Chapter 16

It was the day before opening night. To say Lynda was somewhat on edge was like saying Frazz was somewhat relaxed or Colin somewhat dodgy.

"I'm worried about her, Spike," confided Kenny in the corridor of the newsroom. "She's been sitting at her desk all morning, staring into space, biting her pens, her nails and the head off of anyone who goes near her."

"Wow, that is unusual," replied Spike. "Lynda never bites her nails!"

"Help her out, Spike. Take her mind off it," pleaded Kenny. "By fair means or foul!"

"For you, Kenny, anything!" Spike clapped him on the back and entered the newsroom.

"Good morning, ladies!" he called in a deliberately louder tone of voice than normal. "On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the sexiest . . . ah, why waste time? Let's just say I'm a permanent 10 and be done with it!"

This announcement seemed to snap the editor out of her reverie.

"Spike, how is that story on the furniture contract coming along?" she asked abruptly.

"Sofa, so good!" quipped Spike. "Wow, what a night I've had. I'm sure I got a place in a hall of fame somewhere." He yawned and plunked into his chair. "I was doing some serious furniture-related research. You know, armchair, table, bed . . ."

"Spike, can I see you in here?" Lynda was on her feet and, already taking yes for an answer, moving towards the meeting room.

"But the light is so much better in here!" joked Spike to his audience. Lynda stalked to the door and held it open. "Okay, okay. I'm coming."

After drawing the blinds to hoots and whistles from the news team, Lynda paced furiously inside the room.

"Hey, slow down, Boss. There's only a 100,000 mile warranty on that carpet," said Spike. Lynda sat suddenly down at the table. Spike pushed a tin of writing implements towards her.

"Pencil?" he asked. "Calm those nerves?"

Before she even realised what she was doing, Lynda had plucked a pencil from the tin and snapped it in half. She looked down at the fractured pieces in dismay before burying her face in her hands.

"Boss, you gotta relax," he said. "Why did you call me in here anyway? Well, I know why," he smirked, "but you're such a professional! I was sure you wouldn't be thinking of anything like that during work hours! But I'm happy to be wrong."

"What?" Lynda's head shot up.

"All I'm saying is, you're only human," replied Spike.

"Is that what you – if that's what . . ." Lynda spluttered with fury.

"Why else would you pull the blinds down?" asked Spike.

"Spike! I wanted to ask you a very serious, important, work-related question! That's all! Nothing else! There never will be anything else! So please get your mind out of the gutter for once and concentrate on what I was going to ask you!"

"Okay, okay!" Spike held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "What was this serious, important, work-related question you needed to ask me? Here in the meeting room? With the blinds down?"

Lynda stared at him blankly for a moment and then spat "Get out!"

"What?"

"Get out!" Lynda leapt to her feet and stormed out of the room.

"Or you could," said Spike to himself.

Lynda stomped back to her desk and began savagely typing the editorial. What had she been doing all morning? Day-dreaming? There was no time to waste. Her mind was clear again and her words began to flow as they normally did when she was in what Colin called "the Zone". Ugh, Colin! She typed even harder.

Spike emerged from the meeting room, and motioned for Kenny to join him outside.

"Nice work, Spike. I owe you one," said Kenny once they were outside. "You really know how to push her buttons!"

"I wouldn't mind pushing some of her other buttons," replied Spike, winking lavisciously at Kenny. Kenny just grinned, shook his head and wondered if all Americans were as confident and determined as Spike Thomson. Maybe he would benefit from a trip State-side. Or even further afield. Africa, Australia. Something to think about, anyway.