swallowed, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. Any moment, she thought, Samuel Carson would interrupt, apologizing for her entrance in the first place. "It's about the Harrison court case coming up this week," she said. "That's the one where Sarah Harrison shot her—"
Marshall lifted his head and indicated with a short wave of his hand that she should jump ahead to her request. "I'm familiar with it. William Pearson's been assigned since the beginning."
"Yes, sir, but Mr. Pearson's been out these past four days with some illness and it doesn't appear he'll be recovered in time to—" She was interrupted again, this time by Marshall waving his secretary back out of the office as soon as the door opened. For the first time since marching into Marshall's office, Mary Michael believed she had a chance of getting what she wanted. She opened her mouth to state her case when Logan leaned back in his chair and announced the story she wanted to cover had been given to Adam Cushing during the morning assignments.
Disappointed, but trying not to let it show, Mary Michael pressed her case. "I've already been working on some background, sir. An angle that Mr. Pearson didn't have and I'm certain Mr. Cushing doesn't know about."
"On whose authority?" Logan demanded bluntly.
That gave Mary Michael pause. When she hesitated a beat too long the question was rapped out again. "My own authority," she answered stiffly, heat rising in her cheeks as she tried to hold her ground.
Logan pointed at the notepad she held in front of her like a shield. "Are those your notes?"
She nodded, passing them across the desk when he held out his hand. She stood rooted to the floor as he skimmed them, watching for every nuance of expression on Marshall's impassive face. There was only the merest flicker of interest, but it gave Mary Michael reason to hope again.
"They're good," he said finally, handing them back to her. He saw the brief light in her eyes, the beginning of a smile that could have knocked him over even though he was married to one of the most beautiful women in New York. He deliberately crushed it. "Give them to Vollrath. If he likes what he reads, he'll give them to Cushing to use in his coverage of the trial."
"But I-"
"Give them to Fred," Logan repeated softly, brooking no argument. "If you want an assignment you go to the city editor like everyone else, Miss Dennehy. Not over his head to me. If you develop a piece without authority then expect to give it up to someone with more experience working the court beat. Those are the rules. I enforce them."
Mary Michael's fingers pressed whitely into her notepad. She took his reprimand on the chin, knowing it was well-founded. She had taken a chance and she had lost. She may have even set herself back months. The city editor was going to be livid when he discovered she had gone straight to Marshall for an assignment. She took a step backward from the desk, waiting to flee the room at his dismissal.
"Another thing you may want to observe," he went on casually, "is the civilized ritual of knocking before entering or clearing your way with my secretary. That way, Miss Dennehy, you wouldn't enter my office while I'm in the midst of another meeting and make yourself a target for public criticism."
Until that moment Mary Michael had no idea she and Logan Marshall weren't alone in his office. Blinded by humiliation, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the three leather chairs clustered in the corner behind the door were all occupied. She had a vague impression of tall, dark, and handsome—an adjective for each man—and then her mind went blank from mortification at her error.
"Pardon me," she murmured to the room at large, then without waiting for direction from her employer, she turned on her heel and quit the office.
Ethan Stone found it in himself to feel a little sorry for her. Marshall had been hard but fair. He respected her for handling the thinly veiled criticism so well.