Love Easy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Love Easy

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  The little dame slammed the door shut and stood in front of his desk with her tiny palms planted firmly on her hips—her sweet tiny hips.

  “I know you said things will change around here, but I refuse to be a slave to you, Mr. Chapel! I am a professional reporter, and I will not be bullied by the likes of you.”

  Her face was beet red, masking her beauty. Exotic amber eyes twitched, and her loose raven curls swayed around her face with every head movement.

  He remained near the window, compressing his initial need to blow his top. His blood boiled with her blatant reproach. He’d never seen any female employee react that way. Mostly, he’d seen female employees pout and shed tears. This female did neither, and it stimulated him in a way he didn’t expect.

  He narrowed his eyes. Sure, he remembered her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d stood with her arms crossed and a sneer on her lips during his introduction speech. He studied her lips, her very kissable lips. His mind rattled with aversion and intrigue. He should’ve known then she’d be trouble.

  Love Easy

  by

  Roe Valentine

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Love Easy

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Rosie Rivera

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Vintage Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-237-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-238-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my grandmother,

  the one who gave me my first historical romance novel.

  I am forever grateful.

  Chapter One

  He strutted into the room pulling contention on a leash behind him. Henry Chapel, also known as the Big Cheese, had a cigar nestled between smirking lips, half an inch of ash on the end. His gray, three-piece wool suit and spread-collar shirt outlined the impressive body underneath. Surprisingly, he didn’t don a top hat over his thick, dark hair like most men wore in his status, but it didn’t matter. By the looks of him, he certainly lived up to his reputation.

  Norma had never seen him in person, but she’d heard about him. What a sheik. Why didn’t anyone mention that? He was a real looker—the kind of looker seen in the silent films she loved so much.

  He took long strides through the sea of desks on the press room floor, looking at everyone, but no one. His thick thighs bulged through his finely woven trousers with every step.

  Norma wondered what other kinds of bulges Henry Chapel could produce. Heat warmed her cheeks. Oh dear. She didn’t take an interest in those kinds of frivolities…usually.

  His gaze tangled with hers for a moment as his large body approached the front of the room. He was quite graceful for a man of his stature.

  Either out of fear or curiosity, she couldn’t tear away from his stare. She had never seen a more intoxicating pair of green eyes contrasting dark fringed lashes.

  He was a magnet, and she was a piece of metal.

  To say he was stunning was an understatement. The more stunning he became, the longer she considered him. His face, perfectly angular where it needed to be and clean shaven, couldn’t be described as anything less than pure male—and beautiful. Nothing else could be said about that.

  Oh, he had looks all right—more looks than Douglas Fairbanks. Unfortunately, that was all he had. She quickly moved beyond the pleasing-to-the-eye-part and remembered who he was. Someone she did not want to work for.

  She sat on the edge of the metal desk, one of many in the perfectly square-shaped room. Her calf-length skirt inched up as she crossed her ankles. A deep harrowing breath filled her lungs with the realization of what was going on. The sap was her new boss. He would be nothing like Daniel Jackman, the previous managing editor. Mr. Jackman was gentle and had a soft voice to match. He’d been canned two days ago, but Norma didn’t think Lawson Publishing would replace him with the likes of Henry Chapel. The very sight of the man evoked fear in the employees, especially the women. No secret that Henry Chapel didn’t believe women should be in the workforce. Not a radical thought amongst men—some women, too—but it was 1925, and the times were changing faster than a person could say baloney.

  Mr. Chapel scanned the room once he reached the front, which happened to be near her desk. His eyes indicated his intentions, look for the weak and decide who wouldn’t last the first day. He was like a bear ready to pounce on the Chicago Daily News, the unsuspecting salmon.

  The room fell silent, even the breathing stopped, but Norma defiantly stood and crossed her arms. He would not intimidate her.

  “The Chicago Daily News is in bad shape.” He rubbed out the cigar on the nearest metal desk—Norma’s metal desk. “I intend to change that.” His gaze brushed over her again.

  Ahh, that infamous smirk again. The one thing she did hear about.

  “Things will change around here, and fast.” He pivoted on his heels, easing his way toward his corner office, Mr. Jackman’s corner office, on light steps. The man almost floated over the tiles.

  He can really make an exit.

  She, along with everyone else, watched him glide on Italian leather shoes, probably handmade, to his office, which had been gutted and redecorated with a stiff leather chair and a colossally impressive desk. No one knew yesterday who the new boss would be.

  Once he was behind closed doors, the staff relaxed a bit. The release of exhalation sounded around her. While the men nodded at each other with glimmers in their eyes, the women sat in their seats, shivering as if pink slips were inevitable.

  She would be darned if she got a pink slip.

  Norma pursed her lips and glanced at Ingrid, her closest friend at the Daily. She cowered behind a large nonfunctioning metal fan near the printing press room. The kohl around Ingrid’s eyes dramatized her concern as she sped over in short, girlish strides. She may as well have skipped. The feather on her cap waved as she approached.

  “Oh my!” Ingrid turned around to make sure Mr. Chapel remained in his office. “I wonder what he meant by that?”

  Norma eyed the closed door, willing him to rear his head again so she could really give it to him. “He thinks he’s the cat’s meow. I�
�ve heard about his chauvinism, and I, for one, will not work for a man who thinks women should be limited to the kitchen or his bed for that matter.”

  Frantic, Ingrid glanced about, urging Norma to keep her voice down. Then her face softened to a gooey dream-state. “You can’t tell me there isn’t a delicious factor, though.” Her crimson lips parted in a small smile, and her lashes swooped against her cheek in a quick wink.

  Maybe Ingrid was right. Sure, he was gorgeous—okay, darned gorgeous—but what difference did that make? He strode in the office like a tyrant, and Norma just couldn’t get behind that kind of a boss. She wouldn’t be pushed around and discarded as the Great Mr. Chapel saw fit, and she wouldn’t swoon in his mere presence either.

  “Things will change, all right.” Norma ignored the glimmer of unprofessional thoughts in Ingrid’s eyes.

  With those words, she pushed Ingrid aside and marched straight toward Mr. Chapel’s office.

  Ingrid squealed behind her, begging her not to do or say anything stupid.

  Whatever Norma did would probably be something stupid, but she couldn’t worry about that. This beef was about equality and fair treatment. If Mr. Chapel was going to fire her because she was a woman, then she’d tell him where to get off first.

  ****

  Henry stood at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Water Tower. It loomed over the city like a beacon of strength. The day was brutally cold as expected for late January though that didn’t stop the crowd of people on Chicago Avenue below from making their away about the city. Men and women wore fur and tweed coats as they dodged the speeding motorcars along the street. The garment factory district was in full view from his office window. He rather enjoyed watching the plumes of smoke thin to ribbons across the winter sky from various chimneys amongst the factories. He loved Chicago—even when unbearable.

  The window fogged with the breath from his hearty sigh. He’d been contemplating his new venture. The Chicago Daily News was a sagging rag, and it needed him. Truth be told, he’d hoped Lawson Publishing would call him to put the pieces back together since the newspaper could not compete in today’s market.

  News had become like the stock market, cut throat and ever changing. If he could be even more honest, he wanted the Daily to shine again. His favorite newspaper since its commencement in 1901 when he was six years old, he remembered sitting on his mother’s lap turning the thin, heavily-inked pages. He liked getting black ink on his stubby little fingers and was proud to show his black fingertips to his mother and anyone who cared to look. It was equivalent to playing in the dirt with other boys on his block, though most of his privileged childhood friends didn’t play in the dirt either.

  Twenty-four years had passed, and he still loved the newspaper. It pained him to think it could potentially be devoured by the Chicago Tribune, the Inter Ocean, Chicago Daily Journal, Chicago Evening Post, Chicago Record Herald, or countless others that had sprouted up like dandelion weeds over the last five years. He sighed again. Could the Daily be repaired?

  A loud crash startled him from his nostalgic reverie. The hefty door to his office swung with the full force of a motorcar barreling down Michigan Avenue, one with an ossified driver behind the wheel, no doubt. The metal knob crashed into the plaster, leaving behind a round imprint.

  What the hell?

  Behind the ruckus was a tiny brunette standing in the doorway with defiance in her eyes. The little dame slammed the door shut and stood in front of his desk with her tiny palms planted firmly on her hips—her sweet tiny hips.

  “I know you said things will change around here, but I refuse to be a slave to you, Mr. Chapel! I am a professional reporter, and I will not be bullied by the likes of you.”

  Her face was beet red, masking her beauty. Exotic amber eyes twitched, and her loose raven curls swayed around her face with every head movement.

  He remained near the window, compressing his initial need to blow his top. His blood boiled with her blatant reproach. He’d never seen any female employee react that way. Mostly, he’d seen female employees pout and shed tears. This female did neither, and it stimulated him in a way he didn’t expect.

  He narrowed his eyes. Sure, he remembered her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d stood with her arms crossed and a sneer on her lips during his introduction speech. He studied her lips, her very kissable lips. His mind rattled with aversion and intrigue. He should’ve known then she’d be trouble.

  Moments passed, and he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t fire her on the spot for insubordination. After all, he would’ve done it at any other newspaper he managed. But she was just so small and…breathtaking. Perhaps that had something to do with his softened heart.

  He surveyed her again. Drab clothes and Victorian hair style. She wasn’t the stylish Sheba he’d been acquainted with. No eye kohl or painted red mouth. She was natural. But the fire in her eyes gave her face an unnatural semblance.

  It was his turn to say something when the space between them grew thick and tense as the seconds passed. If only he could stop staring at her mouth, especially when she drew in her bottom lip for a quick chew.

  She lowered her gaze for a moment. Perhaps she had become aware of herself or wondered if she’d done the smart thing by barging into his office. From his experience, most people who took drastic measures ended up regretting their actions with the end result not being in their favor. And women took the most drastic measures of all, due to ill-controlled emotions.

  However, he would never say that aloud—his mother wouldn’t appreciate it. Adonna Chapel had her fair share of emotional outbursts, but she blamed it on her Greek heritage. This little, crazy-eyed woman didn’t look Greek at all.

  “Now, who are you?” His voice remained calm and collected, something he had mastered as a child. His gaze didn’t leave hers, not even to blink.

  She cleared her throat, sitting in the smaller stiff leather chair opposite his desk. Did he invite her to sit? Not only did the Jane barge into his office like an untamed animal and damage his wall, she took it upon herself to sit in his guest chair sans invitation. That annoyed him; it really peeved him.

  Is this little tomato off her rocker?

  “I’m Norma Hill.” A slim ankle crossed over the other underneath the chair. Although a ladylike thing to do, he didn’t expect that from someone with fire in her eyes.

  Her gaze shifted and met his with unyielding, yet contained defiance. Though she had calmed down, her expanding chest in conjunction with heavy breathing suggested she’d only just begun her rant. Strange he didn’t immediately diffuse her tirade. It might have been because he was so taken with her.

  Against his better judgment, he scanned the short length of her ankle to the bottom of her knee. The damn skirt didn’t give him much of a window to look through, but his imagination still switched to overdrive. Through the nude stockings, her skin looked supple and taut. He loved to envision those nude stockings were probably held up by a very lucky garter belt.

  Not boss-like behavior, Chapel.

  The images forced him to look away. Him? Look away? That was a first. Forgetting his position was easy, yet caressing that luscious calf and trailing his fingers up the glorious length until he found that lucky garter and snapped it off would be easier. He’d done it more than his fair share of times before.

  Stop it.

  One thing was for certain, he hadn’t seen calves that sexy in a while. What else was she hiding under that skirt?

  “What is it that you do for the Chicago Daily News?”

  “I am the…” She cleared her throat again. “Weather reporter.” She looked down to her clasped hands. Then she spoke again, her voice shrill with urgency, “But I am capable of much more innovative reporting.”

  He decided quickly she would continue to report the weather. How much could she botch up a weather report? Past experiences had taught him that women couldn’t handle the demands of reporting compelling features in a fast-paced newsroom. And in fail
ing to meet those demands, women reporters were the demise of the periodicals he’d revived in the past.

  Of course he’d never go on record to say that either.

  He cleaned things up, and the Chicago Daily News needed to clean house, plain and simple. What harm could Norma Hill do reporting a no-brainer like the weather?

  “I don’t see why you couldn’t continue to report the weather,” he concluded and regretted immediately when her face hardened again. She still had a beef with him. How ungrateful of this little weather reporter. “Will that be a problem?”

  “I really would like to move to an area with more…excitement.” She wouldn’t give up, would she? Her blazing eyes answered his question.

  “Well, I see you are full of excitement, Miss Hill.” The heat crawled up his face. He didn’t like this ungrateful dame. “Do you realize I could fire you for merely coming into my office without an appointment?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”

  He almost had to laugh at her audacity. He sat back in his chair. “Wouldn’t I?”

  Her eyes twitched, she wanted to look away, but she was too damn proud it would seem. Her nostrils flared the seconds that passed between them. Then she did something he didn’t care for, she shook her head, eyes still alight with some unworldly confidence.

  He’d have to get over how beautiful she was just long enough to put her in her place. “No? Do you realize I could simply fire you for being ungrateful when I am allowing you to stay on with the Daily?”

  “Well, I just—”

  “I don’t think you’ve thought this confrontation through, Miss Hill. More than half of the staff will be history, and I tell you what, be glad I don’t have you packing your Parker pen and respective nibs for what you did to my wall. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He’d been pushed too far. “I fire people for less aggravation. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “How dare you suggest I’m lucky to work for you, Mr. Chapel!”

  That did it.

  “Listen, doll face, your old boss Jackman couldn’t hack this job. He hired menial writers, and before he knew it, this rag tanked. I bring papers back to their former glory, and I succeed at it. That’s why Lawson Publishing begged me to take over the Daily.