Despite her initial intentions to dislike and distrust the man, he’d been nothing but kind and generous to her, and guilt started to act like a wet blanket on her resolve. Hunter allowed that it was probably fatigue and the news about Mr. Henry’s illness that was compromising her judgment; nevertheless, she relented.
“Maybe. Sometimes…Cord.”
His smile lasted all the way back to the plane.
Hunter had to admit the return flight seemed to go faster than the trip up and allowed that it was more pleasant, as well. She wasn’t even as anxious about flying. The champagne was undoubtedly helping.
When she had reclaimed the seat she’d sat in before, Cord resumed his on the opposite side. She supposed he was being kind again to make it easier for her to avoid looking outside. Plus, it allowed him to get a better view of her legs and bare feet, she concluded, catching him for the fourth time. Several of the crew had remarked about them on various occasions, so she supposed they were decent, and while her fingers might not be polished, her toenails were a cotton-candy pink. Men could get pretty silly about a woman’s painted toenails.
“Are you a Democrat or Republican?” Cord asked from his side of the aisle Hunter did a double take. They had just exhausted the subject of where to get the best Asian takeout in San Antonio while devouring the takeout that Chris had obtained for them. “That’s none of your business. I’m an American first, a journalist second, which ethically speaking means you’re not supposed to be able to tell which way my feelings lean.” Then mischief got the best of her. “Besides, I’m neither. I’m an Independent.”
Cord gestured expansively. “Yet another thing we have in common. Who would have guessed it? What about TV in general?”
His eyes glistened in the subdued cabin light, and Hunter had to blink to keep from becoming transfixed. “I told you, my work leaves me with little time to follow any program with any dedication. I do well to catch movie trailers and keep up with box office statistics, so that I don’t feel entirely clueless with what everyone else is talking about in the hallways or when we have a special guest from the entertainment world stopping by. I’m almost as bad about reading anything that’s fiction on the bestseller lists. My desk and nightstand are stacked with nonfiction.”
“Does that mean you’re also in the dark regarding sports?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor. My mother will tell you that she worried I’d grow up to be a tomboy what with me watching New York Mets games with my father at every opportunity. You probably can name fewer presidents than I can name Texas baseball, football and basketball players.”
Narrowing his eyes, Cord replied, “George Washington.”
“Tony Dimples Romo, Dallas Cowboys.”
“That’s ridiculously easy considering that it’s obvious you have a thing for men with dimples,” Cord scoffed.
“A mere coincidence—and who are you to complain about easy? Just about everyone has to memorize the list of presidents in school. I have to know the games and understand positions to recall players.”
It was almost one in the morning when they approached the San Antonio Airport.
They had fallen into a companionable silence. Hunter was almost comfortable enough to nap.
“You’re exhausted,” Cord said. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll arrange for—”
“Absolutely not.” Sitting forward to stretch her spine and then tilting her head back and forth to get the kinks out, Hunter added, “Did you forget that your grandfather wanted the announcement made about his retirement this morning?”
He dropped his head against the headrest. “You know, I was enjoying myself so much that I did. Maybe that’s a Freudian thing, too, since I’ve been trying not to think about Gramps’s surgery.” Turning to look at her again, he said, “We’re asking a great deal of you.”
“It’s my honor—and I understand completely and sympathize about dreading what’s ahead. I do, as well.” She was glad she was seeing this side of him, some vulnerability. It made her feel less wary about the changes that were inevitable at the station. “I’ll have something drafted by the time I arrive for the morning news. Do you need me to fax it to you at your home or email it to your BlackBerry?”
“Faxing to the house would be great, only because I want to be with him and Lenore when it airs, and this way I can be semi-prepared for the emotional hit and better prepared to help them. You do have a talent for pulling at the heartstrings.”
“Too much emotion?” Hunter asked, immediately worried.
“Perfect. Your sincerity and warmth allows the viewer to feel safe in accepting their own feelings. It’s a wonderful gift.”
Lowering her eyes, Hunter checked the tightness of her seat belt. “Thanks, then I’ll fax it to you as soon as I can.”
“But you should have my email address for your BlackBerry,” Cord added. “And my wireless number. Just in case.”
After she retrieved her BlackBerry to insert the information before Chris came to tell them to shut things down, Cord dictated, and she quickly punched the proper keys. “I guess you should have mine.”
“I already do.”
She couldn’t ignore the subtle tremor that raced through her. It could have been a result of the softness of his voice, almost a caress, or the way he looked at her as though she was that last sip of champagne he’d enjoyed. Intimacy had become unwelcome and foreign to her since Denny, and the cocktail of that concept and Cord Rivers was more intoxicating than the champagne.
“Just in case?” she asked with almost no air in her lungs.
“Of course.”
After they’d landed, and Hunter thanked the crew again, Phil Porter smoothly and efficiently drove them back to the office. After they came to a stop and Hunter had said good-night to Lane and Phil, Cord insisted on walking her to her car.
“Will you let us follow you home so I don’t have to worry about you on the streets alone at this hour?” he asked when they were a few feet from the Cadillac.
It was now two in the morning, but the hour wasn’t too unusual for her. There were often functions she had to attend or some major news story or the elections. “It’s not necessary, really. Besides, since Texas is a concealed-handgun state, I’m licensed. My weapon is locked in here,” she said, tilting her head at the silver Escalade parked in her reserved spot. “Mr. Henry suggested it about a year after I started full-time with the station. There had been a murder of an anchorwoman in another state and it troubled him. I go to the firing range every quarter to keep up my skills.”
“It’s a relief to know you have some protection,” he said, “but I still insist. We’ll be right behind you.”
Although she shook her head, Hunter’s lips curved at the chivalry. “Poor Lane and Phil. Less sleep for them than anyone tonight.”
“They’re well compensated, and right about now, they’re betting each other a crisp Jackson whether I’ll get to ride with you to your place or you keep me locked out of your vehicle.”
“Whoever has figured out that I’m grateful but no pushover or fool wins.” Hunter used her remote to unlock the door. “But thank you again for all you did.”
“Hunter.” Cord waited for her to pause and meet his gaze. “I enjoyed tonight. It’s the first time I felt like myself and not a commodity in—well, I don’t know in how long.”
She supposed he ran into that often being who he was, but even with the planes and limousine, Hunter realized she’d only been thinking of him as her boss—except when she was thinking of him as an extremely charismatic man. Feeling more than a little dazed, she whispered, “Good night,” and sought the escape of the Escalade’s interior.
It was a relief to turn onto her road and then her driveway. The Cadillac had stayed devotedly behind her, but not so close she was blinded by its lights. Phil may have lost or won twenty dollars; however, nothing showed in the way he tailed her. She pulled the car into the garage. It was a greater relief to hit the remote again and have the garage door desc
end behind her. She was not in Cord Yarrow Rivers’s league, and she needed the respite.
Her BlackBerry sounded and she saw an incoming text. As she unlocked the door to her townhouse, she brought up the message.
Since there are too many ears in this car, I’ll just wish you a good-night back.
Unable to resist, she texted back, Who won?
After a slight hesitation came the brief message, Sweet dreams.
Throwing back her head, Hunter laughed out loud. No, she wasn’t in his league, but she’d held her own. At least for tonight.
Chapter Three
It would be an exaggeration to say that she arrived at the station refreshed. She definitely wasn’t ready to deal with the on-air announcement about Mr. Henry, but Hunter made it in at the same time the morning staff did, warning everyone that extra eye drops and makeup would be required before she was willing to remove her sunglasses. Last night, after changing into her most comfortable nightie and robe, she had read the text reminder from executive producer Tom Vold regarding his concern about how fast gossip traveled and that, if possible, they wanted their announcement of transfer of power to Cord to be done before most of the public left for work. Knowing their writer and video people would need anything and everything ASAP, Hunter never went to bed.
Considering the cacophony going on at the station’s main telephone bank some kind of leak had occurred. Staff filed in, exhibiting everything from confusion to doubt. Fortunately, the powers that be decided extra security was justified, and Joey had a bleary-eyed Earl joining him. Earl gave a new definition to bloodshot eyes and kept his gaze locked on the doors as though he expected a UFO to navigate itself into the building at any second. Otherwise, things seemed to be business as usual.
Hunter came dressed in black sweats and carried an ivory dress suit with a gold rose pin on the left shoulder. The pin was a cherished gift from Mr. Henry from last Christmas. He’d dubbed her his rose of KSIO as he’d assured her that she had her job as long as she wanted it.
She already knew Tom and Fred were pleased with her text for the presentation because extensive communication between them had been done before she’d arrived.
“Have you considered a future as a presidential speechwriter?” her director, Wade Spangler, asked minutes later when he entered the makeup room holding a hard copy of her announcement. “This is going to be played all over the country and probably on late-night TV tonight.”
“Well, give it back,” Hunter told him, grabbing for the draft. “It’ll be easy enough to muddy up.” She was glad that Wade was pleased, but she was sensitive to exaggeration at this point, especially since she’d heard nothing from Cord, despite having fulfilled her promise to text him early.
Wade snatched the sheets out of her reach. “Changes would have to be over my dead body. They’re loving it over at the inner sanctum. I just wanted a glimpse at what you were wearing so I could think lighting.” He nodded at the outfit Hunter had changed into. “Thank goodness your skin isn’t bone-white. Okay, Fred will pop in here momentarily to let you know that we’re set to put you on as our A-Close,” Wade said, referring to the last story in that programming block.
Now dressed in her suit, Hunter nodded, knowing in this case that her announcement was timed to leave viewers moved.
“Check with Fred about the midday news,” he said, continuing to peruse his notes. “They want a recap instead of replaying the parcel, and to have you sitting in the guest seat beside Molly and Ed so they can pose a question or two. At that point, the whole country will have the news, and we don’t want to stay with a depressing tone, so they’ll shift over to yesterday and the commencement speech you gave. Is that okay with you?”
“As long as we don’t have to linger on why I moved from there, otherwise we will sink into a depressing topic again.”
“Damn, you’re right.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, then try to think of something that’s coming up on your calendar that’s upbeat. Stay on your toes. It’ll all be fluid.”
As he turned to leave, all droopy shouldered, Hunter called, “Understood, coach. My money is on you to make me look good and hide the shadows under my eyes that this makeup isn’t covering very well.”
“Oh, please. Everybody should look so good,” Wade muttered as he exited the room.
“See, I told you that you’re still too young for it to show,” Linda, their makeup technician, said.
She was about done as the morning crew entered, now dressed in their stage clothing, too. When she first joined the network, Hunter worked this shift and had an affection and empathy for their lot. They saw her as the next level to reach for and acted starstruck. Oddly, that added to her feelings of nostalgia and melancholy.
When she was cued to take her seat, she made herself think only of the gentleman who would forever be her hallmark in the business. Upon cue, she began, “Good morning. On behalf of Yarrow Communications, KSIO and all of our sister stations across the country, it’s my sad responsibility to announce that our much-loved leader, mentor and the original visionary of YCI, Mr. Henry Yarrow, is retiring.
“It’s impossible to encapsulate in mere words what he has meant to me, let alone done for this giant family in communications. I was the novice fresh out of college when he brought me onboard here in San Antonio, and he guided me through my first days of the fascinating, treacherous and nerve-racking paces of TV news. When some said network TV was dead, and cable was the future, Henry Yarrow denied them that black-and-white conclusion and cable continues to respect his strength. When political bullies and business opportunists tried to silence his voice, he led a public protest that kept freedom of speech alive.
“Nevertheless, being number one was never Mr. Henry’s ultimate desire. He wanted something beyond letting the public know what the big story was, why it was on everyone’s lips and what the core questions were that needed to be asked. Then he pointed to us, his reporters, the front line of any information, ‘Tell our public what they don’t know yet. Give them the news and the facts to help them make sound judgments, and don’t ever let them get bored or complacent so as to switch channels without understanding that the future still lies in their hands.’”
In her earpiece, Hunter could hear control room staff voice variations of an affirmative and Wade’s soft coaxing to slightly rein in the passion. It was probably the wise thing to do if she was running for city council, but Mr. Henry’s list of champions and charities was long.
“San Antonio experienced a burst of growth when he decided to make this the location for YCI headquarters. The country benefited as KSIO launched and/or acquired sister stations on both coasts and in the Midwest. Under his direction, YCI funded new communication departments in several area high schools, improved hospitals and nursing home facilities with home entertainment centers and libraries with state-of-the-art resource centers. Privately, he and his wife Lenore are often anonymous donors to various charities and performing art centers. Where there has been a need, he has often been the first to ask, ‘What will help?’
“Sadly, health issues demand that he turn his entire focus and energy on himself, but we’re privileged and honored that his grandson, Mr. Cord Yarrow Rivers, is willing to step in at this difficult time.
“Finally, on a personal note, I’d like to say to Mr. Henry—as he will always be known to me—we love you and will miss you. You will remain the standard we hope to rise to. Forevermore.”
The camera switched off of her, and Hunter watched the rest of the package on a nearby monitor—photos and videos of some of Henry Yarrow’s greatest achievements—before the piece ended on a picture of him and Lenore at their last, big public function together: last year’s Emmy Awards when he was presented with a Lifetime Achievement Award. They both looked so happy and healthy. Tears of appreciation and sadness filled Hunter’s eyes as the screen finally went black.
“And that’s our A-Close,” Fred said from the control room. “Thanks, everyone.”
>
Usually special events brought cheers, but the room was silent and so was her earpiece. Scanning the audience, her vision finally cleared and she saw a technician pinching the bridge of his nose to hide his emotion, another wiping away tears. Hunter blinked hard and started thinking about the rest of her day to keep from totally breaking down.
“That’s a moment of history that we’ll be proud to remember. Beautiful job, Hunter.”
She raised a hand in thanks to Tom’s praise and pulled out her earpiece. She didn’t want to test her ability to speak right now. But she realized she wasn’t going to be given a chance to recover because Cord emerged from the shadows.
“Grandfather will be so pleased,” he said as he approached her.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Hunter knew she sounded the fool, but she couldn’t help it. Cord had assured her that he needed to stay with Henry at the estate for this, and no one had told her otherwise.
“Thanks for the warm welcome.”
Hunter shook her head. “You know what I mean. You said you needed to stay close.”
“I intended to, but Grandfather thought better of the idea.” He glanced down at her bare feet and smiled. “If you’ll slip your shoes on, I’ll escort you up to my office.”
Although Hunter did slide back into her camel-colored strappy heels, she wasn’t happy about it or his comment. “Why do I want to go to your office?” she asked just before Kandi, a sound technician, reached her for the mike, battery pack and earpiece.
As soon as she left, Cord replied, “Because having the conversation we need to have might embarrass you down here.”
Startled, Hunter could only stare at him. She was pretty sure that she wasn’t about to get fired, which left her with only one conclusion to draw. “Mr. Rivers—”
“Cord.”
It's News to Her Page 5
