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“I haven’t a clue.” I shrugged.
“What does Alastair have to say about that? He did make you move here and take that job.”
I stopped short and gave her a look. “First of all, he didn’t make me move here. I wanted to. Second, I took the job because I thought it would be a great stepping stone for my career.”
“Okay, okay. PMS.” She put her hands up in retreat. “I suppose it’s convenient that he has dual citizenship if he wants to relocate and work out of the New York office though, right?”
“I don’t know if he’ll do that. It’s not really something we’ve ever talked about.”
“Keep the option open,” she said, pushing through the revolving doors. “What are you doing tonight? Come over and hang out until Alastair gets back from London. I’ll be home alone.”
“Um, sure. I don’t know what time he’s coming back though.” Or if he is.
“Then leave him a love note and tell him you’re at my place, naked and tied up on the couch.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “So you either want him to think he’s walking into an orgy or I’ve been kidnapped?”
Stephanie laughed good and loud as we waltzed through the lobby toward the elevators. “I suppose I should have worded that better. What time do you go off the air again?”
“Six. Unless I royally screw up and they throw up bars and tone in the first segment.”
“You’ll be amazing,” she smiled. “Come by the townhouse whenever. I’ll order Chinese.”
More magical words had never been spoken. I could already picture myself diving into a carton of egg rolls and shrimp lo mein. At some point I should really get back into my jogging routine. To say I’d been lazy since moving here was an understatement. Then again, I’ve more than made up for the lack of jogging with bedroom activities.
“I’ll be there with bells on,” I said as the doors swished open.
“Fabulous. Oh, and call your mother,” she yelled over her shoulder walking out of the elevator.
* * *
“Lia.” Meredith burst through the door breathless and flushed. “Julian is on his way. He wants more time for the interview.”
“We’re stacked pretty heavy,” I smiled, amused at her blatant fear of the man. If she wanted a career in television she’d have to shore up her intimidation factor and face these people with more confidence. “Tell him no.”
She paled and ran out. Seconds later Julian strolled in.
“Lia,” he smiled. “Love, I need an extra five minutes.”
“Five?” He must be drunk.
“Yes, five. We only have three in the segment. It was originally longer and I don’t see any scenario that will enable me to accomplish my interview in a responsible, informative manner that doesn’t include an additional five minutes.”
“So, you want to subject the viewing public to eight minutes of you and Brent Garrison?” I rolled my eyes. “No offense but neither one of you are that interesting. Besides, he’s only here to promote himself and his real estate accomplishments.”
“I’ve already looked at the next segment. There are stories in there you can bump or kill or whatever,” he said, ignoring my remarks. To humor him, I scrolled through the rundown as he continued to butter me up with flowery language and pearly white smiles. He even worked in a brief shoulder massage. There were a couple of stories I could shuffle and one I could bump to next week. I managed to finagle them without destroying the program’s flow.
“I can give you an extra two but that’s it. Don’t waste the time.”
Julian grinned triumphantly. “You’re an angel.” He rubbed his hands together and left with just as much zeal as when he entered. Leaning back in my chair, I sighed. Meredith appeared at my door, looking unsure of herself.
“Come on in,” I grinned.
“You handle him so well. I wouldn’t know what to say because he’s always talking so fast and moving from one topic to another.”
“He’s all bluster. I’ve learned over the years to let them spout off whatever they feel is so important to say and then tell them what’s actually going to happen. Being straightforward and firm with them will get you far. It all comes with time.”
Meredith flopped onto the chair in front of my desk. Conservatively dressed in a tan pencil skirt and dark blue blouse, she looked the part of a hopeful network employee; her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, stylish glasses rested on her nose and her gorgeous mocha complexion glowed. She didn’t wear much make up, just a little gloss on her lips and a touch of mascara to bring out her round, dark brown eyes. She was unassumingly pretty with a shy, quiet way about her.
“Did the files I dropped off on Monday help with preparing for Mr. Garrison’s interview?”
“Absolutely. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh, good. I’ve done some additional research on him if you need to fill the extra time Julian requested.”
“I’m think I’m all set, unless there’s something else about him I need to know.”
“Well,” she looked down, “he’s gorgeous.” The blush that stained her cheeks was vibrant.
“I meant anything professionally.”
Laughing nervously, she fidgeted with her skirt. “He’s very charming, intelligent, direct and to the point.” She thought for a second. “He rarely does interviews like this. I suspect that’s why Julian is so excited.”
In all of my encounters with Brent he’d seemed quite outgoing and not opposed to being the center of attention. Or maybe that was just when Alastair was around and he felt the urge to needle him whenever possible.
“You’re exactly his type, you know,” she continued. “He’s only thirty-two and you’re what, twenty-seven? He’ll probably ask you out.”
“I’m actually in a serious relationship,” I said, twisting my ring.
“I’m sorry. That’s right. You’re engaged to Alastair Holden.” Her blush deepened. “I shouldn’t be talking about this at work anyway.”
* * *
‘Hurry up and wait’ should be painted in large letters on walls in every single newsroom and television studio in the world. Sure, the hectic times were insane but for the most part, we waited. We still had about an hour and a half before going live so I decided to see what Julian was up to. He was relaxing and reading through scripts when I popped into his office for a brief meeting.
“You are becoming the toast of the town,” he announced, swiveling his monitor so I could see the photos of me from the coffee shop that had been posted online. One caption in particular made me cringe: HOLDEN’S AMERICAN ARM CANDY WINS THE DIAMOND
“Everyone wants to know about you. These idiots don’t know how to handle a story of this magnitude. I say we do an exclusive with you next week—d”
“Stop right there,” I interrupted. “Hell will freeze over before I say one word to the media about my relationship. It’s not for sale and it’s not a story. People will get bored with me soon enough when they realize—”
“They will never tire of Alastair Holden. Don’t you understand? He’s the golden child of a billion dollar media empire who also happens to have one of the most tragic back stories I’ve ever heard. People are fascinated by him. They can’t get enough of him because he’s so goddam private. You’re their window into his life. Just think of the—s”
I stormed out before he could finish. What an ass. I expected photographers to jump out at me and strangers to stare but not my own co-workers. Fuming, I locked myself in my office. A silver piece of paper caught my attention. The invitation.
Grabbing it, I glared at Olivia’s name. To think I had to fake pleasantries with her brother in a little while gave me a headache. I could handle it though. I’d been in worse situations.
After my mood cooled off, I spent the final thirty minutes before the show went on the air in the control room. It was the heart and soul of any working station. Monitors covered an entire wall, all of them glowing with moving images. A massive board of lights and levers blinked, waiting for the technical director to give them a press or a pull. Of course, a giant digital clock ominously ticked the minutes away as a reminder for me and everyone else to remain on time. I found my seat, said my hellos and plugged in my headset to listen to the pre-show chatter between the director and his crew.
Once the opening music sounded and the final countdown given, I was in full-on producer mode. Robbie sat to my left, diligently working.
During a pre-packaged piece toward our final segment, I noticed the floor director motion for someone to walk on set. I watched curiously as Brent moved into view. I hadn’t seen him since our unexpected meeting at dinner in New York. Tall, broad shouldered and, yes, handsome, he made his way to the chair. Piercing, hazel eyes darted around the set as he waited to get mic’d up. Wavy chocolate brown hair framed his angular face. There was no hard edge to him, no hidden agenda, just a powerful energy that radiated off him.
“Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Garrison. I appreciate it,” Julian greeted him with a smile.
“My pleasure. I hope I can enlighten your audience.”
Hearing his rich Scottish accent come through my headset caught me off guard. I’d only ever talked to him at a normal, human distance. This seemed a little too intimate for a guy who despised my fiancé. Shaking off the weird feeling, I glanced at the clock. The show was coming back live in one minute and I needed to focus.
“Okay, Julian. We’re coming up on you cold in sixty. You have three minutes, then toss to the package.”
“Thanks, Lia. Oh, be sure either you or Robbie get in my ear when we’re thirty away. I don’t want our guest to be cut off mid thought.”
“Will do.”
Robbie nodded in my direction to signal he’d take care of the timing.
“That was Steve Berman reporting. We’re pleased to be joined now by Brent Garrison, owner and CEO at Summit Enterprises. Good evening, Mr. Garrison. Thanks for being here.”
“Mr. Archer.” He nodded politely.
The two men chatted about the changing climate in the real estate industry and how it was affecting jobs in the city.
“Have any of your properties suffered due to the sluggish economy?”
“Not at all,” Brent answered. “Fortunately, people still enjoy going out on occasion even though they’ve tightened their belts, so to speak. I look forward to opening a few more establishments in the coming year. New businesses mean more jobs.”
I sort of zoned out a little during their interview. Finances, business plans and all that weren’t my cup of tea. When Julian tossed to the package on job growth in Glasgow and throughout Scotland I made a mental note that we’d be off the air in less than ten minutes.
“Lia,” Julian’s voice floated through my headset.
“Yes?”
“How much longer is this?”
“One-thirty.”
“How does it look from in there?”
“Fantastic. You’re doing a great job. Although…”
“What? Although what?”
“Your tie is crooked.”
“Bloody hell,” he grumbled. “Jim, punch me up on two.”
Julian preened and fixed his tie while staring into the monitor mounted beneath camera two. Robbie cued him at ten seconds for the remainder of his interview.
“You founded Summit at such a young age and broke out onto the business scene rather quickly. To what do you credit your success?”
“Success is subjective. I look at where am I now and think there’s always room for improvement. But I do credit the success I’ve had so far to my dedicated team at Summit and to the support of my family.”
“You’re constantly listed with other notable young businessmen in Great Britain, including Alastair Holden. Obviously your background is quite different from his but do you see his success as something you’d like to emulate?”
I sat immobile, clutching a pen. That question wasn’t listed on our sheet of talking points. Sneaky bastard.
Brent smiled slightly. “As you said, our backgrounds are quite different. I wasn’t born into an established, worldwide conglomerate but I can certainly appreciate how he’s contributed to the ever-changing atmosphere of the media industry.”
“Tragic childhood aside, he’s had it pretty easy when it comes to his career. Do you see your success as more satisfying because you weren’t handed a company like he was?”
It took every ounce of my strength not to leap out of the chair and run into the studio. Livid was too weak of a word to describe what I was. This is what he wanted the extra time for? Ass.
“Now Julian, we all work hard at what we do,” Brent answered smoothly. “Nobody’s success is more satisfying than another’s. Alastair Holden is a smart and savvy businessman. Being handed a company or building one from the ground up has no bearing on whether or not one’s success is more deserved.”
Breathing out slowly I was thankful and more than a little shocked at Brent’s diplomatic answer. When the interview concluded and the show went off the air at six, I relaxed.
“Great show, Lia,” Robbie said, patting me on the shoulder. “I could tell you were caught off guard by those last couple of questions. Not many people would have handled that with such grace.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” I muttered, rising to my feet. Visions of Julian being catapulted toward the sun put an extra spring in my step as I walked into the studio. Brent stood just to the left of the desk, waiting patiently to have his lavalier mic removed. A broad smile curved his mouth.
“Hello, Lia.”
“Hi, Brent.”
“I heard you’d started working here. How’s it going so far?”
“Fine.” I plastered on a fake smile. “Thanks for coming in for the interview. You did a great job.”
He shrugged, fixing his suit jacket once the mic was removed. “Interviews are generally boring. I could recite all that in my sleep.” He angled toward me. “Those last questions were Archer’s way of goading me. Regardless of my history with your boyfriend, I hope you know I’d never embarrass him or myself like that in the press.”
His admission came as a surprise. Nodding, I thanked him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to me.
“If you ever get tired of Julian, give me a call. I’m always looking to add good talent to my media relations team.”
I took the card and stuck it in my notebook. Standing here chatting with him like it was no big deal felt weird.
“I’m having a few people over to my place tonight. You and Alastair should come. I’ve already invited some of the staff at Finley’s, so your friend Stephanie will be there. Nice seeing you, Lia.”
More than a little suspicious at his invitation, I thanked him again. Tonight? Stephanie didn’t say anything about this earlier. I decided to text her after I dealt with Archer. He was still at the anchor desk, writing intently and ignoring my presence. Laying my hand on the paper, I blocked his furious scribbling. He looked at me with a noticeable level of dread.
“If you ever pull a stunt like that again without telling me, I will sound a foghorn into your IFB. Are we clear?”
The right corner of his mouth ticked up. “It wasn’t intentional. Lots of people have thought the same thing.”
“Leave Alastair out of your on-air curiosities unless he’s sitting in front of you. And even then, keep your mouth shut.”
“You are fiery,” he assessed, leaning toward me. “And protective. That’s admirable.”
