CHAPTER ONE
SUSANNAH stepped from the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and raced down the chilly hallway to the kitchen.
This day—this very important day—was not off to a good start.
The shower had been so cold it had made her teeth chatter. The radiators were rattling enough to wake the dead, but the heat trickling out of them wouldn’t have heated a dollhouse. And, as she set the kettle on to boil, a cockroach the size of Godzilla scurried across the linoleum.
But it was what she read on the clock over the stove that set her heart pounding
Seven-fifteen?
It couldn’t be. No way. It was six-fifteen, it had to be. She’d set her alarm an hour earlier than usual, given herself more than enough time to get dressed, put on her makeup and blow-dry her hair, have a slice of toast with her coffee, make Peter his breakfast and still arrive at the office before anyone else.
It was important to seem cool, calm and collected when she started today’s meeting, and never mind that her heart would be in her throat. Even the fortune cookie that had come with last night’s order of take-out General Tso’s chicken had said that much.
Tomorrow, the little slip of paper in the cookie had promised, is the first day of the rest of your life.
Well, of course it is, the practical little voice in Susannah’s head had whispered, but the other voice, the one that lived in her heart or her soul or wherever it was hopes and prayers lived, that voice had said, You see, Susannah? The whole world knows that you’re standing on the edge of your dream.
Editor-in-chief. Not in five years, or ten, but right now. A giant step up the ladder. A Career, capital C, and all that went with it—independence, respect and security. That was the dream. Now, long before she’d ever imagined it would happen, she had her shot at achieving it. And she wasn’t going to be shoved off course by a malfunctioning kitchen clock.
The clock was definitely broken, that was all there was to it. She’d set her alarm, it had gone off…and if she needed any further proof that it was after six, not after seven, all she had to do was take a look at Peter, who was still lying asleep in her bed.
Susannah gave a sigh of relief. That was something, anyway. The last thing she needed right now was to have to deal with Peter’s early-morning grumpiness. He was gorgeous, and she adored him, but there were times you had to tiptoe around his ego. He was, typically, disgustingly, arrogantly male.
Well, no. Mr. Matthew Romano, he of the smug smiles and the decorative blondes, he was typically male. Peter, on the other hand, could be a sweetheart when he wanted to. And he understood that her life could not revolve around him. He didn’t complain if she worked late or expect her to put her career on hold so she could be there to take care of his needs.
“It’s because he doesn’t really love you, Suz
e,” Claire had said more than once.
But he did, in his own way. He put what he could into the relationship, which was undoubtedly more than could be said of someone like Matthew Romano….
What on earth was wrong with her this morning? Why was she wasting precious time thinking about a man she’d never even met?
“Ridiculous,” she said.
Ridiculous, indeed. There was absolutely no reason for the insufferable Mr. Romano to wander through her thoughts, but this was the second or third time it had happened since she’d seen him on the Cape. Actually, it had been equally ridiculous for her to have taken such an instant dislike to him. It was just the way he’d strutted along with the blonde on his arm and that smug, I-am-the-world’s-gift-to-womankind smile on his face.
Positively insufferable.
She’d never even have noticed him if she hadn’t been thinking about CHIC and about publishing. There was Ted Turner, who everybody knew was brilliant and who looked like a nice guy, and then, by contrast, there was Matthew Romano, who’d probably never done anything more difficult in his life than play with his money and his groupies, looking as if he figured every woman on the planet wanted his body.
Not that it was a bad-looking body.
Susannah frowned and plucked her watch from the dresser. By now, it should be just about a quarter after six….
Oh God.
Her stomach tumbled to her toes.
Mickey Mouse grinned at her, one white-gloved, four-fingered hand pointing at the number four, and the other…
The other pointed straight at seven.
She tossed the bath towel across the room. It soared through the air and onto the bed, landing, with a dreadful accuracy, on Peter’s head.
“No,” she whispered, but it was too late. Peter came awake in a flash, bristling with anger. He shot to his feet and glared at her through cold green eyes. “Peter Oh, Petey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean.”
Whether she’d meant it or not didn’t matter. Peter didn’t believe in apologies. He never had, not since the day he’d come into her life. She watched as he turned his back on her and stalked from the room.
“Do your thing, Peter,” she muttered. “I couldn’t care less. I’ve got more important things to worry about this morning than you and your attitude.”