Chapter One
Marci Bayne glanced at her watch for the fifth time. The line moved slower than a snail today. Jennie’s Java was busy, as always, but the usual three baristas weren’t behind the counter. She saw only two, which explained why the line moved so slowly.
If she didn’t need the jolt of caffeine so badly, she’d give up and leave. She’d never make it through her morning meeting without her double-shot latte.
The barely-out-of-his-teens boy took her order without offering an apology for the long wait. If he worked for her, he’d be on his way to the unemployment office instead of flirting with the girl behind the counter with him.
She wondered whatever happened to manners.
As president of Marshall Media, she could set her own hours. More often than not, she was the first one at work and the last one to leave. Not today. She had almost two hours before her meeting and planned to spend that time right here, savoring her coffee.
Paper cup in hand, Marci turned to find a place to sit. Every table was occupied.
Well, hell.
She looked around the room for someone she knew whom she could join. She passed over a young redheaded woman pecking away on a laptop. Marci’s gaze quickly snapped back to her. She’d seen the redhead in here several times. They’d exchanged smiles and hellos. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if Marci joined her.
Marci refused to think about how rude it would be to interrupt the woman. She only wanted some time to enjoy her drink and relax before her upcoming meeting. Straightening her shoulders, she approached the young woman. “Excuse me.”
The redhead glanced up, a faraway look in her eyes. Guilt swamped Marci when she realized the woman had been deep in thought. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
She focused on Marci and smiled. “No problem. What can I do for you?”
“This is probably incredibly rude, but there aren’t any empty tables today. May I sit with you if I promise not to disturb you?”
She quickly glanced around the room. “Wow. It
is
busy today.” Smiling again at Marci, she motioned toward the chair across from her. “Sit, please.”
“Thank you.” Marci sighed as she sank onto the padded chair. She wore heels every day, yet her feet were always happier when she sat. “Don’t let me disturb your work.”
“You aren’t.” She pressed a couple of buttons on the keyboard and closed the computer. “I was just making some notes.”
Marci guessed the redhead to be in her late twenties or early thirties. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be in college. “School notes?”
She laughed. “No, book notes. I’m writing a book.”
Marci sipped her latte. The caffeine traveled straight to her brain cells and kicked them awake. “You’re an author?”
“A would-be one. Doesn’t everyone write a book at some time or other? Or at least want to?”
Writing had never interested Marci. She spent a lot of time reading in her job, yet had little time to read for pleasure, much less write a book.
“I’m Molly Ross.”
“Marci Bayne.”
“It’s a pleasure to share a table with you, Marci.”
She liked Molly’s friendly personality. She doubted if there were many people who would willingly share a table with a stranger. She nodded toward Molly’s laptop. “What kind of book are you writing?”
“Romance. I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”
Molly must be young to still believe in happy endings. Marci had given up on those a long time ago.
“It’s a nice dream,” Molly said. She tore off a chunk of her chocolate muffin and popped it in her mouth. “I know the chances of ever getting published are slim, but slim is better than not at all. While I’m waiting to be rich and famous, I work at Nordstrom.”
“One of my favorite places.”
“I can tell.” Molly looked over Marci’s navy jacket and ivory turtleneck. “You bought your suit there.”
“I’m impressed.”
Molly grinned. “I know our clothes.”
Marci wondered if she could steal Molly for her own company. She could use more intelligent people on her staff.
“Where do you work?” Molly asked.
“Marshall Media.” Marci decided that was enough information for now. She didn’t want to sound as if she were bragging by telling Molly that she ran the company.
She saw Molly’s gaze shift past her shoulder. “Looks like there’s another gal who can’t find a place to sit.”
Marci shifted in her chair so she could see over her shoulder. A tall, voluptuous woman stood next to the counter, a frown on her face as she peered around the room. Her black hair was cut short and very curly. Marci sighed. She loved the woman’s short hair. With her straight, fine hair, Marci had very few options for hairstyles. That’s why she kept it long and either pulled it back in a ponytail or swept it up on top of her head.
She turned back to face Molly. “We have room. Shall we ask her to join us?”
“Sure.” Molly raised her hand to draw the woman’s attention. She smiled and motioned with her finger. “She’s coming this way.”
The woman stepped up to the table. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Molly gestured toward the third chair. “Join us, please.”
“Really? Oh, thank you.” The dark-haired woman sat down and released a sigh. “I can’t believe how crowded it is today. I don’t usually have any trouble getting a table.”
“I don’t either,” Marci said. “Molly graciously let me share her table.”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t mind. The company is nice. I’m Molly Ross.”
“Marci Bayne.”
“Twyla Gardiner.”
Molly’s eyes widened. “Ooh, I love your name. I may use it sometime for a character.”
Twyla threw a confused look at Marci before turning back to Molly. “A character?”
“I’m an aspiring author.” She tapped her laptop with one long pink fingernail. “I come here every morning at seven to write. That gives me almost three hours of peace before I have to be at work.”
Twyla removed the lid from her drink. “Is it noisy at your house?”
“Apartment. My sister lives with me. She likes her music loud. She’s neat and does her share, but I wish she didn’t like heavy metal. Pop is okay. Rock is okay. Metal I can do without.”
Marci silently sipped her coffee. She hadn’t seen her sister in ten years. Their last meeting had been one of the darkest times in Marci’s life. She had no desire for a repeat.
“Where do you work, Twyla?” Molly asked.
“For the Sharber and Neely law firm. I’m secretary for one of the junior partners.”
Molly crinkled her nose. “Sounds boring.”
Instead of being insulted, as Marci expected, Twyla laughed. “It can be. But I suppose every job is boring at times.”
Marci disagreed with that. She loved every aspect of her job. While she had wonderful employees who did their jobs well, including finding new material for movie projects, sometimes Marci couldn’t help diving into a stack of books to try to find the perfect story for a movie. She’d discovered a new author early last year and had turned his first book into a movie that grossed $57 million the first weekend of its release. It was one of Marshall Media’s biggest successes.
Twyla glanced at her watch. “I’d like to stay longer and chitchat, but my boss has a breakfast meeting in about half an hour. Thank you for sharing your table with me.”
“I’m here every morning,” Molly said. “You can share my table any time.”
“I may take you up on that.” She stood and smiled at the two women. “Nice to meet both of you.”
Marci watched Twyla make her way through the crowded tables. She stood close to six feet tall with large breasts that drew the eyes of every man in the room. Twyla didn’t seem to notice the male attention. She didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but looked straight ahead as she headed for the door.
She would look incredible on the wide screen.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Molly asked.
“Stunning.” Marci looked back at Molly. She saw the shoulder-length red curls, the scattering of freckles across Molly’s nose, the slim figure with small breasts. “So are you.”
Molly released a loud snort as she laughed. “The best I can go for is cute. I’ll never be beautiful like you or Twyla. That’s okay. I accepted that a long time ago.”
She may be young, but Marci thought Molly more mature than many people she knew who were years older.
“My sister Shawna got the red hair and green eyes like I did, but her hair is straight and glossy. Mine frizzes when the humidity rises above twenty percent.”
“Which is most of the time in Seattle.”
“You got it.”
Marci chuckled. The more she talked with Molly, the more she liked her.
She drained her cup and thought about ordering another latte. If she did, she’d be bouncing off the walls all morning. That would make a lousy first impression on her new vice president.
Keefe Donegan had worked for one of the largest media companies in Los Angeles before he decided to move to Seattle. His resume was impressive, plus he came highly recommended. His former boss couldn’t say enough good things about Keefe, according to her Human Resources vice president, Peggy Sharples. Peggy said not only was Keefe intelligent and charming, he was cream-your-panties gorgeous.
Marci didn’t care about his looks. She wanted performance, someone who would put Marshall Media at the top of the entertainment business. Nothing else came close to being as important to her.
She still had an hour before her appointment with Keefe, but she felt antsy to get to her office. Picking up her cup, she wiped off her area with a napkin. “Thanks, Molly. I enjoyed our visit.”
Molly smiled. “Me too. Have a great day.”
Marci dropped her trash in the can by the front door and stepped out into the cool, cloudy morning. It
would
be a great day. She’d met two women who made her feel comfortable. Twyla wasn’t as outgoing as Molly, but still nice. She worked for the law firm that was only three blocks from the coffee shop, so probably stopped in there often. Molly said she was there every morning to write. Marci didn’t stop at Jennie’s Java every day, but maybe she should. She’d enjoy getting to know the two women better.
* * * * *
Keefe looked at the brass plaque that read
Marci Bayne, President
in black letters. This would be his first meeting with the woman who ran Marshall Media. He knew little about her, except what he’d squeezed out of Peggy Sharples during his interview.
Marci had worked at the company for fifteen years, slowly moving up the ladder to the top position after the owner died two years ago. She was forty years old and single. He hadn’t found out if she’d always been single or if she’d been married sometime in her life. He had no idea what she looked like, but it didn’t matter. Other than obtaining final approval from Marci Bayne on his projects, he’d have no reason to be around the older woman. That didn’t bother him at all.
Keefe rapped on the door. A soft “Come in” surprised him. He’d expected her voice to be husky and gruff. He pushed and the heavy oak door silently swung open. A view of the Olympic Range through the large plate windows drew his attention first. A small conference table with eight chairs occupied the space on his right. A comfortable seating arrangement with loveseat, two overstuffed chairs, tables and lamps filled the area to his left. Directly in front of him, a lovely blonde woman sat behind a large oak desk. She smiled and rose as he pushed the door closed behind him.
“Hi, Keefe. Welcome to Marshall Media. I’m Marci Bayne.”
She walked toward him, her hand extended. Keefe remembered his manners at the last moment and accepted her hand. He’d been so mesmerized by her blue eyes, all the etiquette his mother had drummed into him flew out the window. “Ms. Bayne. It’s a pleasure.”
Her smile widened. “Marci, please. We’re very informal here.” She gestured toward the seating arrangement. “Let’s get comfortable so we can talk. Would you like coffee or tea?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
He let her lead the way. She chose one of the armchairs and Keefe sat on the end of the loveseat closest to her. He watched her pick up a file from the end table and open it. Her birth certificate might say forty, but she certainly didn’t look it. She looked young and sexy and very desirable.