Fast Courting Read Free Page A

offered. “Less time to eat.”
    “Why not have Gail pack you a salad?” Priscilla grinned. “You know, a little cottage cheese, a few fruit slices, some melba toast…”
    Nia joined the attack, welcoming the respite. “I think he gets too much exercise,” she spoke.
    “ Too much?” James challenged.
    “Too much arm exercise,” she specified with a grin.
    Chris eyed her askance. “What are you talking about?”
    “You know.” She smiled broadly as she moved her hand in a repeated lap-to-mouth motion. “Too much arm exercise. After all, it takes some effort to shovel it in.” She turned mirthfully to Bill. “What do you think, Bill?” She mimed his own recent request.
    “I think,” Bill cleared his throat and frowned, “that we’ve gotten off the track. If there’s no further discussion right now on the eligible easterners feature, we’ll move on—”
    “Hold it!” Nia exclaimed. “ I still have discussion on that piece. Is there no one else who can do it?” Bill shook his head emphatically, feeling little remorse in the wake of the stinging, if humorous, assault on his waistline. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re sure?”
    “Absolutely. What’s the matter, Nia? You’re really not up to it?”
    “Oh, I can do it,” she replied, using the inflection of her voice to make the point. “It’s more a question of whether I can do it well , considering the prejudice I feel before I’ve even begun.”
    “You’ll do it well,” Bill informed her, glancing over the rim of his glasses, then taking them off and tossing them onto the desk. “I’ll see to that!”
    His words returned to haunt her later that day as she sat in her office pondering the assignment. Bill had “seen to it” in the past, particularly at the start of her career, when he’d guided her through several tough assignments. That she had the writing skill was never at issue. What disturbed her most was effecting the most comfortable balance between intellect and emotion so that her writing remained a feature story rather than a personal editorial.
    Her first big assignment had been to write a feature on the Plymouth II Nuclear Power Plant, presenting the controversy as it had unfolded. The personalities involved, both for and against, had been explosive. Nia had her own very firm opinion on the subject, and it had been a constant struggle to hold that opinion in check. Bill had helped then, pointing out phrasing that betrayed her inner emotion so subtly that even she hadn’t been aware of it. With minor wording changes and a closer rein held on the whole, the final feature became a source of pride to her.
    That had been three and a half years ago. Since then, there had been features on such vital and varied topics as police work, venture capitalism and genetic research. On each issue she had started from scratch, reading, researching, learning from the ground floor up. By nature, she had taken positions as her writing progressed. It was Bill who helped minimize the overspill, forming an end product that was thoroughly professional and liberal in its allowance for differing opinions. Such was the reputation of Eastern Edge as a publication; of that, too, Nia was proud.
    Now, she sifted through the papers on her desk, gathering the rough draft of the story she’d written that afternoon. It was an analysis of live theater in Boston, its history and promise, as well as its reality. Many hours’ work had been spent reading up on the history of the various theaters that had, over the years, been the pre-Broadway drill grounds. Additional hours had gone into interviews with the people involved, both in the past and the present. Just this morning she had spent two hours with Samuel Humphrey, the owner of the new, startlingly elaborate theater-opera house-philharmonic hall complex downtown. It was this interview that had made her late for the editorial meeting.
    A frown creased her brow as her gaze drifted idly around the