Who Needs Decaf?

“You don’t think that having me around would dampen the festive atmosphere?” Nathan asked.

“What I think about this doesn’t matter,” she retorted before biting her lip and cursing softly under her breath.

Nathan grinned. Obviously, she’d been against this invitation, and her candor was something he couldn’t help appreciating. In the years since landing his first newspaper assignment, he’d run across too many disingenuous people who were appallingly comfortable with half truths and out-and-out lies.

“Are you always so blunt, Ms. Dayton? One would think it might hinder your ability to do your job.”

She shook her head emphatically, sending her smooth dark ponytail swinging. “On the contrary, being a forthright person and working for a company I strongly believe in make it easy to do my job. Because I mean every word I say and stand by Hammond Gaming Software. I’m passionate about my work.”

Firmly reining in his thoughts before they wandered to any other situations she might be passionate in, he said, “Loyalty’s a nice quality.” But he couldn’t help wondering if hers was misplaced.

When she was sticking to her professional script, delivering sentences she’d obviously constructed before walking in the door, she called her boss Mr. Hammond. But a couple of times she’d slipped and referred to him as Brad. Not that this was unheard of, but there had been something in her expression…She hadn’t exactly gone all gooey-eyed over the man or anything, but Nathan thought perhaps there was more than professional devotion at stake. Did she have a personal relationship with her employer?

Ignoring the irrational pang that arrowed through him at that possibility, he reasoned that the relationship couldn’t amount to much if she’d been on a date with some other guy Saturday night. Oddly, the reminder of seeing her with another man did little to ease that inexplicable pang.

He steepled his fingers under his chin, admonishing himself to focus on something besides Sheryl Dayton’s love life. “Can I ask you something, then, one forthright person to another? What does Brad Hammond hope to accomplish by inviting me to his shindig this weekend?”

This time, instead of brushing at nonexistent wrinkles, she toyed with the strap of her black leather handbag. Another obvious stall, but why? Because she didn’t know how to answer, because she was censoring her answer? Was she trying to hide facts from him and finding it difficult with her frank nature?

“Mr. Hammond understands that your job is to report a story, and he wants to make sure that all the facts are available to you.”

Cynicism left an acrid taste in Nathan’s mouth. “Oh, so this is strictly for my benefit. He’s trying to do me a favor, is that it? Kind man.”

“Yes he is,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. Once again, he had the sense that Sheryl wasn’t speaking about a mere boss. She seemed at the very least protective of the man, and with a fierceness most people didn’t show their employers. “But of course, this isn’t a favor to you. He’s hoping that once you get your facts straight—namely, that Hammond has been wrongly accused—you’ll have enough journalistic integrity to share those facts with the rest of Seattle.”

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