“Of course not.” Genevieve stood proudly. “I may not be a reporter, but I understand the business. I wouldn’t waste your time.”

“Then why slip it into the pile without a byline?”

“Because I wanted your honest reaction. And I got it.”

Dreams die hard, she thought. But at least she’d finally tried. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Sit down, Gennie.” Peter waved her to a chair beside Gabriel and slid the copy across the surface. “Go on, take it. Read what I wrote.”

She read the green script. “A column?” Her hazel eyes widened in astonishment. “You think I could write a column?”

Peter’s obsidian eyes twinkled. “Since your accursed brother is determined to make this a daily, I need the copy. You academics get the summer off, so I thought I’d start you out on a probationary period. Three columns per week. We still like you in the fall, we’ll talk.”

“What’s the pay?”

“Nonnegotiable.”

He named a sum and she nodded briskly. “I can live with that.”

“Good. Ask Payton to find you a desk. I want the revised version on my desk by three.”

“Yes, sir.” Gennie bussed Gabriel’s cheek. “I won’t let you down.”

After she danced out of Peter’s office, she halted and ran back inside. Euphoric, she planted a smacking kiss on Peter’s cheek. “Thanks!”

“I didn’t know she wanted to write,” Gabriel grumbled when she shut the door. Why hadn’t she told him? Did she think he’d disapprove?

“I doubt she could have told you without you trying to give her a job.”

“Of course!” he returned. “I’m her brother and I happen to own a newspaper.”

“She has her pride, Gabe,” Peter grunted. “Runs in the family. Her wanting to be a crusading columnist was probably hard to admit when she lived in a house with Lincoln and Gabriel Moss. After Linc’s death, the paper was all you talked about. All you cared about.”

“No, it wasn’t. I love my sister!”

“Yes, you do. But you’ve spent a lifetime living vicariously through your stories. Then you switched gears and made the Ledger your life.” Before Gabriel could retort, Peter held up a silencing hand. “Lincoln Moss was a legend before you wrote your first piece. Between the two of us, you were hooked. The adrenaline, the power. You became a foreign correspondent to carve your own mark on the profession.”

“I was good.”

“You were the best,” agreed Peter. “When you gave it up to come home, I thought you were ready for balance.”

“Is this a lecture from the pot to the kettle?”

Peter snorted. “I’ve been alone longer than I’ve been a part of anything, except the Chronicle.”

“That’s your excuse?”