Free L.A. Caveman by Christina Crooks

catlike appeal. Her eyes blazed back
at him, all challenge.
    "Some of us are more evil than
others," he conceded, grinning wickedly.
    "Evil enough to keep men in the dark?
If you stick with your 'theme,' you're showing your readers only
the worst part of women." She remained firmly by her guns, he
noticed in admiration.
    "So you admit that women can be
morally vacant? Good. Your feminist inclinations don't blind to you
to the facts."
    "Some! Only some women are morally
vacant. Some men are, too. My perspective as a woman is valid.
Don't you think your readers could learn something coming from me,
from the woman's perspective?"
    He thought about it. He needed an
exciting, man-friendly column. Stanna wanted to burn bras. Maybe a
compromise could be a 'balanced picture' column. He tapped his
fingers on the flimsy white column, thinking about it while
regarding her steadily.
    She returned the gaze, waiting for his
answer. She felt invigorated as she watched him, sensing that his
resolution to mangle her column was becoming less than rock-solid.
The rest of him still fit that description, though, she thought as
she surreptitiously scraped her eyes down his superb male
form.
    There was something about men in jeans
and cowboy boots, especially when they could hold their own in an
intelligent debate, she decided.
    She filed away the information for
future reference. She certainly wouldn't be applying the newfound
knowledge to the hunk in front of her, even if he was managing to
play her libido-strings with a maestro's touch -- without a single
touch.
    He was still silent, his golden-brown
hair falling unruly to his shoulders as he angled his head down.
She remembered the thick, silky feel of it under her hands when
she'd touched him.
    Stop that , she told herself
sternly.
    "Stanna." His voice, decisive. His
next words, curious, shocked her. "What made you distrust men the
way you do?" Seeming to realize what a nosy question it was, he
reluctantly added, "Never mind, you don't have to answer. Right
now, anyway." But he waited another moment before gruffly
addressing her original question.
    "I think the idea of a 'balanced
picture' column is interesting, but it probably wouldn't work
because of your extreme feminism," he continued, blunt. He held his
hands out, palms up in a shrugging What Can I Do pose. "Unless you
make it entertaining to my readers," he emphasized the word
possessively, "it won't fly. But, I'll give you this much: I'll
give you back this week's column for you to change to show me what
you can manage in the way of 'balanced.' If I like it, I'll publish
it. If I don't," he gave her a grim smile, "you won't recognize the
column that gets published, even though 'Stan's' name'll be on
it."
    He extended his arm stiffly and
formally offered her the white packet. She knew it was the offering
of a new "contract" between the two of them, an informal but
nonetheless binding agreement to work together in a new
way.
    She thought about it for long enough
to cause Jake's eyes to flicker with impatience. She made him wait
another few moments just because she could.
    She lifted her arm to accept her
column from Jake, sealing the contract.
    She gave his grim little smile back to
him, her fingers tightening on her unacceptable column. Maybe she’d
gone a bit over the top. She could fix it. She had to try and
reform this man along with all his misguided readers for the sake
of the magazine and, well, for all womankind.
    "I'll have it back to you first thing
Tuesday," she told him, turning to leave.
    "By Monday morning, please," he
corrected uncompromisingly.
    "Yes, boss," she grumbled, taking care
to sound appropriately disgruntled as she wheeled about. He
couldn't see her smile secretively down at her column. She wrote
quickly, and needed mere hours, not days. She wasn't about to let
him know that though, or how much she was growing to look forward
to debating with him.
     
     
    The early evening light turned the
brown carpeting an