Catching The Corporate Playboy. Michele Dunaway

as he teased Cameron. Once Cameron had delayed making a deal, ending up losing the next “hot” magazine. While he hadn’t lost any money, his learning experience at twenty-two was still a sore spot.

      “You know, one day you’ll go too far,” Cameron threatened with a wave of his finger.

      “And then what?” Lee continued to rib his best friend. It had been too long since they’d simply hung out as they were now. “You New Yorkers call your lawyers. Out here in the cow towns we take it out back and settle it like real men.”

      Cameron choked on the last of his cola. “Now I know that wife of yours is an alien. You’re brain-dead.”

      “I’ll tell Julie you said that. She’ll be pleased. One more success in husbandly indoctrination besides me putting down the toilet seat.”

      Cameron suddenly grinned. His former roommate had always been the life of the party, the one who made everyone laugh and feel right at home. “You know, I’ve missed bantering with you.”

      For a moment Lee became serious. “Me, too. I’m glad you decided to supervise the sale personally. It’ll give us some time to play golf.”

      Golf. In guy-speak this meant spending some quality time together. “Well, you need a way to win some of our bets. In the overall scheme of things, I’m still way in the lead.”

      “Ha. Dreamer.”

      “Besides,” Cameron ignored Lee’s jibe, “I knew this arrangement had to have other merits besides you being an editor of the paper.”

      “Mainly your escape.”

      Despite his jovial side, his friend’s brain was razor-sharp. “How well you know me. Kit’s married now and pregnant—”

      “And now that your sister’s settled, your dad’s on your case again.” Lee waved a spoon, motioning that he understood. “Time to get him an heir with the surname O’Brien.”

      “Exactly.” Cameron nodded. Michael O’Brien wasn’t known as a fiery Irishman for nothing. “Ever since that bachelor list appeared he’s repeated his mantra quite a bit.”

      Lee looked pleased. “Ah, so you finally admit it! The real reason for your sojourn comes forth.”

      Cameron twisted his straw, jabbing it between the ice cubes. He could use a refill, but their errant waitress was paying no attention to their table. “Yeah. Well, you try having your Irish father breathing down your neck. Hell, he’s made me his new quest. So I figured I’d come out here, supervise my very expensive newspaper purchase, see you and the wife, and get away from dear old dad and my hormonally unbalanced sister.”

      “Who, while you love both of them, are still on your case to find the right woman and settle down.”

      “That about sums it up.” Cameron pushed his untouched plate aside, too keyed up to eat whatever the greasy substance was in front of him. It had been satisfying seeing the presses run on the local alternative weekly he purchased for O’Brien Publications. The Mound City Monitor marked O’Brien’s first newspaper venture into a smaller secondary market such as St. Louis.

      The first issue after the sale announcement currently ran on the presses, and that meant everything was falling into place. People were calming down, adapting to the changes, and returning to normal now that the dust had settled.

      Running a publications conglomerate was what Cameron did, and he was good at it. He’d know when it was time to settle down and marry, and right now was not that time. Sure, kids were cute, but other people’s kids could be returned to their parents. He shuddered a bit. No, he wasn’t ready for a wife or baby drool.

      “Aren’t you going to eat that?” Lee pointed to Cameron’s plate. Lee’s own plate appeared licked clean.

      Cameron grimaced at the thought of how Lee’s stomach must feel. “Are you sure you didn’t miss some?”

      “Yep. Like Ted Drewes concretes, this is late-night tradition. Some of us are always here each week after the presses run. I can’t believe you didn’t at least try it.”

      “I’m only going to be here two weeks. I’ll pass on St. Louis’s traditions. What’s a concrete?”

      “Ye of little faith. Why do you think Bob Costas lives here? This is a great city. Find yourself the right girl and you’ll never want to leave. And a concrete is a type of ice cream that stays in the cup if you turn it upside down.”

      “That’s it? That’s what you gave up when you rejected the big-city job I offered you? I think I’ll keep my hotel suite for two weeks, thank you, and then I’m going home.”

      “Man, you’ve been cloistered too long. You really need to get out and experience life.”

      “What? To this?” Cameron bristled and gestured around. Not another one trying to get him married. And now it was his best friend. “Please. Give anyone in here a chance to live in my world and they’d snap it up. Why do you think lottery tickets sell so well?”

      “So it’s not ingrained?” One of Lee’s eyebrows arched.

      Cameron lifted the spoon and held the brown substance up to his nose. He could smell the overpowering odor of garlic. “You really are brain-dead. What are you talking about? What’s not ingrained?”

      “Your New York snobbery. Your aloofness and disdain.”

      “Of course not.” Cameron tentatively held the bite to his lips. As much as he didn’t want to, he needed to eat the stuff or forever live with the consequences of Lee calling him a chicken, afraid to try new things. Lee would never let Cameron live this down if he didn’t try it. The orange-tinged grease pooled around the edges of the spoon. With a shudder he said, “I bet I could make anyone fit into my world.”

      “A bet.” Lee’s eyes gleamed at the challenge Cameron had just unknowingly tossed out. “Sort of like My Fair Lady?”

      Cameron thought a moment and tried to remember the movie. He caught the spoon before it dripped. He shrugged. “I guess. I’ve never seen it.”

      “Now I know you need a life. Julie and I watched it one Sunday afternoon.”

      That just about summed up who needed a life, in Cameron’s opinion, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Lee had only been married two years, so Cameron guessed his friend was still in the honeymoon phase. “So what’s it about? Isn’t it a musical of some sort?”

      “And from you who sees all the Broadway shows.”

      “Women like them, and I like women. It’s a small price to pay.”

      Lee groaned. “In a nutshell, a man takes a beggar woman off the streets and turns her into the cream of society. You’re saying you could do that? You could make some woman acceptable?”

      Cameron did some quick thinking. There was that redhead, oh, what was her name again? She’d gotten a modeling contract after being photographed at a charity ball with him. That counted, right? She’d now made quite a name for herself.

      Oh well. Cameron shrugged. He wasn’t going to let Lee best him in this challenge. It was bad enough he had to eat the stuff congealing in front of him. “Sure I could do it. I could make her fit right in. It’s easy. The right clothes and makeup and anyone can pretend to be rich. I see enough of the hangers-on all the time as they try to snare a rich guy.”

      He ignored Lee’s arched eyebrow and closed his mouth over the spoon. Despite the fact the weird mixture was now cold, the hot sauce instantly hit his tastebuds. Chili and eggs assaulted him, bounced along his tongue and fired their way down his throat. Wow. “Hey, this stuff isn’t half-bad.”

      Lee tossed his hands up in the air. “The man’s a rocket scientist.”

      “I think I will fire you just for the hell of it. You’ll go from big-city editor to the breadline. Maybe then you’d learn