whose turn is it?”

  René folded his expressive face into a serious look. “Forgive me, ma chère. Tell us about this man you wish to impress. What is he like? Is he bold or quiet? Fierce or subtle?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Jeff said, “Because one type of guy reacts better to this, another to that.”

  “Oh. Well, he’s very quiet, except when he wants something.”

  Ethan chuckled around his cigar. “You could say that about all men.”

  “Except you,” Doc Wilson said. “You talk more than any man I know.”

  Nick gave a wicked grin. “Except René.”

  “I don’t consider René a man,” Doc said, “him being French and all.”

  “I am not French!” René protested, though his green eyes were bright with laughter. “I am Cajun. There is a difference.”

  “Back to Susan,” Ethan said sternly. “I haven’t met Mark, but Nick has. And since he’s about to marry Mark’s sister, he probably knows more about this guy than the rest of us.”

  Nick crossed his arms. “Well … let’s see. He’s an accountant by trade and very methodical and mathematical. He’s also very—” Nick frowned. “Controlled, maybe?”

  “That about sums him up,” Susan agreed. “He’s an accountant first, second, and third.” And sexy in the most Clark Kentish way one could imagine.

  The men digested this.

  René observed, “You two are very different. You’re casual and spontaneous and he’s strict and regulated.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jeff leaned back in his chair. “And you want him to consider your idea, right? Then meet him on his own terms.”

  “How can I do that? He’s a number cruncher and chart maker.”

  “He likes charts, then give him so many charts he doesn’t know what’s coming.”

  Use charts on Mark? He did seem fond of them.

  Doc nodded. “The guy sounds like he enjoys numbers, too. Give the man charts and numbers. Lots of ’em.”

  “I think Doc and Jeff are onto something.” Ethan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If I want to sell a guy on a valve job for his bike, the first thing I do is figure out what he wants from his machine—speed or power or looks. If you want someone to buy into something, you have to speak to them on their level.”

  That is an interesting concept. I never thought of becoming more like him. I was too busy wanting him to be more like me. “OK. I’ll see how that works.”

  Ethan blew a cloud of cigar smoke and then flashed a grin. “You should dress right, too.”

  She looked down at her T-shirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with how I dress?”

  Nick shrugged. “Nothing, if you’re trying to land a landscap
ing job.”

  René agreed, his pale green eyes assessing her almost clinically. “You could be delectable, ma chère, with a little work. You need a suit with a skirt cut to”—he touched his thigh midway—“there.”

  Doc nodded. “I like a woman in a skirt.”

  Nick grinned happily. “Roxie had on a miniskirt the other day—” He whistled silently.

  Rene smiled at Susan. “See? Men appreciate the effort. I’d say Mark needs a bigger hint that you are a force to be reckoned with.”

  Susan nodded thoughtfully. They made sense. Perhaps she should dress to impress. Well, that was easy enough. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Nick said, stacking his chips, “if you want him to hear your side of things, then present it to him the same way he’d present it to you.”

  “I can do that.” PowerPoint was her friend. She grinned and picked up her cards. “Thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been a big help.”

  They’d played several more hands, then Doc yawned and threw down his cards. “I’m out.”

  René blinked. “But you are winning! You cannot just quit.”

  “Sure I can.” Doc stood and pocketed his winnings. “I need me some beauty sleep. I didn’t get any last night.”

  Ethan grinned. “The missus keeping you up at night?”

  Doc chuckled. “Nope, just vandals. My trash can got knocked over around three. Made a huge racket.”

  Nick collected the cards to shuffle. “You should have called that in.”

  “Naw. I know who it was. I jumped up, raced outside in my skivvies, and found the Murder Mystery Club. Nick, you need to put a leash on your Aunt Clara.”

  “She’s a case,” Nick said grimly. “What in the hell were they doing out at that time of night?”

  Doc shrugged. “I dunno. They must have been looking into someone’s house with those damned binoculars. They do that a lot.”

  Nick frowned. “No one lives out your road but the Dotsons and Pastor MacMillan. The Dotsons are on vacation for most of the month, since Sissy had her baby, and you wouldn’t see much of anything if you looked in the pastor’s windows.”

  “You know the Murder Mystery Club. Those nuts’ll look into any window that doesn’t have a curtain,” Doc said.