It's News to Her

by Helen R. Myers

  “We’re not alone,” she sang softly, mentally punching him.

  “But we spent last night together—or most of it anyway.”

  Horrified that someone should hear that and take it the wrong way, she ducked her chin and headed for the hallway. Within a few strides, Cord was right beside her, and his grin made her all the more agitated.

  “Why do you buy such narrow skirts if you’re determined to keep trying to outrun me?”

  “Try finding something that doesn’t fit like a glove these days—in stores or online.”

  “I’m wholly into it,” he mused. “Until you get a skin burn.”

  Hunter stopped at the elevator and took pains to depress the up button with care, all the while hoping not to lose her temper. “This is a sad day for me,” she said, staring holes into the elevator buttons. “It should be for you, as well. How can you reduce it to—”

  “It’s a good day. The tough one comes when he enters the hospital for surgery,” Cord interjected.

  The elevator arrived and Hunter stepped in, knowing he was right. She even forgave him a little because she now understood that he was coping, and who was she to judge how anyone did that?

  The chime announced their arrival at the top floor. With characteristic smoothness, he touched his hand to the small of her back to encourage her exit. Once again, it wasn’t an overtly physical gesture, and yet Hunter’s body tensed and her temperature soared as though someone had flipped a switch. Add the attention they attracted walking down the hallway as they passed the various secretaries, and Hunter was grateful to reach Cord’s office. It was a small gift that Kym was away on some other assignment or chore. That triggered a question.

  “I heard you call Lane your executive assistant yesterday,” she began. “Please don’t tell me that Kym is about to be deeply hurt from all of this?”

  “Not at all. We talked it out. She’ll continue her role as assistant to the CEO, but I couldn’t very well have Lane around with the title tail gunner or even chief of security without triggering too much attention of every imaginable variety.”

  He reached around her to open the door to his office, forcing Hunter to turn sideways to avoid the physical contact she suspected he wanted. “Thank you for the explanation and reassurance.”

  “The reassurance that I’m not just a suit—or tool, as the kids say these days?”

  Hunter stopped in the middle of the room and clasped her hands behind her back. There was no way that she would respond to that. As relieved as she was for Kym, she had to wait on what else was coming.

  “Why am I here?” she asked instead.

  “Can I get you something?” Having closed the door, he gestured for her to have a seat. “The coffee is fresh, and the fridge is loaded with plenty of choices.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  As she sat, she was glad to note that there weren’t many changes to the office—yet. It was early, of course, and he had every right to remove all semblance of Henry Yarrow and make this his own throne room. But the only things that were gone were Henry’s favorite family photographs on the credenza against the wall of windows. So far, the credenza was bare of anything personal.

  “Well, then let’s get to it. I have some good news for a change,” Cord said as he unbuttoned his navy blue suit jacket and sat down on the edge of the desk. “We’re going to have you start soloing the evening news.”

  Hunter gasped. He called that good news? “No! You can’t fire—”

  “Whoa—who said anyone is losing their job? Did we not clear up your jumping to conclusions when I explained about Kym? But I want people to know who is giving them their news. I want them to trust what they hear because they know and trust the person delivering the news. And the way we do that is by spending more time with those individuals.

  “Ever since Walter Cronkite retired, whenever there’s a scandal or other grumble in the news, the credibility of the information depends on who’s delivering it. More often than not we hear—depending on the age of the viewer—‘If Walter were here, we wouldn’t be experiencing this.’” Cord pointed at her. “What I want is for viewers to invest that kind of trust in you.”

  Hunter didn’t understand the need to veer from the proven. “It’s already done. We’re winning in both of our time slots. Why change what’s working?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Cord shook his head. “You are probably the only reporter that I know who would try to talk her boss out of making her a star.”

  “I’m the one who is out in the public and getting the feedback. People tell me that they like our format better than that of any of the other stations. They like Greg.” Just the thought of this idea reaching her anchor partner, Greg, made her stomach start to ache. “Do you know how hard Greg worked to get his position, or how many candidates we interviewed beforehand?”

  She remembered how she’d sat in on management’s second meeting with Greg and had instantly liked the twenty-seven-year-old father of toddler twins. Getting kicked downstairs or off the network would be economically devastating to him, as well as unfair. Not only was he a solid reporter, he had an appealing camera presence.

  “Were you told how he was the tenth candidate we interviewed, and we almost didn’t see him again because we were already impressed with several other candidates?” she continued while Cord patiently sat, listening. “Once he did his spot, we forgot about the others.”

  “He’s not bad, but I don’t think he’s as convincing as you are. Part of the problem is his youth and lack of credentials. Our marketing research tells us that he appeals more to young women and men his age, but not younger or older. That’s not the age groups that can be relied on to watch the news with any regularity.” Cord inclined his head toward her. “In comparison, you are only slightly his senior, but you evoke a deeper understanding and compassion. Maybe it’s the tragic loss you suffered, combined with the time you spent early on as a field reporter—it’s certainly not something you can pick up in a communications class. People are drawn to you, and as such, it’s time we mine those traits and accelerate your progression into the major leagues.”

  As flattering as it was to hear him delineate her skill and value, Hunter could take no pleasure in it because of the cost. “If Mr. Henry had thought I was ready, he would have promoted me himself.”

  “He told me that he was selfish and wanted to keep you close for as long as he could. A push like this will undoubtedly earn you wider attention, even beyond our networks, and my hunch is that you’ll be enticed, if not pushed, into a larger market than San Antonio.” As he watched her reaction, his expression went from admiring to incredulous. “Are you really that speechless? You never had a clue? Hunter, my grandfather despises my father and is deeply disappointed in Mother despite their union having produced me. You’re the daughter he wishes he’d had—someone interested in giving back and improving the world, not just indulging in the benefits of celebrity, the good life and hobnobbing only with those of a like mind.”

  Cord’s family dynamics were none of her business, but Hunter had to admit he was piquing her curiosity. Mr. Henry had never talked about his daughter or Cord’s father. Could they be as shallow as that?

  “Thanks,” she began. “Please know that I’m flattered, but I can’t accept. I do hope to progress with my career, only not this way.”

  “I know you want to do your father proud. If he was here, do you think he’d advise you to turn down this opportunity?”

  “Probably not. However—”

  “Your mother has given herself over to her career—wouldn’t she approve of this?”

  “Of course she would.” Hunter was getting frustrated again that he wouldn’t let her finish a thought. “I don’t understand what the hurry is. Couldn’t this wait until you’ve had a chance to settle into the position? Besides, you’ll want to focus on your grandfather’s surgery. And shouldn’t Tom and Fred, even Wade, be in on this conversation? I’m going to assume you aren�
�t doing this so spontaneously that even Kevin Dalworth doesn’t know,” she said of their station chief.

  “They all know about it and prefer I handle the initial discussion with you. Fred spoke for everyone when he said he’s not putting himself through having to watch those brown eyes of yours go all limpid and appealing. They forewarned me that you’d go to bat for Benson.”

  “Cowards,” Hunter muttered under her breath.

  Cord studied her, clearly perplexed. “Believe it or not, I did think you’d be thrilled with this news.” His expression suddenly changed to one of revelation. “Wait a minute…I’ll bet you think that this change would mean Greg would get his walking papers. On the contrary, we’ll ask him to anchor the weekend news and substitute when you have something else that conflicts with our regular format. I understand Larry is hinting about retiring and Becca is only weeks away from needing maternity leave anyway,” he said of their current weekend-news staffers Larry Jackson and Rebecca Devon. “In between, Benson can do the investigative stories. That’ll help him brush up on his interviewing skills.”

  That not-so-small revelation had Hunter easing back in her chair. “I wish you’d said all of that before starting as you did. Do you not realize what I’ve been through since walking out of this office yesterday?”

  Without comment, Cord rose and crossed to the mini-bar where he took out a bottle of water and poured it into a crystal glass from the silver tray bearing more glasses and a stainless-steel ice bucket. He added a few cubes of ice, which made a tinkling sound as they hit the sides. “Here,” he said soothingly as he returned to her. “Hopefully, this will help.”

  Murmuring her thanks, Hunter did accept the glass and sipped carefully. That also gave her time to think.

  “Hunter, you’re wrong about me not understanding what a cost this has had on you,” Cord said, continuing in his soothing tone. “It speaks volumes about your generosity and dedication to your coworkers that, even so, first and foremost, you worried on their behalf.”

  Glancing at him from under her lashes, she asked, “Does that mean you aren’t going to cut Greg’s salary? Carrying the weekend news along with his investigative work will be the job of two or more people.”

  Cord’s chest shook from his repressed laugh. “Is this the same woman who worried yesterday that she was in danger of losing her own job?”

  “Considering that I can’t seem to edit myself where you’re concerned, I suspect I still am,” she blurted out. In the next second, she mentally kicked herself.

  As he narrowed his eyes, she could see him willing her to let him read her thoughts. The atmosphere went very still between them, and she knew he was about to lean over, trap her in the chair, and kiss her. What have I done? she thought, wishing she could take back the last seconds.

  “Don’t change,” he said at last. “And for the record, you did come close to being kissed just now. Your fault for being irresistible. Then I reminded myself that while I’m a passionate man, I’m not prone to acting with immature haste. When I kiss you, I want the odds in my favor that you’ll kiss me back.”

  She could imagine that all too readily. Whatever control he had over himself, he was doing something incredible and inconceivable to her. Hypnosis? Her doctor had insisted that she wasn’t that easy a subject.

  “I’m sorry, I—” Realizing the water was sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass, she set it on his desk and rose.

  “I thought honesty would make you comfortable.”

  Yes, but there was honesty and then his motivation for it.

  “Would it be better to come out and say it?” Cord asked so calmly they might have been discussing where to have dinner. “I want you.”

  Aware the admission had been coming, Hunter still found herself unable to do more than sit back down.

  “Well,” Cord murmured after several seconds. “That will require an ego adjustment. Pretend this is a smooth transition—would you like to be the one to give Greg a heads-up before Kevin talks to him?”

  “How…how am I supposed to talk to him, do any of what you’re asking regarding these station changes, knowing that it’s all about you wanting us to have an affair?” she made herself ask.

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  “Now who’s being naive? I won’t be able to look at you without feeling like I’m blushing. If you look at me like you are right now, the building is going to smell like burnt rubber as gossip races through here. You’re single-handedly destroying my reputation. No one is going to believe I earned any promotion ever again.”

  “What are we supposed to do?”

  “You,” she intoned. “You never say anything like that again.”

  He sat on the edge of the desk and considered her for several more seconds. Then, finally, he said, “Okay.”

  It was that easy? Hunter felt off-kilter again and didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. The latter thought had her mentally kicking herself for what she saw as the oldest ploy in the universe between the sexes.

  “Okay,” she said, standing and primly smoothing her skirt. “And I’ll talk to Greg. Thank you for that.”

  She started toward the door. Just as she reached for the knob, he said her name. Turning, she waited.

  “The words have been spoken, sweetheart. Whenever we’re in the same room, even if there are forty other people, you’ll be thinking of them as much as anything else. See how long you can pretend otherwise—or that there isn’t something undeniable between us.”

  She left without responding, not because he’d made her angry again, but because he was right.

  It was some time before Hunter made it back to her office, although that wasn’t Cord’s fault alone. Workmates and other station employees stopped her along the way wanting to discuss Henry Yarrow’s retirement, compliment her on her piece and ask what she thought of Cord Rivers. That particular question was the hardest to answer since no one expected the clichéd or safe from her.

  Watching the clock so she wouldn’t miss her next appearance and the meetings she needed to have with Tom and Fred for her evening segments, she had just collapsed at her desk and was fumbling for a tissue to dab at the tears that had flowed after her conversation with the custodian who used to clean Mr. Henry’s office when she heard a rap at her door.

  Greg stuck his head in. “There you are at last. Got a minute?” he asked.

  So much for wishing for ten minutes to get her emotions and thoughts under control, she thought, and sucked in a deep breath. As discreetly as possible, she dabbed under her eyes, hoping she hadn’t done too much damage to Linda’s work, and forced a welcoming smile. “You know better than to ask that. I know I’m late with my notes for today’s programs, but—”

  “Hey, I understand. You were super, and pulling that off after yesterday, no one’s more impressed than me.”

  Wearing a blue dress shirt—the sleeves temporarily rolled up—and khaki pants, Greg looked like many of the clean-cut, eager junior reporters that did much of the research and legwork that went on daily at their station. His dark blond hair probably helped make him appear younger than his years, but so did his rosy cheeks and cornflower blue eyes that were often lit with excitement for some story or other. For the first time, Hunter had to agree that a little more experience could do nothing but help Greg grow with grace into this often serious profession.

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” Hunter said as he shut the door and plunked himself down in the seat beside her desk, the only seat not bearing file stacks and newspapers.

  “I spotted how people are using you as their Wailing Wall. I don’t mean to add to the watershed, but that was a classy send off to Mr. Y.”

  “Would you believe that it was easier to give it than to listen to people react to it and share their own testimonials?” Seeing the subject as a perfect segue to what they needed to discuss, she added, “I’m glad you got to know him a little.”

  “Me, too
. What’s Mr. Rivers like? Do you think he’ll have any one-on-ones with the rest of the crew?”

  Fasten your seatbelt, Hunter thought without humor. “That was Mr. Henry’s way of doing things here at the head office. He knew everyone’s name right down to the building’s janitorial staff. He would never surrender the reins to someone he thought was going to hurt what he’d spent his life building. That said, I don’t know Cord Rivers much better than you do.” The pang she experienced after those words immediately left Hunter feeling more than a little chagrined.

  “But you two flew up to New Jersey together and back. You had to have talked.”

  Talked, and talked…and this morning really talked. “He was trying to get to know me more than I was allowed to get to know him. Plus, I had a speech to deliver. Half the trip was about prepping for that presentation.”

  Greg nodded. “Sorry. I was hoping for some reassurances. I guess we all just walk the tightrope and wait.”

  “Not exactly. In fact, I’m glad you found me.” Taking another deep breath, she began, “There are some changes, Cord—Mr. Rivers—wants to try, and he permitted me to tell you about them first because of our history together.”

  There was no missing the change in Greg’s demeanor. He went from an engaged, enthusiastic journalist to a worried employee. “Sounds ominous.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think it’s a little letdown at first glance but otherwise a great opportunity.”

  “Just tell me that I’m not getting fired.” He groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

  “You’re not. Absolutely not,” Hunter replied. “But… I’m afraid you also won’t be co-anchoring with me anymore. Mr. Rivers thinks the station needs to rethink that approach and try a solo anchor again.”

  “Even though we’re winning our time slots and have been for months?”

  “That was exactly my argument. It made no difference.” Hunter sat forward, trying to sound eager for him. “But there’s a positive in this. You’re going to be offered the job of soloing the weekend news.”

  Greg looked troubled by that information. “What happens to Mr. Jackson and Becca?”