It's News to Her

by Helen R. Myers

“Then I won’t keep you. I just wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”

  Timing, Hunter realized again, was key to so much. What if he’d gotten on the phone earlier when she’d talked to Lenore? How would she be able to answer with any kind of truthfulness?

  “I’m sorry,” she began. “You know I never leave the building between broadcasts and don’t eat before them.”

  “I meant tomorrow night.”

  “I still can’t.” Expecting to feel relieved that she had an excuse, Hunter only felt a sudden pang of guilt.

  Cord, on the other hand, looked bemused. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You’re off. I thought if things continue to go well for Gramps, we—”

  “I have dinner plans.”

  The light in his blue-gray eyes went out, but he didn’t immediately comment. To avoid his penetrating gaze, she gestured to her calendar. “It just so happened that my college roommate called, and a friend of her husband’s is in town. I’m making it a foursome.”

  “You actually agreed to go on a blind date?”

  Not only did he make it sound like that was the worst idea ever, his emphasis on the adjective made her prospect sound obnoxious before she’d even met the poor man.

  “Danica is a good friend,” she said, struggling to maintain her dignity. “I’m comfortable with trusting her judgment. And with Paul an entertainment-sports attorney, I’m guessing their friend could be a movie star or athlete. Want me to get his autograph for you?” she asked with false brightness.

  Cord left without a reply.

  Alone again, Hunter closed her eyes, feeling slightly nauseous and ashamed of herself. Years ago, she had cancelled a date at the last minute because a boy she’d really wanted to go out with had suddenly called. She’d had a miserable time because she’d known what she’d done was dishonest. And to add to her shame, the second boy wasn’t nearly the person that she’d built up in her mind. She never accepted an invitation from him again, but the other boy—who found out what she’d done—never returned her call of apology.

  But you and Cord aren’t dating—you warned him that you wouldn’t.

  True, she had the right to do what she wanted. What’s more, her concern for Mr. Henry shouldn’t make her a hostage to whatever Cord had on his mind.

  Maybe now he would finally grasp that she meant what she’d said about no kiss ever happening again.

  On Saturday night, Hunter met the Anthonys and their guest outside of the city at The Vineyards, one of San Antonio’s most popular special-event restaurants, located on an actual working vineyard. They’d repeated an offer to collect her, but she was thinking business, as usual, and knew she needed transportation fast if an emergency arose. Still, she dressed to celebrate, her designer cocktail dress an impulse buy she’d found on sale ages ago and had yet to wear. The silk wisp in a dark coffee emphasized her eyes and complimented her figure in every way possible. Dainty copper-and-gold shoes, a matching bag, and smoky topaz gemstones in her ears and around her neck finished her slow-simmer ensemble.

  Jack Porter turned out to be neither an actor nor an athlete, but he was movie-star handsome. His hair was as blond as Cord’s was dark and he was equally well groomed. In fact, she gauged that they were within a year or two in age, as well. She hoped that would be the end of her unintended comparisons, and he helped by quickly proving to be charming, fun and an intelligent conversationalist. Soon, however, Hunter realized that this rare treat out would only be a one-night situation because it turned out that Jack worked out of New York. What future was there in even considering an investment in him?

  “I’m sorry,” Hunter said, realizing she’d missed something critical as banter, news and anecdotes bounced back and forth among the party of four as they enjoyed cocktails in the lounge. “Some reporter I am—did I miss you saying what you actually do?” she asked Jack.

  Jack exchanged brief glances with Paul. “We’re in a similar line of work but for different companies. All of the A-list people think Paul is the go-to guy west of the Mississippi. If I can get a tired football jock with bad knees a beer commercial, I’m happy.”

  “He’s selling himself way short,” Paul told her.

  “What’s the favorite part of your job?” she asked Jack.

  “Keeping great actors and actresses on Broadway.”

  “Mmm.” Barely wetting her lips, Hunter put down her wine spritzer. “That’s the only reason I’d consider moving to New York. I could go into serious depression thinking of the great live performances I’ve missed.”

  “We can’t have that. Let me know when your next open weekend is, and I’ll inundate you,” Jack replied.

  He spoke with such a matter-of-fact, no-pressure goodwill that Hunter almost let herself fantasize. “I just accepted a promotion,” she said grounding herself in reality. “I don’t get to think about playing for a good while.”

  “But you have every weekend off, don’t you?”

  Hunter did a double take. “How did you know that?”

  “Because…you’re here? Or was it you who told me, Paul? Danica?”

  “I must have,” Danica said.

  Hunter thought of Mr. Henry, still so ill in the hospital. “This is a unique moment. There’s a lot going on at the station that will keep me occupied pretty much 24/7.” She wouldn’t neglect or withhold her help and support to Lenore if she wanted it, regardless of what complications that triggered with Cord.

  “I understand the new-broom-sweeping-clean concept,” Jack said, “but you have to have a life. I’m going to get your contact information and start tempting you with performance schedules.”

  Hunter smiled. “I can see you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I can be when I think something or someone is worth it.”

  His intimate look was flattering, but Hunter didn’t let herself forget that while Jack might be a lawyer, he was also a salesman, and as a result, being complimentary was as much a job requirement for him as credibility was for her.

  “I’d heard Henry Yarrow retired,” Jack continued. “How do you like his replacement?”

  Hunter had been in the business long enough now to remain extremely cautious in answering him. She might only be on the air a total of an hour a day, but she knew that what she said after hours could have ramifications for her, as well as the station and YCI. She wasn’t about to do or say anything that could end up in someone’s gossip column or blog on the internet. Such things could easily snowball and end up costing the station valuable advertising contracts or heaven knows what.

  “Mr. Rivers seems to be as capable and committed as Mr. Henry was,” she said with good, diplomatic form. She had no intention of mentioning the reason for Henry’s retirement, although there had been a small news release, so it wasn’t a secret. But she hoped Jack hadn’t heard about it and that Danica and Paul weren’t interested.

  They weren’t, and Jack didn’t, and soon the subject turned to food as the hostess came to tell them that their table was ready. Everyone but Hunter was about finished with their drinks and left their glasses, but she allowed the cocktail hostess to follow with hers.

  The evening was fun and dinner was delicious, though Hunter didn’t partake of the wine Paul ordered with their dinners, continuing to nurse her spritzer because she had to drive. But Danica had meant it about being determined to let her hair down and was the life of the party. She was ever ready with an anecdote about their years at UT, skirting serious trouble with staff as Hunter scooped stories for the school paper that sometimes garnered regional-newspaper attention.

  “You have quite a fan in her,” Jack said to Hunter when she rolled her eyes at Danica’s praise, which was way over the top.

  “She’s like an annoying but lovable little sister,” Hunter replied.

  “Ha! She’s a whopping two months older, but she’s always sounding like Methuselah,” Danica said.

  “While you, my tipsy cutie, are sounding blonder with every passing minute,” Paul teased. But
he kissed her to keep her from pinching his arm.

  Covering her mouth to repress a hiccup, the natural blonde did giggle. “This is what happens when you don’t have even a sip of anything for almost a year because you’re pregnant and then nursing,” she said, leaning forward to confide to Hunter—and everyone else at the table.

  “That’s my cue to head us toward home,” Paul said. “By the time we get you to your hotel, Jack, she’ll be comatose in the backseat, and I won’t get her awake again until I pick up the kids at my mom’s tomorrow.”

  Jack turned to Hunter. “I took a room nearer the airport, forgetting that these two had bought a house on the opposite side of town.”

  “That wouldn’t be out of my way. I’m not ten minutes from the station. I can drop you off.”

  “You’re sure?” Jack asked, looking hopeful.

  Turning back to Paul, Hunter intercepted Danica’s merry hazel eyes and wink. “Was this a setup?” she asked, suspicious.

  “Nah,” Paul drawled as he urged Danica to her feet. “Call it a lonely husband’s fantasy.”

  While she wanted to believe him, a kernel of doubt remained. “Don’t make me regret this,” she whispered to her former roommate as they hugged good-night. If Danica thought she was looking for a one-night stand, then her friend didn’t know her as well as she used to.

  Her doubt was eased somewhat on the drive back toward town. Jack was a perfect gentleman and mostly talked about how the Anthonys were a great family and how envious he was of them.

  “I take it you aren’t involved with anyone, but have you ever been married?” Hunter asked.

  “Got close once.” He shrugged. “Picked the wrong girl. I realized she wasn’t ready to narrow her bed partners to one guy.”

  “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  “How about you?” Jack asked.

  “It’s hard to have a relationship when you’re married to your work.”

  “You just haven’t met the guy to make you rethink that.”

  Grasping that he was strongly hinting that he might be that man, Hunter was laughing softly as she pulled up to Jack’s hotel entrance. “Alive to charm another day,” she said, referring to his earlier quip about being afraid of female drivers.

  “You would get on well with my sister,” Jack said, unbuckling his seat belt. “She’s not susceptible to my silver tongue, either. At the risk of further offending your intelligence…would you let me buy you a nightcap? In the lounge,” he added at the first sign that she was about to turn him down. “I’ve had such a good time—I can’t remember when I enjoyed anyone’s company more.”

  “I might go for a cappuccino,” she said. “But only if you share more about your long-suffering sister.”

  As Jack pretended to groan, Hunter did park. She knew she didn’t need the caffeine, but she also understood that she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. She had too much on her mind. Part of that was concern for Henry, but it also had to do with the two texts waiting for her from Cord. She’d managed a discreet peek as Jake said goodbye to the Anthonys to confirm neither of the messages was about Henry. At least she could take comfort in knowing that much. But what was she going to do about her boss who was openly pursuing her in print, as well as in person?

  There was a lounge across the lobby that was gearing up to have a wild night. “Looks like fun,” Jack began. “Although I doubt we could hear ourselves think in there, let alone hear each other.”

  And she had no interest in dancing—particularly on such a small dance floor where any movement could be construed as foreplay.

  “Aha! A more appropriate option.” Indicating another lounge on the opposite side of the lobby, Jack directed Hunter to it. The place was romantically lit, the mystical music was a CD, piped through stereo speakers and not provided by a boisterous band, and they were the only customers besides an elderly couple in a corner booth.

  “Are you certain about the coffee?” he asked after seating her at a front table that assured her of good light from the lobby.

  Appreciating his intention to be a gentleman, Hunter nodded. “I’m not much of a party animal.”

  After stepping up to the bar where he ordered them both the same thing, Jack returned. Resting his forearms on the glass, patio-style table, he clasped his hands and looked at her with admiration and some tentativeness. “Thank you for risking this.”

  “Risk?” A little thrown by his choice of words, Hunter thought he’d earned her reassurance. “Danica is one of my oldest friends. If she felt good about you, I was glad to accept the invitation.”

  Not appearing appeased, Jack drew a deep breath and shifted on the iron chairs padded seat. Several times tonight, Hunter’s internal antenna had tried to get her attention. She’d blamed it on her occupation and rejected its subtle messages. This time it refused to be ignored, and she accepted that she’d spoken too soon.

  “Well,” Jack said with a sheepish glance, “Danica was rather influenced by Paul.”

  If his words weren’t troubling enough, his body language finished filling Hunter with a slow infusion of dread, like a poison making her heart work hard and her mind slow to reason. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “I’m not entirely off the time clock myself.”

  At any other time, she would have accepted that as a given. In this economy, everyone who had a job was hoping to keep it and proving it to their employer by putting in more hours. But she had a feeling Jack’s meaning wasn’t quite so simple.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on—and what it has to do with me?”

  “I represent a client.” He switched from clasped hands to palm-to-palm style, his fingers stretched as though sending his energy to her. “A client very interested in you.”

  “And who would that be?”

  He sidestepped the question. “We’ll get to that. What’s important first and foremost is to assure you that this would be a career-altering position.”

  It turned out that one of the major New York networks wanted her to assume a major anchor post for their morning show. Giving her a rundown of the viewership numbers and rankings for all of the morning shows, Jack continued. “My client sees vulnerabilities in the other stations’ formats, but he feels hampered by the charisma of his own hosts. He understands how the audience’s ability to relate to the hosts is a key part of the success of this kind of programming.”

  “The likeability factor. Real or not, viewers feel they have a relationship investment with them.” Hunter understood that well enough. You were only as good as your numbers, no matter what the profession. In this case viewer shares regulated the price the station could charge for commercials. The higher the station could price their ads, the greater the profit. Reduce profit, and it didn’t matter about the hosts’ talent or commitment—or if a decade ago they were number one. The bottom line was always financial yield today.

  “It just so happens that a top executive at the station in question was recently traveling in Texas, happened to catch a few of your programs and was quite taken with you.” Adding a full-wattage smile, Jack continued, “I can totally relate.”

  Hunter had lost her smile back when Jack announced he had a client. She could barely manage to thank the waitress who arrived with two opulent, steaming cups of cappuccino. The whole image of that frothy drink in its femininely curved cup sitting in front of Jack had her betting with herself that he might have drank something like this only one other time in his life. What else would this man do for a deal?

  How could she let herself get cornered like this? As she quickly reviewed the evening while he talked, a few of Jack’s reactions stuck out and made more sense—as did Paul’s and Danica’s. Danica! Her involvement in this machination stung the most.

  She stared at the foam-rich drink and almost wished she had gone with a straight glass of wine—or something stronger. In fact, she was so lost in trying to think of how to proceed with this discussion—more like end it with some kind of dignity—sh
e didn’t realize that someone else had approached their table.

  “Porter, you’re trespassing.”

  Cord!

  Jack’s handsome, tanned face turned a sickly gray, but he recovered faster than she did. “Rivers.” He stood and, after a slight hesitation, grinned and extended his hand, all gregariousness. “This is a surprise.”

  Was it? Hunter wondered—about both men’s tactics and motives. Her trust, only beginning to return, shattered like ice falling to a sidewalk, and she shuddered. Looking from man to man, she saw that both appeared visibly tense but also unfairly handsome. They could be competing for a GQ photo shoot, she thought bitterly. Jack was in a pale gray that did wonders for his blond hair and tan, and Cord wore a charcoal gray that made him look distinguished and presidential.

  “I’ll bet it is,” Cord replied, ignoring Jack’s hand. Instead, he returned his gaze to Hunter.

  “What are you doing here?” was all she could think to ask.

  “Escorting family to the hotel. Lenore’s niece and her husband have arrived from out of state.”

  “How—nice.” She’d almost said, “How good of them,” knowing that they’d undoubtedly come to be of support and help to Lenore. She wanted to ask after Lenore and, of course, Henry, but that was impossible now that she knew why Jack had really wanted to meet her. As a representative of a competitor, he had no right to hear about anything pertaining to YCI or the family’s current fears and struggles. And so she nodded and withered a little more inside, because there was no missing that Cord thought the worst of things—and of her. “Please give Lenore and Henry, of course, my love.”

  Cord ignored that, too, and returned his gaze to Jack. He was all ominous again. “I’m serious.”

  Oh, God, Hunter thought.

  Jack laughed awkwardly and gestured to an empty chair. “Come on, sit down and let me get you a drink.”

  “No, thanks. I’m needed elsewhere. Besides, I’d rather leave believing Hunter wouldn’t be sitting here if she really knew who you are and why you’ve sought her out.” Then, giving Hunter an enigmatic look, he murmured, “Good night.”