for all of his reporters. Sometimes he called her Smart Cookie, when he was especially pleased with a review, or Sugar Cookie when he needed a favor. Usually it was just Cookie—his designation for his food reporter.
“Say, Sugar Cookie—”
Teri groaned. “I’ve got plans tonight, Bob.”
“Cancel ’em.”
“Can’t.” She wanted to try on the bikini again.
“Did you do something different with your hair? New style? More color? Flattering.”
She didn’t have a reply to that; it wasn’t like Bob to compliment her. No doubt he was buttering her up in an effort to get her to cave in.
He rocked back on his heels and straightened. “Museum’s fund raiser is at seven.”
“That’s Bernice’s story, and—”
“And she called in sick. Gotta be covered. The fund raiser’s basically a big dinner, so—”
“You figured it was right up my proverbial alley, huh?” Teri closed her eyes. “I said I’ve got plans, Bob. Really.” She kept thinking about the second-hand chainmail.
“And I said you’ll just have to cancel ’em.” He thrust two doughy fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of tickets, then dropped his gaze to her waist. “You losing weight, Cookie? You look nice today.”
“Not going. Plans.” Again she thought about the magic bikini.
“Who are you to turn down a free meal, Sugar Cookie?” He waved the tickets in front of her face until she took them. “And if it’s a date you’ve got, just invite him along.” He looked around the newsroom, eyes resting briefly on the finance reporter. “A good, free meal, something he won’t have to spring for. It’s supposedly gonna be catered by some fancy German place, not Mader’s, but something along that line. You can make it easy on yourself and write it up just like a restaurant review, but make sure you throw in something about the speakers and how much money the museum pulled in. Maybe a few lines about what folks were wearing. Hey, do you got something halfway decent to wear to the gig?”
A chainmail bikini? Teri swallowed hard. “Bob, I—”
“Nah, I’m sure you got something. A dress would be good.”
“Bob, I—” She was going to broach this subject with him later in the week, but now seemed like a good time. “I’m putting in for the opening in city-side.”
Bob raised a thick eyebrow.
“The opening on the police beat, Bob. It’s been posted for a few days.”
His face drew forward until it looked pinched, like he’d bit down on a sour ball.
“It’s hard news. I want hard news. I told you that when you hired me.” Teri squared her shoulders and forged ahead. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed this past year, but—”
“I’ll give you a recommendation for the police beat, if that’s what you want, Cookie.” Bob’s face softened a little. “Don’t want to lose you, though. And, no offense, but I don’t think I’ll lose you just yet to city-side. Mack’s looking for a cop reporter with some experience. He’s not looking for someone who can report on the jail cafeteria.”
You bastard, Teri thought. I’ll land that damn police beat just to get out of your department and out from under your ugly thumb.
“You might have a good time at the museum tonight.” He whirled on his heels and made a course toward the men’s room. Halfway there, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and I’ll need that museum piece for the morning edition, Sugar Cookie. So get it in by midnight.”
Teri clenched her fist, wrinkling the tickets. “A police reporter with experience,” she growled. “Well, how the hell do you get experience?” She thumped her elbows on the desk. She caught several reporters looking at her, and after a moment they all looked away—save one—Lang Stewart at the financial desk. She held up the tickets, fanning them so he could see there were two, and then she gave him a sad smile.
“Free meal. Wanna join me?” she asked.
Four hours later, Lang sat to her right in the museum rotunda, which served as the event’s dining room. He was in a blue suit a few shades darker than Teri’s peasant silk dress. She’d managed to put her long, black hair in an “updo” in an attempt to look a little glamorous—for Lang, not for the assignment. Teri noticed that most of the guests were dressed in somber shades, some of the perfectly coiffed women in flouncy taffeta skirts better suited for nights at the orchestra or opera than a museum fundraiser. They had pearl necklaces and glittering diamond earrings that dangled