We're crossing into Chapter 2 today...and there's a semblance of explanation on Logan's part for his bullish behaviour....
Catch up with Chapter 1 so far
pages 1-5 here;
pages 6-8 here;
pages 9-11 here;
pages 12-14 here;
pages 15-17 here;
pages 18-20 here.
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So much for having thought a human being lay behind the predator. He had no heart.
She gave him one final glance, her gaze lingering on his hand as he placed the documents on his desk. His knuckles seemed bloodied, the scabs a dark, caked red. He’d hurt himself?
Serves him right. She hoped the injury burnt and made him extremely uncomfortable. But then, she caught herself. Why did she end up thinking like a vengeful, immature child when she was a mature mother of thirty-four years of age? Shaking some sense inside her, Neha however found her gaze going back to his fingers.
He seemed to pick up on her staring, and he peered up at her, his dark eyes catching hold of hers and keeping them captive. A flicker passed over his irises, lighting them in the relative darkness of the room.
She shivered and dropped her perusal, noticing his cut knuckles again. “You should put an elastoplast on that.”
He fixed her for long seconds, and seemed to give an almost imperceptible nod as he loosened his tense jaw.
Had she really broken through his shell? An irrational elation grabbed her, but it crashed in shards when she realized who she dealt with. Sod it, what was she thinking? This man had as much feelings as the most ruthless of animals.
Yet, why did he make her tingle all over?
Suddenly discomfited beyond understanding, with the iron control she exerted on herself slipping from her grasp, she said her goodbyes and whirled around.
Her breath came out laboured when she exited the office. All to do with the way the epitome of the bad boy that was the station’s manager made her feel. Tongue-tied and at a loss. Defenceless and vulnerable. Hot and totally bothered.
She shook her head. This couldn’t be allowed to go on. The more distance she could put between her and Logan Warrington, the better.
Most people would welcome the coming of Friday. It symbolized a break from work and two long, free days to contemplate.
In the media world, the opposite happened. Saturday and Sunday meant the rest of the world with free time, which implied switching on the radio and the television, and opening the pages of the newspapers wide over the breakfast table to catch up with the events of the past week.
Logan pressed the back of his head to his chair’s headrest and closed his weary eyes. As the station manager, his duty stated he had to run the show. Credit for success would go to his whole team, and boos of failure would come right at him. What had he been thinking when he’d accepted Griff’s offer to try out this endeavour? The launch loomed three weeks away, and they still hadn’t eased into cruising speed with the mock conditions.
A knock came, followed by the swoosh of the door as it opened and brushed the carpet in his office. He popped his eyes open to stare at Griffin walking in.
“I don’t recall inviting you in,” he said with a bored tone. He had no wish to be civil right then.
The other man brushed his remark away with a wide smile. Logan groaned. How could Griff remain always cheerful, as if he ran on a permanent high of Scotch whisky? The man exasperated him, to say the least. And he’s one of the nicest guys you know.
He also has this tremendous propensity to get stuck in trouble, another little voice chided.
Speaking of trouble, he had yet to have a proper talk with his business partner about the stupidity of his actions the other day.
However, Griffin brought up the subject before him. “Have you decided anything about Neha?”
Logan fixed his stare on the lanky man. “I have. And the answer is no.”
Griff threw his hands up. “Aw, come on, mate. Why not? I saw her test. She’s good, I’m telling you.”
He glanced at the folder on the black wire-mesh tray in the corner of his desk and pulled it out to peruse the sheaf of papers inside.
A whiff of sweet scent reached his nostrils. Bloody hell, her perfume hung all over the documents. Subtle, delicate, lingering. Exactly like the woman herself. She’d been in his thoughts for every single day of the past week.
“She’s not landing the job, Griff. Get used to it.”
“Why not? Tell me what’s wrong with her capabilities, and then I’ll consider whether you’re being level-headed or simply a pig-headed mule.”
Bugger, Griff tried his luck. Yet, throwing his fist into the Scotsman’s face would not solve the problem or address the issue. Not the streets of Wellington here, where punches represented the law.
“All right. There’s nothing wrong in this test. The news is concise and clear. The leads and lead-ins are brilliant, tying in at precisely the right level and never repeating any word between them. The language is accessible. The red thread never falters and runs through all the information smoothly and the format is perfect. It’s one the best darn news editorials I’ve ever seen.” He paused, with his gaze urging Griff to remain in his seat and not retort back. “However, the principle of this interview is wrong. This is why I’m putting my foot down.”
Griffin stood. “What principle? I found us a very good candidate, for a vital job we still need to fill in.”
Logan dropped the papers and closed the folder, the movement causing the smell of Neha’s perfume to cloud his senses again. Bugger. This grated on his nerves and his temper roused over Griffin’s stubbornness. Blowing his top off would do them no good; time he got a hold on his anger.
“Griff, sit down.”
His friend remained where he stood, hands on his hips. Logan was about to bark out the request when he caught himself. “Griff, please sit down. We need to talk.”
The other man reluctantly moved back to the chair and dropped his weight in it.
“Listen, mate. When we ventured into this partnership, we agreed you’d take care of everything regarding administration and the financial and legal sides of the project, while I would be solely responsible for the station’s running.” He stopped for emphasis. “Including who to add on the staff.”
Griff rolled his eyes. “Blimey, Logan. You’re so pissed off because I bypassed your authority?”
“No,” he replied in a calm tone. “You bypassed the rules and regulations of the house. What if the head office in London heard we’d appointed someone who didn’t apply like all the other candidates? Didn’t it occur to you how any one of those candidates could probably sue us for this?”
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From Mauritius with love,