Private affairs : a novel by Judith Michael

very

    neatly, trying to keep down the fear spreading through her. "What do you think we should do?"
    He shrugged and began pacing again. In a minute he stopped beside her where she perched on the corner of his desk. "Hold on," he said, and took her face between his hands. "This is both of us, remember? The whiz kids who are going to do everything together. So let me ask you: can two smart, talented, mature, ambitious people replace one crude, thoughtless, probably inept bastard?"
    Elizabeth gave a small laugh and she brought Matt's face to hers and kissed him. "If you're willing to be half a managing editor, I'm willing to be the other half."
    "Top or bottom?" he grinned, sitting beside her.
    "Anything you say." She became thoughtful. "But if I'm features editor and half a managing editor—"
    "Not much time for eating and sleeping. About the same as my being the other half, plus editor-in-chief."
    "And publisher," Elizabeth added. "But I was thinking about my column. I was going to start it in a couple of weeks."
    There was a pause. "It's going to have to wait," Matt said.
    She was silent. It had waited sixteen years. "Not for long," he went on, with more assurance than he felt. "As soon as we know what we're doing around here, we'll hire a new managing editor. I'll tell you what," he went on when she still said nothing. "We'll set a deadline. Two months. You'll be writing your column in two months, if I have to raid the New York and Chicago newspapers to find someone."
    Elizabeth smiled faintly. "More likely the University of New Mexico Journalism School; that's all we can afford. It's all right, Matt, I can wait." Through the glass wall, they saw the staff coming in, moving restlessly about the large room, making coffee, perching on the edges of chairs, glancing covertly or openly at Matthew and Elizabeth Lovell: their new bosses.
    "They're nervous," Elizabeth said. "I wonder if they know we are too."
    Matt stood. "As long as we're calm, confident, knowledgeable, and in control, everything will be fine."
    She laughed. "You take control; I'll sit back and admire you. I think that's what they expect of a woman. Forward," she added, echoing Matt from the night before, and they went out to greet their staff.
    Since the Chieftain had been sold, its fifteen staff members had been speculating about Matt, whom none of them knew, and Elizabeth, whose byline they'd seen for years in their rival newspaper. "And she's good," they said. "Good writer. But what she's like to work for . . . and what

    he's like . . . what the hell does a printer know about running a newspaper?"
    The previous management had been a disaster, but that didn't mean they were ready to welcome new owners with open arms, and when they took a look at the young couple walking out of Matt's office, the older ones looked at each other and shook their heads. She was a stunner; nobody that gorgeous was serious about hard work. And he had a long stride and confident air that meant he probably was stubborn. So they were cool and watchful when Matt introduced himself and Elizabeth, and they listened in silence as he described their backgrounds and their determination to make the Chieftain as big as its rival, the Examiner, and then bigger.
    "I want to hear your problems and suggestions," he said. "But first you ought to know that Ned Engle has resigned as managing editor"—he waited for the flurry of comments to die down—"and until we hire a new one, Elizabeth and I will handle that job."
    "Handle it?" asked Herb Kirkpatrick, gray-bearded with fierce eyebrows to match. "When you've never worked on a real paper before? Do you have a step-by-step manual?"
    "Shut up, Herb." The lines in Barney Kell's face deepened in a scowl. "It isn't their fault; they didn't fire him. Did you?" he asked Matt, suddenly anxious.
    "No. We asked him to stay. He said he would. And then quit. By letter."
    "Son of a bitch," Barney said sourly. "Leaving you in the lurch. So how will you do his