“Never doubted it for a minute,” Peter lied with ease. “Kelly, see if you can’t entertain Erin’s friend for us, will you?”

The instant the words left his mouth, Peter found himself, for once, nonplussed. In the blink of an eye, Kelly’s girl-next-door grin transformed into a sultry smile. And he didn’t recognize the provocative voice that answered, “Anything for the paper.” She skipped out of her office and bounded down the stairs. Soon Sebastian’s appreciative chuckle wafted up the stairwell.

“Close your mouth, old man. You’re starting to drool.” Gabriel draped a comforting arm around Peter’s frozen shoulders. “Back to work.”

They returned to the lobby. Peter shot Sebastian a narrow look that the younger man blithely ignored. Kelly offered him a tour of the facilities, and he hesitated, looking askance at Erin.

“Go on,” she encouraged with a wan smile. “I’ve seen it already. I’ll wait here.”

Prodded by Peter, Gabriel stepped forward. “I’d like for you to look at the article, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Erin trailed Gabriel to his office. In silence, they sat at the conference table, and he showed her the rough draft. After a quick read, she fished a pen from his desk and started making notes. She returned the article, and Gabriel reviewed her suggestions, grunting occasionally.

“You disagree?” she queried after the fifth grunt.

“Hmm?” Gabriel tore his eyes away from the page and focused on her, as though he’d forgotten her presence. “What?”

She gnawed at her bottom lip. Testily she sputtered, “You’ve been grunting for a while now. Do you think I said something wrong?”

Gabriel examined the notes she’d made thoughtfully. When he finally answered, he gave her a level look. “I think you’d make an excellent reporter. Your writing is sharp. Clear. Concise.” He turned the pages toward her, pointing at the phrases she’d added. “The analysis is clinical without being distant. That takes talent. The reader will understand what happened to you, why you made the choices you did, but he won’t pity you. That’s great journalism.”

“You mean that?” The question escaped before she could stop herself.

His pencil tapped the article; then he used it to tilt her chin, and her befuddled eyes met his steady ones. “I always say what I mean, Erin. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“It’s difficult not to.” She shrugged feebly. “I don’t have the best barometer.”

“You know me.”

Erin nodded once, owing him that, at least. “Yes. I do.” Other words crowded in her arid throat. Pleas for reassurance tussled with passionate longings she’d never before given voice to, and the battle left her silent.