Moonstruck In Manhattan. Cara Summers

sighed. “I wasn’t upset, merely surprised that you’re making so many changes all at once.”

      Zach’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m nuts to want to change the focus of the magazine to include other cities besides New York?” That had been a big problem for some of the editors at his meeting.

      Miranda shook her head. “Not at all. It’s bound to increase your subscription numbers because it will appeal to more readers.”

      “Then what is it that you’re tap dancing around? I’d rather you came right out with it. You didn’t seem to object to my idea to change the tone of the magazine and to attract a more intellectual audience.”

      “Good heavens, no. I’m all for a magazine that makes me think. It’s your father who wouldn’t have approved of that. He’d have told you that if you appeal to the eggheads, you’ll be slashing your sales by fifty percent.”

      Zach studied her. “But you’re not saying that.”

      “Not at all. I told you at lunch. Metropolitan has been in trouble for the past two years, even before your father became ill. Some changes are essential and I think that if anyone can turn it around, you can.”

      “But?”

      Miranda wrinkled her nose at him. “There’s no but. Really. I’m just a little concerned that Bill Anderson will turn in his resignation. He has a very short fuse, and he has a lot of influence over the rest of the staff.”

      “How many others will follow suit?”

      Miranda thought for a moment. “Hal Davidson will send out his résumé and make sure he has a firm offer before he leaves. And Carleton Bushnell is so grumpy all of the time, it’s hard to read him.”

      Bill Anderson had been covering the New York sports scene for almost twenty years while Hal Davidson’s field had been politics. He’d rather not have to replace them, but it could be done. “What about Esme Sinclair?” Zach asked. A rather tall woman who dressed like a fashion plate and wore her steel gray hair pulled back tightly into a ballerina’s bun. Esme had always intimidated him. She reminded him of the strict housemistresses he’d run up against in the boarding schools he’d been sent to.

      “She’ll stay. She’s been with the magazine almost from the beginning. I think your father relied on her quite a bit.”

      “But I’m planning to eliminate the fashion and gossip stuff,” Zach pointed out.

      “That’s the kind of stuff I frequently pick up a magazine to read,” Miranda said and then quickly slapped a well-manicured hand over her mouth. “Sorry! Forget I said that. I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

      Zach studied her for a moment. “That’s the but you wouldn’t talk about earlier, isn’t it?”

      Miranda sighed again. “I wasn’t going to say it—but women do read a lot of magazines. And Esme has printed a couple of articles lately that have not only been highly amusing, but they’ve increased newsstand sales.”

      Zach’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised that you approve of them. ‘What Makes a Man a Hottie?’”

      “Did you read it?”

      “No. And I didn’t read ‘How to Hook a Hottie’ either. Selling sexual innuendo is definitely not the way I want to go with the magazine. I can’t imagine what Esme was thinking. I was rather hoping that she would consider retiring.”

      “Esme’s been running the magazine since your father’s illness. It’s only been under her watch that the sales figures have picked up a bit.”

      Zach frowned. He hadn’t known that. “I thought you were the one who had taken over for Father.”

      “Me?” Miranda pressed the palm of her hand against her chest. “I’ve never put in an honest day’s work in my life.”

      Zach shook his head. “You’ve been on the board of McDaniels Inc., since it was founded.”

      “A figurehead position.”

      Zach knew better. He also knew that it was usually a waste of time to argue with his aunt. “I suppose your various charitable organizations run themselves?”

      “They’re run by people I’ve handpicked to do the job. That way I never have to lift a finger.” Rising, Miranda took a tentative step toward him and winced. “Now that I’ve handpicked you to save Metropolitan magazine from collapse, I can go back to my apartment and get out of these killer boots. What we women endure for our vanity.”

      “I’ll never be able to thank you for trusting me, Aunt Miranda,” Zach said as he moved around his desk to put his arms around her.

      “As far as thanking me goes, I’ll expect to see you at the Christmas ball I’m hosting next Saturday.” When he started to say something, she took his hands in hers. “I know that you don’t like to celebrate the season, but I have a feeling your Mom would want you to.”

      “Aunt Miranda—”

      “I’ve reserved two places at my table. Bring a guest.”

      Zach’s brows shot up. “That sounds like an order?”

      “It is. I know someone who’d be very happy to go with you,” Miranda said.

      Zach raised his hands, palms out in surrender. “I’ll come to the ball. But no date. Aren’t you ever going to give up trying to match me up with my soul mate?”

      “Never.”

      “She doesn’t exist.”

      Miranda tapped a finger against his chest. “You just haven’t found her yet. When you do, you’ll never let her go.”

      “No date, Aunt Miranda.”

      “Fine.” Miranda sighed, a small pout replacing the smile on her face. “You won’t find yourself a date. You’ll come by yourself and you’ll be too bored to stay once the dancing starts.”

      Zach grinned at his aunt as he took her arm and led her to the door. “I’ll be bored from the moment they serve the appetizer and I’ll be catatonic by the time the last course is removed. However, I will be there.” When he opened the door, he found himself facing Esme Sinclair.

      “I’d like a moment of your time, if I’m not interrupting,” Esme said.

      “You’re only interrupting my failed attempt to persuade my nephew to let me find him a date for my Christmas ball. I’ll get right out of your way.”

      It was with a certain amount of envy that Zach watched his aunt wave a hand and walk quickly toward the open door of an elevator. He found himself stifling an annoying impulse to bolt. He wasn’t a child anymore and Esme Sinclair wasn’t an old housemistress. Ushering her into the room, he closed the door, then moved to stand behind his desk.

      Esme reached for the switch on the ceramic Christmas tree.

      “I’d prefer that you didn’t turn it on,” Zach said.

      Her hand stilled, then dropped to her side. “Sorry.”

      “What can I do for you, Ms. Sinclair?” Zach asked.

      “Not a thing. I’m going to do something for you. I know that you want to immediately eliminate what you termed the fluffy sections of the magazine, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible, at least for the next three issues.”

      Zach’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

      “I have a young lady in my office who’s written two very fine articles for us recently. I bought them in an attempt to expand our audience among younger readers and the sales figures have gone up accordingly. This morning, before I was informed of your appointment, I had her sign a contract to provide us with three more articles. Her proposal is right here and I’ve also included copies of her other articles. I think they all fit