Andrea watched her editor and publisher leave the room. His gait was slow, his shoulders stooped. He loved the paper. She could tell he was dying with it.
Peter’s harsh tone broke the silence. “He’s sorry? He’s sorry? Is that supposed to make us feel better?”
Alice glared across the scarred conference table toward the agitated hockey reporter. “Your ranting isn’t helping. Pull yourself together.”
Henry nodded. “Why don’t you chill, man? This isn’t easy for him, either.”
Peter swung an arm toward the door. “His financial mismanagement got us into this mess.”
“With a little help from the failing economy.” John’s tone was dry. “Or haven’t you noticed what’s been going on outside of your own little world?”
Peter scowled. “Oh, I’ve noticed all right. I’ve noticed all of my bills going up.”
Andrea crossed her arms. “We’ve all got bills to pay, Pete. That’s why we need to come up with a solution. Are you going to help us or just continue to attack everyone?”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “You must be pretty scared about all this. Do you think three years has been long enough for other papers to forget your stunt with that Jackie Jones story?”
Andrea stared at the angry young man. In all the time they’d worked together—almost a year—he’d never brought up her past. Her gaze circled the room. Had Willis’s announcement changed the rules? Would her coworkers ostracize her now, too?
She returned her attention to Peter. “I guess I’ll find out. But don’t worry about me, Pete. I’ve landed on my feet before. I can do it again.”
Peter spread his arms wide. “You call this landing on your feet?”
“Since we’re both standing here, what would you call it?” Andrea left the conference room. Peter’s question followed her.
What would she do if the industry hadn’t forgiven her past transgressions?
What would she do if she’d run out of chances?
13
Something’s wrong.
Troy found Andrea standing beside the security desk of his condominium’s marble and mirrored lobby. She seemed nervous as she shifted her weight from one leg to another.
Troy glanced at the young security guard. “Thanks, Ted.”
Ted nodded. “You’re welcome, Mr. Marshall.”
Her gaze was uncertain as she stood clutching her purse strap. “Sorry for the surprise visit.”
“No problem. Come on up.” Troy followed her into the elevator. The doors closed, and they climbed to his condo on the twentieth floor.
Unable to take the awkward silence, Troy closed the distance between them. He placed his fingers under Andrea’s chin. Her skin was smooth and warm. Just as it had been last night.
He tipped her face to his. This way, she couldn’t avoid his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were worried. “Sports is folding.”
The news wasn’t surprising. The company practically advertised its financial troubles. But he was disappointed for her sake. They were in similar situations now, with uncertain employment futures. Was she experiencing the same anger, fear, and frustration?
“I’m sorry.” Troy lowered his hand.
Andrea stared at the liquid crystal display tracking their progress to his condo. “So am I.” She expelled a tired breath.
Troy leaned a shoulder against the elevator’s back wall. His eyes traced her profile, from her smooth forehead and high cheekbones to her stubborn chin. His heart contracted knowing she’d come to him first after receiving the bad news. What did that say about him? About them? He couldn’t get last night out of his mind. Could she?
The elevator doors opened. Troy escorted her to his condo. “How much notice did Will give you?”