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She decided to try a little humor. “It’s an editorial comment.” She reached for a tissue and tried to blot the stain away, but all she managed to accomplish was to create a wider smudge on the page, which made the rule completely illegible. “Well, actually, it’s a deletion!”
She laughed and looked up at Sullivan. He didn’t seem the in the least amused. “I can get a clean page to work with,” she said. “Give me a moment.” She picked up the phone, punched a number and spoke into the receiver rapidly, then hung up. “I’ve asked for another copy of page one.”
April tossed the stained tissue into a wastepaper basket under her desk and waited for Sullivan to explode. But outside of a raised eyebrow, he didn’t look upset. Instead, he looked watchful, grim.
She wouldn’t be surprised if Tom had assured him the article would be published as is. He’d said he agreed with Sullivan’s conclusions, after all.
She made a show of rifling through the rest of the manuscript pages. “I’m just about finished making a few suggestions in the margins I think would be helpful.”
Sullivan’s eyebrows knit a frown. “Such as?” he asked quietly, but she could see, from the pulse throbbing in his temple and the rigidity of his body, what the effort to keep from losing his cool cost him.
April smothered a sigh. She knew enough about the academic world to understand that a professor’s reputation depended on continuing to publish. After all, she had to concede, while journalism was her game, he was a noted social scientist. She should have known he wasn’t prepared to take her advice lightly.
In an attempt to soothe Sullivan’s ruffled feathers, she smiled soothingly and moved on. “I’ve never edited a submission that couldn’t use a few changes, if only to make it more appealing to our readers. I’m very aware of who our readers are, their likes and dislikes.”
“In the case of your article,” she continued when he didn’t comment, “I think we need to make a few revisions, in tone if not content. Left as is, I’m afraid the piece is bound to cause a riot among female readers.”
“Strange,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s what Tom said at lunch. “But he sounded as if it was a positive thing, not negative. But I still say no to any changes. I take every word I write seriously.”
“Of course, Mr….er Lucas,” April agreed. “As your editor, I feel it’s my job to suggest constructive changes without altering your original thesis—if for no other reason than to keep your reader’s attention.”
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “My original study was published in a scientific journal. Tom asked me to write this article based on that study.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. My conclusions aren’t just a matter of my own opinions. I interviewed a number of grad students and volunteers before I drew those conclusions.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” April said, trying for some kind of common meeting ground. “The subject of your article is quite controversial. I’m sure you’re aware of a couple of alternative theories about the mating game that are more acceptable to women.” Including to her.
“Of course, the survival of the fittest,” he agreed. “The selfish-gene theory. Frankly, I don’t think many people stop to think about finding a mate with strong genes to pass on to their offspring.”
April shifted uneasily. “There is another theory, you know.”
“You’re no doubt referring to sexual attraction,” he said with a shrug. “That, however, is merely a matter of biology.”
April could hear Rita’s derisive laughter.
Mesmerized by his disparaging assessment of what surely had to be an important aspect of the mating game, April managed to nod. “Still, a lot of people believe it to be true.”
His gaze changed suddenly. Became warm, roved over her facial features and came to rest on her lips. She almost squirmed.
“I’m a scientist, or if you prefer, a social scientist, Ms. Morgan. My work is based on an actual sociological study of relationships.” His gaze now moved down to her throat. “If you question my credentials, I would be more than happy to provide them for you.”
April raised a hand to make sure the buttons on her blouse were securely fastened. If Sullivan only knew, his credentials weren’t in question. Not his physical ones, anyway, she thought guiltily as her gaze roamed over his seated frame. How could he not know that those eyes of his could turn a marble statue into a pile of dust?
Rita had been more on target about sex than she knew. What April had hoped would be a constructive exchange of ideas suddenly seemed to have turned into a frank appraisal of a mutual sexual attraction. If Sullivan thought sex was a natural magnet between the male and female species, how in heaven’s name had he come up with a set of rules no woman in her right mind would buy into?
“It’s not your credentials I question,” she finally said. “It’s your conclusions.”
This time his eyebrows arched almost to his hairline, and the pulse in his temple increased.
Not a good omen for a compromise, April figured. Not when he managed to continue to look sexy as hell, in spite of his anger. She had to remind herself she was the man’s editor and not a potential playmate. That she wasn’t offering herself as a candidate for the mating game.
She felt compelled to add, “I can’t bring myself to believe you were serious when you wrote these rules, Mr. Sullivan—Lucas.”
This got his undivided attention. “Serious? Damn right I was serious. Still am! What I was trying to say is that sexual attraction should be resisted. At least initially.”
April took heart. What was becoming clear was that Sullivan had seldom been questioned, let alone told by anyone that his work was a subject for laughter. She wasn’t sorry she’d been the one to do it. She might have been a little too frank, but at least he was paying attention.
“Okay, let’s talk about your interpretation of your research,” April said.
Sullivan still looked annoyed, but he shrugged. “Go ahead. Talk.”
“Well,” she began, “I’m afraid your interpretation is biased. How many people did you interview during the course of your original study?”
He squared his jaw. “The figures are in the original study, but there were 176.”
“And that included both men and women, right?”
“Naturally,” he replied. “How else could this have been an empirical study?”
“Of course,” April agreed. Privately, she had a strong feeling the final ratio of male to female volunteers had either been skewed in favor of males or he’d been subconsciously biased in his interpretations of the answers to his questions.
“How much did you pay the volunteers? The going rate of seven dollars an hour?”
“No.” He sat back, obviously pleased with himself. “Actually I was very generous. I paid ten.”
April sighed. “When I was a journalism major at Northwestern, for ten dollars an hour, I would have told you anything I thought you wanted to hear.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Simply that the subjects you queried were perhaps not being truthful.”
Lucas leaned across the desk, eye to eye, nose to nose, so closely she could feel the heat of his skin. “No way! My conclusions are based on actual replies to my questions.”
“Sure, and only because of the way you formed the questions,” April said. “Pardon me for saying so, but I don’t think your study was unbiased. Therefore, any article based on your original study has also to be biased. I’m just saying that we need to take a closer look at your conclusions.”
Lucas felt his temper rise, a luxury he seldom allowed himself, let alone in a professional setting. Not only at April’s opinion of his research methods, but at himself for allowing his attraction to her to influence his professional approach to the subject of the mating game. “You think so, do you?”
“Yes, I do. My job as your editor is to make constructive suggestions.”
“That may be your usual job,” he said, distracted by the way April’s eyes seemed to change from brown to shades of green flecked with gold. “But it doesn’t apply here. I repeat—not when the work in question is based on a scientific study.”
“Maybe,” April said, “although there’s science and there’s science. However, you should be aware that if your article appears in its present form, it’s bound to cause a great deal of controversy. The kind of feedback you might not like to hear.”
Determined to overlook April’s challenge to his professionalism, Lucas took a deep breath. “I still stand by my work.”
“Even if I can persuade you otherwise?”
“Careful, Ms. Morgan.” A calculating smile came over his face. “You’re treading on thin ice. What would you do if I took you up on your offer?”
April wondered if he actually realized he’d made a sexual innuendo. If so, there had to be more to Sullivan than met the eye. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should leave this discussion for tomorrow? It’ll give me time to go over your article more carefully.”
“Yes, of course.” He rose to his feet. “Not too early, please. I’m going to be up late tonight.”
“Research?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said as he turned to leave.
April wondered about the glint in his eye.
“By the way,” she said as she made a show of straightening the manuscript pages, “how was your lunch in the executive dining room?”
Lucas turned back. “Okay. What makes you ask?”
“Just okay?” April reached into her purse for a tissue. “Not if you had their chocolate soufflé for dessert.”
“How did you know?”
Ignoring the urge to wipe the bit of chocolate off his chin, April handed Lucas the tissue. “You have some chocolate on the corner of your chin. If there’s anything I recognize, it’s chocolate soufflé. It happens to be a favorite of mine.”
Lucas rubbed at his chin with the tissue and, to her surprise, winked. “I’ll have to remember that important detail—and a few other things, as well.”
April wondered what he meant by “a few other things.” She only knew that the phrase and the way he delivered it caused butterflies to flutter through her midsection.
“I’ll call you later this afternoon to make an appointment,” she said.
“Sorry,” Sullivan said, “but I won’t be home to take the call. Let’s just say I’ll try to be here as early as I can tomorrow morning and leave it at that, all right?”
He would try? Most academics would give a year’s salary to be published in Today’s World, an eclectic magazine with far more readers than any scientific journal. “What can be more important than our discussing your article?”
“I play in a small band. We’re practicing this afternoon for a performance tonight.”
“A chamber music quartet?”
“Uh, not exactly.”
The reluctance in Sullivan’s voice whetted April’s curiosity. “How, ‘not exactly’?”
“Actually, it’s a rock band and I play lead guitar.”
April didn’t believe him, but she didn’t let on. “Uh, where did you say you were performing tonight?”
“I didn’t, but we’ll be at the Roxy on the north side of town. Why?”
“Just curious.” It wasn’t easy for April to keep a straight face when laughter at the absurdity of a serious academic playing in a rock band threatened to overcome her, but she managed. She’d already laughed at one of the man’s endeavors; to laugh at another might totally alienate Sullivan, not to mention cost her her job.
There must have been something in her voice that made him turn back at the door. “You don’t believe me?”
“I do. It’s just such a surprise,” she said quickly. “You not only teach, you write. How in heaven’s name do you manage to find time to be in a rock band?”
“Call it an instinct for survival,” he said, gazing at her as if his mind were a hundred miles away. “Actually, being raised by a strict father to become a successful academic, then getting my advanced degree so I could do research and teach, hasn’t left me a lot of time to pursue music, but music, in particular rock music, is my passion. It’s the one thing I do that satisfies my soul, and I find I must make time for it.”
Fascinated by the little speech and what it revealed about the man, April tried to imagine the dry and factual world Sullivan had grown up in. Her heart wept at the thought of a child’s yearning for the freedom to express himself that had had to wait until he was a grown man.
“You must hate your father,” she said softly.
“No, not at all,” he replied. “And as I get older, I think I actually understand him better. The divorce from my mother damn near bankrupted him financially. And then her accidental death shortly after they reconciled bankrupted him emotionally.”
April made a sound of sympathy.
“The only way Dad said he could be sure I would never lose everything I had,” Sullivan continued, “was to see to it I concentrated on my education and to keep women on a back burner.” He shrugged. “I haven’t been exactly overjoyed at the way I live, but I can’t fault him for that. He meant well.”
April thought of her own childhood. She and her two older brothers had been very competitive, each trying to outdo the other in everything—school, sports and parental attention. Her growing-up years hadn’t been all fun and games, but at least she’d had two loving parents.
“And so now you have your band,” she said softly.
His face brightened. “Yeah. I picked up guitar several years back from a friend of mine. Turns out I’m pretty decent at the guitar. It was just a matter of time before two of my friends taught me the ropes and we formed a band. We trade off. They write the music, I write the lyrics. We try to practice a couple of times a week and perform about twice a month. I don’t mind saying we’re pretty good.”
“And you’re playing tonight.”
“Yes, but don’t worry, I’ll be ready for you tomorrow morning.”
Unable to explain her reaction to Sullivan’s unexpected fall from the lofty academic perch on which she’d placed him, April waved him off. “It doesn’t really matter. Go on, have fun. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
April followed Lucas to her office door and stood watching the envious glances that followed him to the elevator. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised at his choice for recreational activities. For a man so serious, so preoccupied with sociological research, performing in a rock band had to be a harmless way of releasing emotions.
She turned back to her desk and tried to concentrate on Sullivan’s article. It would have been a lot easier to be objective if the author’s warm brown eyes, his innate masculine charm and his story about his childhood didn’t keep getting in the way.
Sullivan really did need to be introduced to a woman’s real world for more reasons than one, she mused as she scowled at an offensive phrase in the manuscript. Still, becoming too emotionally involved with him wasn’t a good idea. Not only as his editor, but as a woman. She’d have to rethink their relationship.
But not before she paid a visit to the Roxy.
“COOL!” RITA SQUEALED when April called and invited her to go with her to the Roxy to hear Sullivan play. “Are you talking about the same guy who wrote that mating game article?”
“Bingo.” April smiled at Rita’s surprised reaction. After reading his article, the idea of Lucas Sullivan playing his heart out with a guitar surprised her, too.
“I’m all yours.” Rita’s eager voice came over the phone. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up around eight.” April laughed as she hung up the phone. She could visualize her hip friend reaching for her lipstick—a bloodred hue to match the hot blood that ran in her veins.
Not that April was fooled. She knew that Rita’s frank talk was meant to shock, and that she, like herself and Lili, was waiting for the right man to come along.
Again April tried, without success, to concentrate on Sullivan’s article. She had a growing suspicion she’d been wrong about him. There were his brief flashes of sexy innuendos, the occasional glint in his eye, and now, his music. Rock, no less!
She sighed as she put a question mark alongside one of his rules. Why was she wasting time trying to figure out this man?
A secret visit to the Roxy was definitely in order.
