I Know Who Hold Tomorrow

by Francis Ray

  “I have a drawerful.” He glanced down the hall. “If Manda is sleeping late, why don—t you go back to bed? I can grab a bite on the way to the first site.”

  “You—re probably itching to see her. Go on. I—ll start breakfast.”

  Zachary went down the hall and into the bedroom. He saw the unmade bed and his thoughts went into an entirely different direction. Rubbing his hand over his face, he looked into the crib at the sleeping child. Much safer than thinking about the woman.

  Positive his feelings were under control, he went into the kitchen. Madison flashed him a smile the moment she saw him. Her hair was tousled, her feet bare, her face free of makeup. She was the most desirable woman he—d ever seen, and if she found out he—d lied to her, she—d hate his guts.

  “Don—t worry. My cooking isn—t that bad,” she teased, on seeing the worry in his face. She sat a stack of pancakes on the table.

  “I—m not.” Taking his seat, he said his blessings and picked up a fork. Instead of eating, he looked at Madison and knew a hunger that no amount of food could satisfy.

  He left immediately after breakfast, but all day his thoughts kept straying back to Madison. The next day wasn—t any better. He fought the attraction, tried to deny the warmth her smile brought him, chastised himself for admiring the lushness of her breasts, for wanting to taste the sweetness of her mouth. Nothing worked. Each time they were together, the need for her grew.

  Looking out the window in his bedroom Thursday night, he felt a loneliness, a restlessness that had become achingly familiar to him. He knew the reason. He just wasn—t sure what, if anything, he planned to do about it.

  THIRTEEN

  GORDON CONSIDERED HIMSELF A strong, level-headed man, but when he saw Camille Jacobs waiting for him in the lobby of the station on Friday morning, the sharp slap of lust was totally unexpected and aggravating as hell. He liked nothing about her as a person. But the way she was put together was a different matter altogether. From her long legs to her sleek body encased in a straight black skirt that stopped just below her knees to the way the double-breasted blazer fitted over her high, firm breasts, he liked what he saw and detested himself for it.

  He stopped what he considered a safe distance away. “Ms. Jacobs.”

  “Mr. Armstrong.” Her response was just as abrupt and cool as his had been.

  His gaze strayed to her mouth painted dark and sassy and looking much too tempting. The frown on his face deepened as he tried to figure out why he couldn—t control his growing desire for a woman he disliked.

  Neither spoke, simply stared at each other like two opponents squaring off on opposing sides of the arena.

  “Do you draw a line in the sand or shall I?” she quipped.

  The corner of his mouth tilted upward before he could stop himself. He usually enjoyed a sense of humor in a woman. He didn—t want to appreciate anything in Camille Jacobs.

  He handed her the sheet of paper he carried. “This is a list of people who work on The Madison Reed Show, their title, and general location. All have been advised of your coming.”

  She tilted her head. “Advised or warned?”

  “In your case, it—s the same.” She had a mole on the corner of her mouth. It wasn—t difficult to fantasize about running the tip of his tongue over it, then into her lush, waiting mouth. “I believe you—ve already met Robert Howard. He—ll show you around the studio,” he said, indicating the young college student standing directly behind her.

  “Yes, his was the first friendly face I—ve seen.”

  Gordon—s mouth tightened. “If you—ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”

  “I—ll be generous and excuse you for both reasons.”

  He noticed the anger in her brown eyes and clamped down on a sudden need to comfort. “I beg your pardon?”

  “That—ll be the day.” With a curt nod, she walked away.

  Gordon—s gaze followed, somehow dipping to the enticing sway of her rounded hips. He snarled. There should be some unwritten rule that social workers couldn—t have bodies like that.

  She stopped and looked back. “You coming?”

  He blinked, trying to figure out if her comment was as sexual as he thought it was when the young intern he had assigned to show her around rushed forward. The college student practically tripped over his feet in his eagerness to get to her.

  “Yes, Ms. Jacobs, I—m sorry.”

  Despite the annoyance she felt at Gordon, she smiled at the nervous young man. “No harm done, Robert. I believe Kurt Owens, the set director, is first on the list. If you—ll lead, I—ll follow.”

  He nodded eagerly and rushed off. Camille followed and, feeling Gordon—s gaze on her again, she added just a dash of sass to her walk, wishing she could look over her shoulder to see his reaction.

  Stiff-necked jerk. But he was a good-looking one. And it irritated her to no end that she was bothered by his low opinion of her. But she—d do her job. To do less was unconscionable.

  Louis Forbes knew how to work an interview and he had chosen his interviewer well.

  Helen Bass wanted what Madison Reed had, and was willing to do whatever it took to get it. Her show was falling in the ratings and there was talk of cancellation or worse—in Helen—s competitive opinion— replacement. If she could get a scoop on Madison, it would be a Feather in her cap. And if that information was detrimental in some way, so much the better.

  The station bigwigs were nervous that Madison might leave at the end of the year. After Wcs—s death their nervousness had increased. To Helen—s disgust, Madison—s popularity had grown. She wished Madison would disappear off the face of the earth and, of course, Helen could be her replacement. She couldn—t see why everyone Fell all over themselves for Madison, anyway. Helen knew she was much more attractive and wittier.

  The program manager just kept sticking her with lousy guests. Today would be different. For once they agreed, for different reasons of course, to have Louis on live instead of the taped segment of her at a boring literacy read-in with elementary school children. How was that going to help ratings?

  “It—s always tragic when death strikes anyone as talented and young as Wes Reed. He—ll he missed and Madison is devastated,” Helen said, with just the right amount of sorrow and pity, “I, for one, hope this won—t affect her decision to remain in our midst.”

  Louis sat across from Helen and almost clapped his hands in glee as she gave him his opening, “Madison—s future is secure whatever her decision, but that—s not her main concern at the moment.”

  “It isn—t?” Helen leaped like a frog on a fly.

  “No. It—s Manda.”

  “Manda?” Helen was unable to hide her surprise. “Who—s that?”

  Louis, against all rules of interview, looked straight into the eyes of the cameras and saw the owner of KGHA in Chicago give him a blank check for Madison. “Manda is the nine-month-old infant Madison who, despite her grief, has assumed guardianship of. Just as Wes Reed gave his life to save the mother, Madison is giving the motherless infant the same selfless love and devotion. The legacy of love continues. Two more braver and compassionate souls never lived.”

  Helen tried valiantly not to show her anger, and some viewers might not have seen it past their own shock. At the moment she didn—t care. Louis, the prick, had set her up. All she could try to do was salvage what was left. “I—m sure the viewers feel the same as I do. We all send our prayers and well wishes out to Madison and Manda. That—s all for Noon Day. Please join us tomorrow,”

  With jerky movements Helen undipped the mike from the lapel of her fuchsia-colored Albert Nipon suit and dragged out the wire. She—d bought a new suit just to be dumped on. She could chew nails.

  “Is your mike off?” Louis asked.

  Tight-lipped, she considered leaving it on, but something in Louis—s eyes had her switching it off. “Yes.”

  “Work with me on this and when Madison leaves for Chicago, guess who will be my new clien
t who—ll take her place?”

  Helen—s eyes widened. She—d tried for over a year to get Louis to represent her. In certain circles, the agent was just as important as the client.

  “I—ll be in touch.” Taking a cigar out of his silver case, he stuck it in his mouth and walked off, a smirk on his face. Women were such fools.

  Helen wore the same smirk. Louis Forbes wasn—t the type of man to be generous. There was more going on here than met the eyes. If it involved Madison Reed, Helen was going to make it her business to find out. Louis Forbes wouldn—t catch her off guard again.

  Angrier than he had been in recent memory, Gordon came out of his office at a fast clip. Co-workers, eternally thankful that he didn—t stop to speak with them, hurriedly moved out of his path as he made his way downstairs to the first floor where the set for Noon Day was located. He had left his office the instant he—d seen Louis Forbes—s smug face. He hadn—t expected whatever the weasel had to say to be good. Unfortunately, he—d been right.

  Rounding the corner, he saw the agent heading toward the lobby. “Forbes!” The name was like the crack of a rifle.

  People turned, saw Gordon—s face, then quickly decided they had business elsewhere. Forbes looked over his shoulder, saw Gordon and had the good sense to hasten his steps toward the front door. It didn—t do any good. Gordon easily caught up with him, and drew him into a narrow alcove.

  “What the hell were you thinking doing an interview on Madison and Manda?”

  Louis didn—t like the sudden perspiration under his arms any more than he liked Gordon Armstrong. He liked it even less that he was afraid. He had fought hard never to know fear again. “How I handle my clients— affairs is none of your business.”

  “It is when your client happens to work for me and you use a show at this station to further your own selfish career,” Gordon said.

  “I—ve done no such thing,” Louis denied, trying to ignore the sweat sliding from his underarms. “What Madison—s done for this child is to be commended.”

  “And it never occurred to you that it would sway public opinion toward her and possibly increase her marketability and thus fatten your bank account?”

  Louis managed to look appalled. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  Gordon—s eyes narrowed, then he smiled and told Louis exactly what he thought in explicit, crude language.

  The agent—s eyes bugged. “I don—t have to stand here and take this.” He tried to push Gordon and found him immovable.

  “Hear me good, Louis. Let it alone. Madison has enough to deal with without you making her caring for Alanda a publicity stunt.” Gordon leaned closer. “The social worker is no fool. You mess this up for Madison and you—ll answer to me.”

  “I can handle the social worker.” Louis waved his pudgy hand dismissively.

  “You—re not only arrogant, you—re stupid if you believe that.” Gordon stepped aside. “Don—t let me see you here again unless you—ve cleared it with me first.”

  “You can—t keep me out of here,” Louis railed.

  Gordon crossed his arms. “We both know I can. When it comes to Madison—s welfare, whose side do you think the boss will take?”

  Doubt flickered in the other man—s dark, shifting eyes. “Madison knows I—m working on her behalf.”

  “You don—t even believe that lie yourself. Now get out of my sight.”

  Louis turned to leave, then abruptly faltered as he saw Camille Jacobs, eyes narrowed and obviously angry, a few feet away. He quickened his steps, nodding, but not making eye contact as he passed.

  Gordon had seen angry women before, but none that seemed to seethe. Slowly he walked toward her as if he were approaching a live bomb.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For what?” he asked, although he already had a pretty good idea.

  “For not thinking I—m as stupid as Mr. Forbes thinks.”

  “Louis thinks he—s superior to everyone.” She sidestepped to let two women pass, and moved closer to Gordon. His gaze centered on the little mole, then her enticing mouth again.

  Camille found drawing in air difficult and wasn—t sure if she was ready to admit the cause. She stepped back, hoping that would help. It didn—t. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Armstrong. I—m finished interviewing.”

  “So you won—t be back?”

  “No.” She wanted to believe she heard regret in his voice, but she knew better. He wanted her gone. “The people I interviewed had nothing but high marks for Ms. Reed,” she said. “No one I spoke with seemed particularly surprised by her helping the child. Ms. Reed has a reputation for helping others in need. Although I—m not particularly pleased with the way the announcement was handled.”

  Gordon—s mouth tightened. “Madison had nothing to do with that!”

  “Have you spoken with her to know that for a fact?”

  “I don—t have to,” he snapped. “I know Madison. At the moment she just wants peace and quiet. She won—t get it after today. Nothing the media likes better than a tragedy.”

  “Perhaps it—s best she—s tested now instead of later?” Camille mused.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The media attention and how it affects her care of Manda will now be in the open and tested,” she explained. “If it—s too much, she can give up the child before either becomes attached to the other.”

  Gordon—s gaze cooled. “For a moment I forgot who I was speaking with. I—m sure you can find your way out. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” Camille walked away, feeling adrift. Not for the first time, she had been judged by a man she found attractive and was found woefully lacking.

  A little after one, Madison sat in her office, writing thank-you notes. She—d dreaded the task, but had finally made herself sit down and start. Manda was asleep two doors down in her bedroom and the intercom was on so Madison could hear her when she woke up.

  She had yet to get completely over the scare Manda had given her Tuesday morning, but it had made Madison stop thinking only of herself. She could wallow in self-pity and anger or she could get on with her life. She still wasn—t sure if keeping the baby was best for either of them but, while Manda was in her care, Madison planned on doing the best job possible.

  Pausing, Madison stared at the small photo of her parents on her desk. Since it appeared Manda would be with her for a while, she—d finally called them that morning and told them the abbreviated version of her assuming temporary guardianship of Manda. Always in her corner, her parents had immediately offered their support. Madison had known they would, just as Dianne had when she called, offering words of advice and horror stories of her rambunctious two at nine months old.

  Madison listened, hearing the love and pride in her sister—s voice. By the time Madison had finished both phone calls, she was feeling lighter than she had in days. The grief, the anger, the sense of betrayal were still there, but they weren—t as sharp.

  The phone calls had accomplished something else: it made Madison aware of how good it felt to have family. Manda and her great-aunt were alone. How much worse would Madison feel if she didn—t have anyone she could turn to?

  Oddly, Zachary—s face popped into her mind. Leaning back in her chair she considered the reason. He was pushy. But even as he pushed, he held out a hand to hold and offered a shoulder to lean on. He obviously cared about Manda and seemed to care about Madison. Family was certainly important to him. She could tell when he talked about his mother and stepfather, whom he referred to as “Daddy.” Yes, family was important.

  So how was Manda—s great-aunt doing? Madison mused. Nursing-home reputations varied. Was she being cared for? Did she have friends who visited and made her life brighter? She had to be going through a hard time with losing her niece and not being able to care for the child. She might not have even been able to attend the funeral, either.

  Rocking back in the chair, Madison faced another hard fact. She hadn—t wanted
to think of the great-aunt, other than as a source of information on Manda—s mother.

  The sad truth was she—d been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she hadn—t considered the elderly woman and what the loss had meant to her. Just as she hadn—t wanted to consider Manda. Madison hadn—t known she could be that rigid or self-righteous. Was that what had sent Wes to another woman?

  Her eyes shut and she pushed the thought away. Going down that road again would solve nothing. The reasons didn—t matter. The results wouldn—t change: the child would still be parentless and in her care. Madison just had to figure out what to do with her, and make a decision as to what she planned to do with her own life from this point on.

  The chime of the doorbell coincided with the ringing of the phone. Grateful for once for the interruption, Madison glanced at the caller ID. With a smile on her face she picked up the cordless receiver and rose to answer the intercom. “Hi, Gordon.”

  “Did you watch Helen—s show today?”

  Madison tensed. Her hand paused inches from the intercom. The other time Gordon had been abrupt with her, she hadn—t liked what he had to say. “No. What happened?”

  “Louis was on, discussing your assuming temporary guardianship of Manda.”

  Her grip on the phone tightened. “I didn—t give him permission to do that!”

  Gordon asked. “Like that would stop Louis.”

  Madison wrapped her free arm around her waist. “I didn—t want this to get out any more than it already had. The station was bad enough.”

  “I know,” he said quietly, then added, “Camille Jacobs was at the station at the time. She heard the entire interview.”

  It couldn—t have been worse. Madison sank to the corner of her desk. “She probably thinks I set the entire thing up. She wasn—t very impressed with me the first day we met.”

  “She has a suspicious mind, but she—s finished at the studio and we won—t be seeing her again. Everyone gave you high marks.”

  Madison wasn—t surprised. She—d always had a good working relationship with her crew. They—d helped make the show a success as much as she had. She told them that often, then backed up her words with incentives she gave out monthly. “It—s a good thing she didn—t interview Helen.”