Break of Day

by Mari Madison

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Some girl named Anna or something? But whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Like I said, it was a terrible job.” He winked at me and grinned.

  Rage erupted inside me like a volcano. It was all I could do not to punch him in the face. “Do you think this is a joke?” I demanded, my voice cracking with fury. “Do you have any clue what we go through down here—just to catch a break?”

  “Piper—”

  “Yes, it was a crappy job. It was shitty hours and shittier pay. But it was mine. I deserved it. And I’m not going to just stand here and let you make fun of me for wanting it.”

  I stopped, unable to continue. He was looking at me with the strangest eyes. I wanted to turn and run. But at the same time I didn’t think I could go out there—to let everyone see how upset I was. I couldn’t let them witness my defeat.

  I swiped my eyes with my sleeve then reached for a tissue to blow my nose. “I’ve got to go,” I muttered. “I have scripts to deliver.”

  “No,” Asher said quietly, “you don’t.”

  I turned back to him, a bitter taste in my mouth. “What?” I spit out. “Are you firing me, too?” Why not, right? At this point I wasn’t even sure I cared.

  “No,” he said. “I’m promoting you.” A smile played at the corner of his mouth.

  I scowled. “Please don’t. It’s not funny.”

  “Good. Because it’s not a joke.”

  “But Anna Jenkins . . .”

  “Anna Jenkins got a terrible job. You’re getting a better one.”

  Something thudded hard in my chest. “What is it?” I finally managed to say. “Is it . . . a daytime writing job?” My heart picked up its beat. Oh God, if he had really gotten me a daytime writing job . . .

  Asher’s eyes locked on to mine. Those beautiful emerald eyes—blasting full force on my face. “Actually, it’s a producer job,” he said. “From here on out, you’ll be working with me.”

  five

  PIPER

  I stared at him, my mind racing with what he’d just said. What I thought he’d just said, anyway. The words had clearly been English, but I had to have been misinterpreting them somehow. ’Cause there was no way . . .

  A producer job?

  Working with him?

  “I don’t understand,” I blurted out at last, feeling hot and stupid and flustered. “You want me to work with you? As your producer?”

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I probably should have asked you if you were interested before I went to Richard.”

  I swallowed hard, my heart thumping in my chest. He’d asked for me? Asher Anderson had asked for me to be his producer?

  “I don’t have any experience,” I protested. “I know nothing about weather.”

  He waved me off. “You don’t have to. I’m the meteorologist. I just need someone to write scripts for me. To set up shoots. To do all the behind-the-scenes things so I can concentrate on the forecasts themselves. It’s really not rocket science, trust me.”

  I closed my eyes, my head spinning. I didn’t know what to say—what to do.

  “What’s wrong?” Asher asked, looking concerned. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  I exhaled. I was pleased. I was so pleased. Thrilled, in fact. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. A big FU to everyone in the newsroom.

  But did I deserve it? Or was this just Asher taking pity on me? Feeling sorry for me and my pathetic life? Or . . . Suddenly his words from the wedding came raging back to me.

  If I win, I want a date.

  Oh God. Was this all just one big joke? An elaborate scheme to get in my pants? One big game by a guy who didn’t have anything to lose?

  And had it cost me the job I really did deserve?

  Rage flooded through me all over again as my mind treated me to a play-by-play of how it must have gone down. Asher cornering Richard at the wedding after I had left, asking about the job I’d told him I’d wanted. Telling Richard to give it to someone else—because he had other plans for me.

  That bastard. That total fucking bastard.

  “That was my job!” I screamed at Asher, not caring if anyone outside in the newsroom could hear. “Mine! You had no right to—”

  “Uh, Piper? Richard wanted me to find you?”

  I whirled around, shocked to see none other than Anna Jenkins herself, hovering in the office doorway. She gave me a worried look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  I closed my eyes, then opened them again, a vain attempt to restore my sanity. “It’s fine. Thank you. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  Anna nodded and shut the door behind her. I could feel Asher’s eyes on me, watching, waiting. I turned to look at him, sucking in a breath.

  “Piper . . .” he started, but I held up my hand.

  “No,” I said. “Just no.”

  And with that, I headed out of the room, my legs feeling wooden as I crossed the newsroom to Richard’s office. When I reached it, I slumped down in the chair across from his desk, feeling completely defeated. It was funny how a day that had started so well—with so much potential and excitement—had gone downhill so fast. Story of my life, I supposed.

  “What’s wrong?” Richard asked, eyeing me up and down from his seat behind his desk. “You look like someone ran over your pet puppy.”

  I sucked in a breath, trying to calm my voice. Whatever happened, I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t let him know my upset. I had to be professional, even if Asher refused to be.

  “The morning writer job,” I managed to say. “I had hoped . . .” I bit my lower lip. “I had hoped that Gary would give it to me. It usually goes to the most senior production assistant and I’ve been here months longer than Anna. And I’ve been writing a lot of scripts in practice.” I trailed off, knowing I was protesting too much. But what else could I say? I know you gave it to Anna because Asher asked you to. And you can’t exactly go against the wishes of the station’s golden son. That wouldn’t exactly go over too well.

  “Piper, no one doubts your qualifications,” Richard said in a comforting voice. “You’ve been a great employee since you’ve been here. Gary says you’re professional, you come in on time, you do your work without complaining, and you put in overtime whenever we ask. But a far better opportunity has come up.”

  “Yeah, I know. The weather producer job. It’s funny I never saw that one posted on the job boards,” I said, not able to help the sarcastic note in my voice.

  Richard studied me for a moment, then he sighed. “Piper, close the door, please,” he said.

  I reluctantly got to my feet and walked over to the door, shutting it behind me like a scolded child. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to say next, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be good.

  When I returned to my seat, Richard leveled his eyes on me. “Look, I’m going to give it to you straight. Asher is very important to our station. In addition to his mom owning the place, his father was a legend and Asher needs to continue to follow in his footsteps. He’s a legacy. A golden boy. And he’s very good for the ratings,” Richard added with a small snort. “Especially amongst the female demo, if you know what I mean.”

  Oh, I knew what he meant all right. Unfortunately all too well.

  I sighed. “Yeah, but—”

  But Richard wasn’t finished. “Problem is, Asher isn’t exactly the kind of guy who appreciates the good old nine-to-five. He tends to . . . wander. Or show up late. Or some days not at all. And that’s been proving difficult when it comes to putting on a newscast.” He made a face. “Anyone else? We would have fired them a year ago. But we can’t fire Asher.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Must be nice to have that kind of job security.”

  Richard held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. Asher’s a great guy. And he’s a really talented meteorologist like his f
ather. If he put his mind to his work, I know he would be amazing. But getting him to focus . . .” He gave me a knowing look. “Anyway, that’s where you come in.”

  “As his producer,” I concluded.

  “Yes.”

  “And this was his idea?”

  “You were his idea. I’ve been trying to give him a producer for two years now. His mother has, too. She’s at her wits’ end with him. But up until today he’s refused everyone we’ve offered him—even really top candidates,” Richard continued. “So imagine my surprise when I’m sitting in my office, offering Anna Jenkins a writing position, and he bursts in and asks for you.”

  Wait, what? I stared at him, jaw practically on the floor as I digested what he’d just said. Not the part about Asher asking for me to be his producer. But the part where Richard was already giving Anna my job before Asher even came in.

  No. Not my job. I sank back into my chair. Her job. It had never been mine to begin with. And if Asher hadn’t stepped in . . .

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  Richard’s eyes zeroed in on me. “Look, Piper, I’m not going to lie. You’d be employed as a producer. You’d get paid as a producer. But in reality, you take this job and you’re going to be doing a lot of babysitting. Asher’s not easy to work with and it’ll be a thankless job. And probably frustrating as hell.” He shuddered a little, as if thinking about his own encounters with the guy. “Asher is going to do what he wants, when he wants to do it. And most times you’ll just be playing catch-up.”

  I swallowed hard. “And if he changes his mind? If he decides he doesn’t want me after all?”

  Richard didn’t answer at first, staring down at the papers on his desk. “Let’s just hope we never need to discuss that,” he said at last.

  My heart sank a little in my chest. Not that I hadn’t figured that to be his answer. Asher could get rid of me as easily as he had brought me on. No skin off his back. No big deal.

  “I don’t know . . .” I hedged. “Doesn’t sound like much in the way of job security . . .”

  “Maybe not,” Richard agreed. “But it pays forty a year.”

  I stared at him, trying to keep my jaw off the floor. Forty thousand a year? Holy crap. Was he serious?

  For forty a year I could keep my apartment. I wouldn’t even need a roommate anymore. I could get my mom out of that crime scene of a trailer park and move her somewhere safe. Heck, I might even get to see a dentist once a year.

  Forty thousand a year. To be someone’s babysitter and pad my resume in the process? Yes, freaking please.

  “I’ll take it,” I blurted out. Because really, what choice did I have?

  Richard smiled. He held out his hand. “All right then,” he said. “Guess Asher has himself a producer.” We shook and he rose to his feet, escorting me out the door. “Congratulations,” he said as I stepped across the threshold. “And good luck.”

  And as I walked away I could hear him mutter, just before he shut the door, “You’re going to need it.”

  six

  ASHER

  We need to talk.”

  I looked up to see Piper enter the weather center, a frown pasted on her freckled face. I stifled a groan.

  Here we go again.

  Seriously, I was already regretting sticking out my nose to help her. Once again stepping in and playing knight in shining armor to an unwilling damsel in distress. A role that we’d already established was totally not me.

  Also, it was one thing to come to her rescue at a wedding. Quite another to tether myself to her long term. After all, I’d spent the last two years trying to convince Richard and my mother that I didn’t need a producer. And then here I was, going and actually offering them the perfect candidate on a silver platter. Hell, I might as well have walked into the news director’s office and slapped my balls down on his desk, asking to be snipped like some horny dog. Stuck my neck out, begging for a leash and a collar.

  “Hey, Red,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and casual as, at the same time, I attempted to keep my eyes from raking over her body from head to toe. I had to admit, she may have been a leash, but goddamn was she a good-looking one. Even without the slinky bridesmaid’s dress that I couldn’t get out of my head all last night.

  Truth be told, Piper was a far cry from my normal “type”—which usually consisted of waifish California blondes with daddy issues and big fake boobs. At the same time, she was also a convincing argument that my normal type was vastly overrated.

  Case in point, today she was wearing a boxy suit that seemed to be working overtime to hide those soft curves of hers. But damn if my memory didn’t fill in the blanks just the same. After all, a visual like yesterday’s dress didn’t just fade away overnight.

  And then there were those windblown copper curls of hers, now constrained with an elastic band on top of her head. It was all I could do not to cross the room and tug on that band, freeing them to tumble down her back in the soft waves I remembered from the wedding.

  But the expression on her face stopped me from making that mistake. Her brown eyes, flashing fire, her luscious pink mouth set in a distinct frown.

  “Don’t call me Red,” she snapped at me. “My name is Piper and if we’re going to be coworkers we need to start acting professional around one another.”

  A smile crept to my lips. Her ferocity was adorable to say the least. “So does that mean you took the job?” I asked, unable to keep the teasing lilt out of my voice this time.

  “Of course I did,” she growled, giving me an annoyed scowl. As if she were having a hard time admitting defeat. “What choice did I have?” she added, turning away and biting her lower lip in a way that was way too sexy to be work appropriate. “And . . . thank you,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry?” I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

  She glared at me and I had to stifle a laugh. “Thank you,” she repeated louder. She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed heavily. “And I’m sorry about before. I just thought . . . I mean, I assumed . . .” She trailed off, looking miserable.

  “You thought I sabotaged your chance to get the other job so I could have you all to myself,” I concluded. “Aw, Red. That’s so sweet. But sadly not true.”

  She nodded stiffly, scrubbing her face with her hands. “I know. I gathered that,” she said in a quiet, almost defeated voice. “God, I feel like such an idiot.”

  The smirk slid from my face. I walked over and sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. The gesture was instinctual and was only meant to be friendly, but she stiffened under my touch all the same. I held up my hands in apology and scooted the chair backward to give her space.

  “You’re not an idiot,” I told her in a firm voice. “They are. I don’t know you very well, but you’re clearly a hard, dedicated worker. And a good writer, too. They should have been begging you to take that crappy overnight job.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes a bit red. “How do you know I’m a good writer?” she spit out, still sounding angry. “Just from that stupid speech?”

  “The speech was good,” I assured her with a small smile. “But your scripts are much better.”

  She stared at me. I grinned, enjoying her shocked expression. “What? They were all on the server. Those dummy scripts you wrote for Gary? I logged in last night after the wedding and read through them.”

  “You . . . did?” she said, her eyes wide and astounded. “You read my scripts?”

  “What did you think? I made you a producer out of pity? Not a chance. I had to make sure you’d make me look good on air before I took you on. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.” I waggled my eyebrows at her, smiling.

  The look on her face, the relief in her eyes, tore at something inside of me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue. “The truth is, Richard has been after me abo
ut a producer for a long time now. My mom, too. And if I’m going to be forced to have one anyway, I want it to be someone I picked, not them. And so I picked you. Not because I felt sorry for you—trust me, I am way too much of a selfish bastard for that—ask anyone here.

  “I picked you because, well, to be completely frank, I think you want it more than anyone else here. I saw the look in your eyes when you talked about that promotion back at the wedding. That passion, that hunger.” I trailed off, my eyes drifting to the framed photo of my father hanging on the wall above my desk. My mind flashed back to the days when I had felt that passion, too. That pride of following in his footsteps.

  Until I’d learned the truth.

  I could feel Piper watching me with curious eyes. I shook my head, pushing the memories away before turning to face her again. “Look, I don’t want you to feel as if you have no choice but to work with me. If you want, I’ll go down to Richard right now and tell him I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take Anna Jenkins as my producer and you can have the job you originally wanted.”

  She froze, staring up at me, an astonished look on her face. “You’d . . . do that?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  I nodded. “I wouldn’t want to, though,” I added, quickly. “I mean, no offense, but this Anna chick seems like a bit of a ditz. But I would. If it was what you wanted.” I met her eyes with my own. “You’ve worked hard, Piper. You deserve to get what you want.”

  She dropped her gaze to her lap, staring down at her hands. She wrung them together and I could practically see the gears in her head whirring. I held my breath, waiting for her reply as the silence stretched out between us.

  Finally she looked up. She met my eyes with her own—large and endless pools of dark chocolate, full of gratitude, excitement, and a bit of fear. I bit my lower lip, forcing myself to keep her gaze.

  “I guess the real question is,” I said slowly, “how do you feel about fish tacos at seven AM?”