Too Close To Call. Barbara Dunlop

drew a deep breath, winded from her workout. “So, that’s it, then.” She wiped a hand across her hair, down over her tight braid. “It’s him against me?”

      Rachel nodded. “Sure looks that way.”

      Ashley felt her stomach clench. Jeffrey showing up to challenge her for the promotion to vice president wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she had held out a slim hope he’d stay away and leave the field clear.

      A fellow acquisitions director at Argonaut, Jeffrey was definitely her most serious competition. He was smart, experienced and connected. He was also crafty, with a ruthless edge that she wouldn’t want to test.

      Perspiration tickled her forehead and her temples, and her damp spandex top stuck to the skin between her shoulder blades. She picked up a white towel that she’d hung over the handle of the treadmill and scrubbed it across her forehead, flipping her braid out of the way to dry her neck.

      “Got any more scuttlebutt on him?” she asked.

      Rachel was a close friend, and a gifted set designer at Argonaut. She was friendly and outgoing, and had an amazing ability to keep her finger on the pulse of office politics.

      “Just that he’s checking out locations in Alaska,” said Rachel.

      “Alaska?” Ashley blinked in confusion.

      “You know. Snow, ice, you have to cut through Canada to get there.”

      “His big, innovative idea is Alaska?”

      The chairman of the board had let it be known that an innovative new hit series was number one on his wish list right now. Whoever came up with the right series had a huge leg up on the promotion.

      Jeffrey had spent the last year on special assignment in New York. What could have given him a sudden interest in Alaska?

      “He must be pitching a Northern Exposure thing,” said Rachel.

      “A comedy?” Ashley tossed the towel into a nearby bin. Comedies were always risky, but when they hit, they hit big.

      “Or an outdoor adventure,” said Rachel.

      “Adventure’s on the decline. It’s medical, cop or comedy this year.”

      An Alaskan cop? An Alaskan hospital? Neither of those rang true to Ashley. It had to be a comedy.

      Shoot. The last thing she needed was for Jeffrey to deliver something more original than her edgy, California-based detective series.

      “Think I should add a comedic element?” she asked Rachel, raising her thumb and capturing the nail between her teeth. Maybe straight drama wasn’t the way to go.

      “Comedy is big right now,” said Rachel.

      Of course it was. Comedies were getting all the attention this year, all the awards, all the ratings. How could she have been so foolish?

      Ashley headed for the change rooms. “I should have thought of this earlier.”

      “It’s pretty late in the game to switch,” said Rachel.

      “I know. It’ll mean redoing the storyboard and the video clips.”

      “And rewriting all the scripts.”

      Ashley paused with her hand on the change-room door. “It’ll mean redoing the entire presentation. From scratch.” A near impossibility, since this was Saturday, and the pitch meeting with the chairman of the board was scheduled for Monday.

      Rachel tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “I suppose you could take a chance to submit it as is.”

      Ashley’s hardboiled detective drama suddenly seemed pale and flat, and somehow safe, even if it did have beaches, plenty of buff bods and guaranteed action sequences in every episode.

      If Jeffrey was going for broke with a comedy/drama, set in Alaska of all places, she was going to have to make her California location feel fresher and more interesting.

      “Think he’s going for broke?” asked Rachel, skipping to keep up with Ashley as she headed down the tiled hallway, past the racket courts.

      “Alaska’s a pretty bold move for a setting,” said Ashley. The more she thought about it, the more she realized Jeffrey was taking a risk, pulling out all the stops.

      And, why wouldn’t he? It was the promotion of the decade.

      She’d made a mistake when she let his absence lull her into a false sense of security. He might not have been in L.A. all year long, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.

      “Any way to put off the Board meeting?” Ashley asked. She definitely needed more time.

      Rachel stopped in the middle of the hall and gave her an incredulous look.

      “You know his secretary, right?” asked Ashley.

      Rachel knew everybody.

      “Not that well,” said Rachel.

      “She got any weaknesses?”

      “Chocolate and Chippendale Dancers,” said Rachel.

      Ashley smiled. “What about Fire Dance tickets. I hear the male lead is burning up the headlines.”

      “You’ve got tickets to Fire Dance?”

      “Front row, center, balcony one.” Ashley’s grin widened. “Clive Johnston traded me for the Lakers last week.”

      “Throw in dinner at La Salle, and I think I can get you a deal.”

      “Done,” said Ashley. “Get her to switch the meeting to Friday.” She stopped at the door to the change room. “You going to be around tonight?”

      “You want to grab dinner and sketch out some ideas?”

      Ashley nodded. “That would be terrific.”

      “Meet you on the deck at the Breakwater Café.”

      “Give me half an hour to shower and change.” Ashley pushed open the door with the heel of her palm. Her workout was officially over. She now had more important things to worry about than her glutes.

      JORDAN WASN’T GOING to worry about Cyd, even if she was overdue by half an hour. The storm had grown faster and more violent than anyone had predicted. The radios weren’t working, but if she’d gone down, they’d have an emergency beacon signal coming in. They didn’t.

      She’d probably landed short of Arctic Luck.

      “Everyone but Cyd’s accounted for,” said Wally, hanging up the office telephone and tossing his clipboard onto the counter. “Bob’s holed up in Sitka, and the rest never got off the ground.”

      Just then an operator’s voice came over the radio phone.

      Jordan was closer, so he grabbed the mike.

      It was Cyd. And, thank goodness, she was fine.

      But before Jordan could get more than a few particulars, an angry male voice took over. “I’m the passenger who paid to be flown to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey Bradshaw thundered.

      Terrific. Maybe Cyd wasn’t so fine.

      “But I was flown to Kati—Kati—”

      Jordan didn’t wait for Jeffrey to spit out the word Katimuk. He keyed the mike. “Sorry about that,” he interrupted, putting on a relaxed, professional voice. “Can’t fight the weather. But we’ll get you to Arctic Luck as soon as possible.”

      “I need to get there immediately.” The command crackled through the static of the radio waves.

      Wally raised his eyebrows.

      “Afraid we can’t do that,” said Jordan. Weather delays were a necessary hazard of flying in the North, particularly in the fall. Jeffrey needed to buck up and wait it out.

      “Nothing’s