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Once they were on their way back to the airport, Cord pulled at the knot in his tie. “Well done—again. How you managed to keep the excitement level up after having put in the long day you did, I don’t know.”
“Not everyone would agree with you. I saw a couple of yawns down there in the graduate pit,” she drawled, fidgeting in her impulse to slide her shoes off of her aching feet.
“I’m pulling rank—you’re not permitted to nitpick yourself tonight. Besides, not everyone is going to grow up to be a rocket scientist or even a hair stylist.”
She would be foolish not to appreciate the compliment, but Hunter had her own grading level for herself. “Yes, but I was judging myself, not the audience.”
“I would expect you to say nothing less modest.” Up front, Lane called ahead to the plane to let them know they were on their way while Cord checked the small refrigerator. “Thirsty? I know the bar in this thing comes stocked with champagne.”
“Water for now, please. I’m as dry as if I read them the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times. I might take a glass of bubbly on the plane if you meant it about feeding me on the way home.”
Hunter eagerly accepted the cool bottle he handed her. As she drank, she glanced out her window to see how much of her surroundings she remembered. It was dark, and traffic was heavy due to other graduation ceremonies in the area. The many parties were adding to the usual congestion for this outer wing of one of the country’s major metropolitan areas. While Hunter had enjoyed herself, she was glad the day was over. The celebrity part of this business drained her of energy as much as flying chiseled at her nerves. She understood the need for it, but it still left her physically and emotionally depleted.
“Please forgive my informality,” she said abruptly, “but I give up. I have to get these off.” She leaned forward and slipped off her shoes.
Cord murmured his approval. “Thank goodness, you’re human after all. I wondered how you managed over fifteen hours in those things. Fred says most of the time you ditch them the minute you slide into your anchor seat.”
“Fred is going to be told that he talks too much,” Hunter replied. But she said it with affection for her producer.
“All of it is praise. He’s almost as crazy about you as my grandfather is. I’m going to suggest to him that he and Tom discuss a behind-the-scenes segment and show what all is involved for you as you prepare for your programs every day.”
“Isn’t TV littered enough with reality shows?” Hunter asked before taking a long swallow of water.
“Yes, but we’re not talking about junk, sex and gossip.” Cord turned halfway in his seat to face her. “Reporting has taken a black eye over the years, and journalists are often disliked and distrusted as much as politicians and lawyers.”
“So you want me to be a cheerleader for the industry? I’ll beg you to fire me first. A better idea would be to put young people on TV to encourage their peers to vote. It’s pitiful that in this day and age more senior citizens are voting than people under the age of twenty-five.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Cord replied. “Maybe we’ll start doing something with local schools. Be careful, you may have just earned yourself more work.”
Hunter saluted him with her bottle. “Believe me, that kind of assignment would be a treat.”
“Because you’re that civic-minded or you like kids as much as you seem to?”
“Both.”
“Do you plan to have your own someday?”
Well, that didn’t take long, she thought. “There you go, diving into personal information again.”
Undeterred, Cord said, “I’ll take that as an affirmative. You all but cooed over your former schoolmates’ pictures of their children.”
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