Chapter Eight

As Norma carried her weather copy to Mr. Chapel’s office, she silently rehearsed what she would say. Why was it so hard to construct the perfect persuasion? After all, that’s what she’d have to do. Nearing his office she groaned, still didn’t know what to say. More than that, she didn’t know how to behave around him anymore. One thing was for sure, working for Mr. Chapel could get complicated if she couldn’t stop thinking about his touch, or the way his face changed—softened—when it was just the two of them. She needed to stop thinking about kissing him. A week ago, the thought would have never crossed her mind. But then again, a week ago she didn’t think Mr. Chapel had a soul.

She stood in front of Mr. Chapel’s door, staring. The flutter in her stomach increased by three-fold. She debated turning away, running back to her desk and forgetting the whole thing. But she wanted to see him—it was a primal need she couldn’t explain. She moved closer to the door. She reminded herself why she stood in front of Mr. Chapel’s door. Tell him about the pearl and convince him to let her to cover the story of the attack. She could see the headline in her mind. Woman Contends With More Than The Charleston At Illegal Establishment. Perhaps she would have to refine the headline later.

Somehow she was able to knock on the door, standing idling by for a response. Nothing. She knocked again, her knuckles reddened the second time. Still nothing. The urge to walk away took over; she stepped back with heavy legs. Biting her lip, she moved toward the door again and pressed her ear to the smooth surface. Luckily, no one noticed her. She shifted her gaze to the tiled floor as she pressed her ear harder against the door. Mr. Chapel spoke with staff crime reporter Anton Perugi. She recognized the muffled voices and could make out most of what they said.

“We mustn’t report this unless there is proof that she’s missing,” Anton said.

“She hasn’t been seen in three days. Her family has filed a missing person’s report. Given the circumstances, the governor would want press coverage on his missing niece. Perhaps she’s run away or is tanked somewhere not knowing there is a search for her,” Mr. Chapel said in a steady voice. Norma could hear he was stressed.

She scanned the press room to see if anyone noticed her eavesdropping, but no one had. She pressed her ear even harder against the door as the two men continued to talk.

“Mr. Chapel, I don’t believe the Daily should run this story. There is no proof the governor’s niece is in danger. No need to cause alarm. I’m certain she’ll show up in no time.” Anton’s voice dropped.

Norma strained to hear the conversation.

When the door swiftly opened, Norma jumped back. Anton brought his hand to his mouth, eyes wild, and Mr. Chapel raked a hand through his dark hair, his eyes droopy at the corners—maybe he’d not slept since Friday.

“Pardon me, miss,” Anton said in a squeaky voice.

She stepped aside, giving him space. She nodded and waited for him to leave the shadowy corner of Mr. Chapel’s office.

“Could I possibly have a word with you, Mr. Chapel?” Not waiting for an answer, Norma stepped into his office and sat on the stiff chair across from his large desk.

Mr. Chapel closed the door and said in a loose voice, “I think we are passed the formalities, Norma.” But he then retracted a bit. “Well…in private at any rate.”

There’s a private?

“You seem tired.” Norma still held her weather copy. The pencil slipped from her fingers, landing against the tiled floor, and she bent over to pick it up.

Straightening, she became aware of Mr. Chapel’s intense stare on her legs.

His gaze moved languidly across her exposed skin, as he savored every inch.

She shivered—her skin sprouting goose bumps under the weight of his eyes.

“Never. The Daily is really picking up. She might recover after all, but it’s too soon to tell,” he said. How fitting for him to refer to the Daily as a female. Then he added, “I see you’re looking better than Friday night.”

Norma’s cheeks heated as she looked away.

“Since we are so…informal…I will let you in on a little secret.” His eyes gleamed under the crude lighting.

He piqued her interest with not just his words, but the dangerous tone that accompanied them. Her gaze shifted back to his face; he had her full attention.

“A story broke today, and it seems the governor’s niece has gone missing.”

Norma’s stomach dropped. “When?” She watched Mr. Chapel slide a leaf of paper across his desk with tiny print and a sketch on it.

“That is unknown at the moment. The police are trying to keep it silent.” His thick leg crossed over the other as he leaned back in his executive chair. A loose piece of ebony hair fell over his forehead, and he immediately shoved it back with the rest of the silky strands.

When her eyes drank in the composite sketch, it was as if the chair had been taken out beneath her. Her stomach tightened, and she couldn’t think of how to begin to tell Mr. Chapel that was the redhead she saw in the back alley of the Jazzy Cat.

“Are you sure this is the governor’s niece?” Norma’s voice bordered on a whisper. She placed the paper on the desk.

“It was reported by her family. Her mother is hysterical. She’s even got the Big Four going door to door asking of Elsie’s whereabouts.” He raked his hand through his hair again.

“Elsie…” Norma whispered to herself, standing and walking over to the window to look out over the snow-coated Water Tower.

****

Norma’s lithe body crossed to the frosty window. In the reflection, her face was twisted up. What was she thinking? Her mind was in overdrive again—she didn’t hide her emotions well, and he rather liked it that way. A charcoal wool skirt hung firmly on her rump, and he didn’t fight the urge to stare. He admired her shape. She was stunning—a real looker. That was no lie.

Henry continued to watch, her ribs expanding in rapid succession—she was thinking about something serious. She thought a lot. He groaned inside when the memories of Friday came to the forefront of his mind. Did they ever leave his mind? Not since he dropped her off in front of her brownstone. He couldn’t think of anything else. Something brought her to his office, and immediately his mind went to places that would be deemed inappropriate for a workplace relationship. They had been past that, he further convinced himself. He also convinced himself she had similar thoughts—she had to have. Too much happened between them for him to think she only thought of him as her boss. After all, he started to think of her as Norma, a woman who caught his interest, and not his mouthy employee.

His urge to be close to her body was terrible, and it would probably be the worst decision he’d ever made—because he wasn’t analyzing. He was only doing what his heart wanted him to do. Without a second thought, he stood and walked over to her. Standing closely behind her, he watched as her breath fogged up the window. “Level with me, Norma Hill.” Carefully, he wiped the fog off the window. Slow and seductive. In the reflection of the glass, he watched her eyes move across the surface with his hand.

She turned around. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing shallow. “Mr. Chapel?” Norma’s voice was barely above a whisper. She stepped back a bit, her head pressed against the window—where else would she go?

His face was in such close proximity to hers, he could smell her sweet breath and floral perfume. “You came in here to talk about Friday, didn’t you?” His lips were inches away from hers.

“Ye-yes,” Norma said, gulping deeply, “I did.”

She quivered under him, which turned him on more than he anticipated. She looked so innocent and unsure of herself. Hell, he was unsure of himself, and that never happened. But she didn’t ask him to let her go, and he would have in an instant if he thought he made her uncomfortable. He would do just about anything she wanted in that moment.

A soft moan escaped her throat, leaving a warm puff of air on his cheek. Her sounds made his insides clench. No good decisions would be possible, on either of their part. But he didn’t care in that moment. The silence was heavy between them. He’d have to touch her—it was instinctual to do so. Her eyes pleaded for him to do it. And when he brought a hand to her shoulder, she stiffened but didn’t run away.

“Mr. Chapel,” she began, her gaze shifted toward the shut door, “aren’t you concerned someone will walk in? We appear to be in a compromising position.”

He chuckled deep in his throat. What would happen if one of his reporters walked in on their close encounter? Well, he’d have to fire him, of course, for not knocking and most importantly, not having an appointment. He didn’t like unannounced visitors.

The cold wafted from the glass as he slipped his fingers between her back and the window—he needed the coolness to calm the fire that ravaged his insides from being so close to her.

“Do you call this a compromising position?” he asked barely above a whisper. Her skin was perfectly smooth, not one flaw. She didn’t wear rouge or any of that nonsense and yet was more beautiful than any other Jane he’d seen at the Jazzy Cat.

She mumbled. “Yes.”

Within seconds his lips caressed the soft skin at her velvety neck. He was gentle at first, then rough as his lips nipped at her skin, his teeth bit at her. She reddened under his mouth. For the first time since he had met her, she did not fight him. His hand ran down her skirt and found the hemline. She moaned again. God, she was beautiful when she did that.

Thin arms wrapped around his head as she pulled him to her. She wanted him—her body said she did. Her fingers curled in his hair, and she continued to moan. Henry liked to see her drop her guard and be a doting woman, and she played that part quite naturally. As he further pinned her to the chilly window, her eyes opened, and he saw the drip of desire in them. Her facial muscles loosened and in that moment, she was a different Norma. A woman who took pleasure in the traditional roles of men and women, and not a woman who fought for equality. In that moment, she urged him to be a man. Her eyes practically begged for it. Her very existence depended on it.

You got it, doll face.

“I believe you want this, Norma Hill.” His tongue teased her ruthlessly.

“Y-yes—err, no—,” she mumbled. Her head flew back against the thick glass.

“Tell me,” he instructed her. He pressed himself against her in a full bone crushing hold—not a centimeter of space between them.

He found the garter clip under her thick Victorian wool skirt. If he’d thought for a moment how easy she made it for him, he would have stopped. This was a very different Norma indeed. He wanted her, and she was letting him. She was letting him.

“Tell me, Norma.” His voice drenched with wanton need.

She moaned, and as she began to tell him, a loud knock on the door startled them. Henry stopped dead in his tracks, swearing as Norma jumped up, the lust in her eyes changed to alarm. He became very aware of what he was doing.

“Whoever is on the other side of that door will be terminated immediately!” Henry swore as he smoothed down his crumpled suit. He was so frustrated; he could easily strangle whoever was at the other side of the door.

Norma lunged six feet from him. She stood near his desk, fixed her suit, and grabbed the weather copy she’d brought in. Perhaps that was the “word” she needed to have with him? Refusing to believe that was it, he held up his hand—he didn’t want her to go anywhere. She stood still, not moving a muscle, not blinking.

“Announce yourself,” Henry called. The door was still closed, and he didn’t make any move toward it.

The voice was muffled and achingly small—whoever it was on the other side knew they were history. “John Davis, sir.”

“Enter.” Henry smoothed his hair back one more time, easing back into his persona of the Big Cheese.

The door creaked open. John Davis poked his head in, eyes glossy and blue. With lips turned down he asked, “Have I interrupted something important?” He glanced at Norma and then back to Henry.

Henry grunted. “Have you?”

John gulped and glanced between Norma and Henry again. Finally, he said, “I think I have.”

“And you would be correct.” Henry stood stiff, not making a move toward the door. “What is my policy?”

John gulped again. “Make an appointment, and no interruptions when your door is closed unless someone is bleeding.”

Henry chuckled inside. Those were his words exactly. You’re an ass, Chapel.

“Well, I know you didn’t have an appointment. So, is someone bleeding?” Henry moved toward the door where John still poked his head through.

“No, sir.”

“What did I say would happen if someone violated any of my policies?”

John’s lips quivered. “Violators will be dismissed.”

“So what does that make you?”

John’s lips trembled, but Henry didn’t let that stop him from making an example to the rest of the staff. “Dismissed?”

Henry nodded, catching a glimpse of Norma’s hardened face from his peripheral view. “Correct.”

True to his word, Henry told the type-setter, John, to pack his belongings and leave immediately.

“You are callous, aren’t you Mr. Chapel,” Norma said once the door closed, her hands pressed to her hips. “John has been with us since Mr. Jackman. That poor man has no other way to support his family, and you let him go because he knocked on your door.” The moaning woman that begged for his touch was gone in an instant and replaced by the same sass-mouthed bearcat he met a week ago.

“He interrupted an important meeting, and he didn’t have an appointment.” Henry strode over to the large hard-leather chair and sat, not removing his gaze from her and not telling her John had been pinned to be fired by Lawson. Henry gave the sap a second chance. “Get this straight; I am the boss. I run this joint. I say who knocks on my door, and I say who gets canned.”

“Well, I didn’t have an appointment,” Norma snapped back, the fire returned to her amber eyes.

“You, my dear, don’t need one. I’ll let you interrupt me any day of the week, as long as you’re wearing that garter belt under your oppressive skirt.” He was out of line. Honestly, he would never speak to a woman that way. But she did things to him. Things he didn’t understand. She made him say things and want things. She made him go against his better judgment. Him pinning her to the window was proof.

“How dare you, Mr. Chapel!” Norma failed to keep her composure. He was good at pushing her buttons, though he didn’t mean to. “That will not happen again.”

“What will not happen again?” Henry’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know why it was important to hear her acknowledge their brief indiscretion.

Her mouth pressed into a dangerous line. She turned away from him briefly. When would she learn she was no match for him? She crumbled under his stare. Then she turned back to him, a different look danced in her eyes.

“I saw Elsie,” she blurted out.

Henry’s brain shook with her reveal. Did he hear her correctly? “Say again?”

“I saw the governor’s niece.”

“When? Where?” His heart beat ramped up again.

Norma bit her lip and continued. “Remember what happened in the alley behind the Jazzy Cat?”

“Of course I do. You were intoxicated with God knows what, hallucinating and paranoid. I took you home.” His voice softened with remembrance.

“I wasn’t intoxicated,” Norma insisted. She stretched those words as long as possible.

Is she still on that?

“Yes you were, Norma.” His eyes narrowed.

“Elsie is the woman I saw,” she whispered and looked down at her interweaved hands.

“Come on, Norma.” He sighed, shaking his head. So, he dismissed her. “You didn’t see anyone. You weren’t in your right mind.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Norma implored. “It was her! I saw her! I watched that man assault her!”

Henry raised his hand. “Keep your voice down.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“You couldn’t show me any evidence, remember? I walked with you in that alley. I looked around…”

“I know.” Norma looked down in defeat.

Henry sighed and scratched his head. What else could he say to her?

“Can’t you just believe me, Henry?”

She’d never called him Henry before, always Mr. Chapel or Chapel that one time at the Jazzy Cat.

He liked the way his named sounded on her lips.

“I just need solid proof.”

Her face fell. Despite being such a brute, he hated that he caused her distress. She reached in her pocket and stretched out an open palm.

“What is that?” He strained his neck to see.

“A pearl from her necklace. It was torn off her. I found in the alley by the tin cans.”

“That is your proof?” He sighed, forehead creased. “That could have been anyone’s. Dames come out of there lit and sloppy all the time.” He still needed more to definitively believe her. A single pearl didn’t prove anything, and he wished she would stop trying to convince him. He couldn’t continue to reject her.

Her gaze lingered over her palm and then her shoes. What was she thinking? That question was answered quickly when she glared at him square in the eyes—much like she did when she had a beef with him.

Only minutes ago he had her in his hands, tasting her skin, hearing her sweet moan when he kissed her neck, and now her eyes were blank and her face was stone cold—she’d put up her wall again. He desperately wanted to go back to minutes earlier when she had dropped her guard, and he could touch her.

“Maybe you’re right.” Her voice quivered as she placed the pearl back in her pocket. “Ralph probably put something in my drink. It was dark and maybe it wasn’t Elsie…”

“Maybe it was just some couple joshing around? You know how some birds get when they’re on a toot.” Henry couldn’t stand to see her eyes sag that way.

“I have to go.” She turned on her heels toward the door. Before she turned the knob, she glanced back. “And Mr. Chapel, we cannot…kiss again—”

“We didn’t kiss.”

“Whatever it was that we did…”

He paused, the words taking shape in his mind. Was he just another bimbo to her? Did she see him as a sap who wasn’t good enough? He’d have to protect his heart then. “You’re correct. It was a very bad decision on my part.” He began to wonder if he could prove her wrong.

She turned and opened the door, didn’t look back. In fact, she was gone in a flash. The only thing left was the residual image of her body standing under the doorjamb.

Damn.

Swiping his tongue over his lip, he could still taste her skin. What was he thinking? You’re off your game, Chapel. No self-respecting woman would allow his advances. He’d been acquainted with a certain kind of woman for far too long. He groaned.

But she’d responded to him. She let him get close for a secret moment, not fighting him; only wanting him to command her desire at will. His brain turned over what happened—he still couldn’t believe it. But, could it be a possibility? Could Norma Hill be a possibility?

He never had to put his heart on a platter. Could he do it now? For her? His stomach thumped in that same way it had since he had met her.