What I saw hit me like a truck. There was a photo of Alastair, smiling and looking gorgeous. Next to him, or rather, draped on him like an over-styled, over-designed blonde ornament was Sarah. She was touching him, and not in the way people do when they’re casually posed in a photo. Her hand was resting against his stomach, the way lovers who know one another intimately touch. His arm was wrapped around her waist, providing an excuse for her body to press into his side.
Bile rose high enough in my throat to threaten an oncoming tidal wave. I swallowed hard, forcing it down through my burning, constricted esophagus. I’m so fucking stupid.
“Ooh, who is that?”
I jumped, scrambling to minimize my browser.
“Nobody, Sydney.” The thick layer of dread coating my throat made my voice sound deeper.
“He’s hot. Look at all that gorgeous hair,” she said, leaning over my shoulder. “Alastair Holden -yum- grandson to British media tycoon Samuel Holden, arrives at his family’s estate in Ascot, England for his grandfather’s retirement celebration. He’s accompanied by Sarah Everett, Vice President of the prestigious Finley Marketing and Advertising Group based in Glasgow. Well, well. What a fancy schmancy little party that must have been.”
I exhaled as soon as she stood up straight.
“Holden…Holden…Didn’t they just buy WTDO a couple weeks ago?”
“I don’t know.”
Go sit down. Please go back to your seat and sit down. Sit. Sit. SIT.
“Yeah, they did,” she confirmed more to herself than to me. “You were on vacation. I overheard Bruce talking to Vincent Jennings about it. Apparently some of the higher ups are flying over from England this weekend. Maybe that young stud will be one of them.”
Oh thank God, she finally sat down.
“You should call Grant and see if he can….”
Sydney yammered on and on about how I should try to work my contacts so we could go to the HWM event on Sunday. I told her to stop being ridiculous.
“We’re the competition, Syd. The last thing they want is one of us snooping around their backyard.”
“It wouldn’t be snooping.” She tapped the desk with her pen for emphasis.
“Whatever,” I muttered, closing the tab so I didn’t have to see that picture anymore. My inbox was now staring me in the face, and I had a new email.
To: Amelia Meyers
From: Alastair Holden
Subject:
Hello Amelia,
I see you’re having a busy night at work. Sinkholes? Sounds dreadful. Sorry you haven't heard from me. Work was busier than I anticipated. As you’ve no doubt heard, we are the proud owners of some news stations in the States. One is even in Orlando. It’s not yours though, I checked.
I’m just relaxing now after my grandfather’s retirement party. Was thinking of you and wanted to say hello.
Write when you have a chance.
Yours, Alastair x
A tsunami of emotion flooded me. There were too many things in that email for me to process.
He’s thinking of me?
Heat blossomed through my lower abdomen, giving me an unexpected rush. An image of his gorgeous mouth popped into my head, along with what he did with it.
Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.
“Are you okay?”
I looked up, surprised to see that I was clutching the desk.
“I’m fine, Sydney.”
Two icky, sweaty palm prints marked the spot my hands occupied on the desk after I lifted them. I closed my email account and went back to the rundown. I had to; otherwise I’d spend the rest of the night obsessing over everything. I didn’t stop revising scripts for the next two hours. By the time the late night news team signed off the air, I was ready to claw out of my own skin. I grabbed my car keys and walked out into the muggy night air.
If I hadn’t agreed to go to The Cottage, I would have hightailed it home.
Tyler was nursing a Jack and Coke at the bar and shoving nachos in his mouth when I got there. An old school Journey song pulsed from the speakers.
"Well, well. Look who's already drinking their troubles away,” I remarked.
Tyler rolled his eyes and took another long sip. He sized me up, opened his mouth to give one of his trademark responses, but put the glass to his lips again. I ordered a sparkling water with lime and sat down. Sydney waltzed through the door with Wesley Jenkins not too far behind. They were bickering about the broadcast.
I spent the next hour telling them about my trip. Being inquisitive news people, they had a zillion questions. I answered everything as best I could, even the ridiculous ones from Tyler.
"So, like, what exactly did you eat for food over there? Don't they like sheep guts in Scotland?"
"It's called haggis," I retorted. "And it's not sheep guts. It's more like a savory pudding."
“Yeah right. A pudding served in a sheep's stomach lining," Wesley snorted.
"Okay, that's enough. If it makes you feel any better, I ate nothing but neeps and tatties."
"Lia, I don't understand your crazy British talk. The least you could have done was wave hello to the Queen for me." Tyler stood up and saluted at us. "I'm off people. See y’all Monday.”
It was nearly one in the morning when Sydney, Wes and I walked out, yet the steamy Orlando weather was still bearing down on us.
"It feels like I'm walking into a sponge.” I tugged at my t-shirt and frowned. “Bye, guys."
My little yellow Fiat sat all by itself under a light in the parking lot. By force of habit, I walked to it quickly, remotely unlocking it as I approached so the interior light popped on. There had been many times over the course of the last year that I’d have a note or a rose waiting for me on the windshield, courtesy of Nathan. I thought it was cute at first. Then it became creepy, especially when stuff would be waiting for me when I hadn’t told him where I was going. At one point, I’d considered renting a car so he wouldn’t know where to find me.
Scanning the car with a quick walk around it, I checked the back, then sank into the leather seat and sighed. I pulled out of the parking lot, turned the radio up and tried to sing along with Coldplay about ruling the world.
Once I got home, I grabbed my laptop and collapsed onto the couch. It was so quiet in the living room I could hear the air scraping through my lungs. Against the better judgment of almost anyone else on the planet, I opened my email. His message was still sitting there, daring me to open it and respond. Did I? No. I did the next best thing. I searched online for more photos from the party. Yes, Lia. This is healthy. Torture yourself over someone who was no more than a one-and-done fling.
I hated that photo of them. I hated myself for hating it. Bitterness and hurt wrapped their iron-clad hands around my heart.
This is what you get for letting him squirm his way in and see through you so easily.
Angry with myself for being so gullible and eager, I saved the photo to my desktop, opened the email, attached it and hit reply.
To: Alastair Holden
From: Amelia Meyers
Subject: Re:
It certainly does appear that things have been “busier than you anticipated.” Hope you were both able to get what you wanted.
CHAPTER TEN
The stupid whiteboard needed to be broken in half and thrown out the window. Bruce Singleton kept writing more and more story ideas on it; computer hacking, child pornography, embezzlement. I was sitting in the conference room surrounded by the other producers, reporters and assignment editors. Cynthia and Vance huddled at the head of the table, scribbling furiously in notebooks.
For a Monday, my attention span was somewhere between nonexistent and barely functioning. I drew little corkscrew patterns on my notepad as Bruce droned on about an investigative piece on business owners in Deltona trying to cheat the government out of millions in taxes.
Riveting.
The rest of the meeting was spent brainstorming and planning for the week. One good thing about May was the busy workload. I had zero time to obsess over anything but how many stories I could cram into each night’s show and if the special projects pieces stayed on time without any glaring mistakes. By Wednesday, I was ready for the week to end. The day started with a bang. Literally.
One of the light fixtures in the studio broke loose and crashed to the floor. We were just about to pre-record an interview when it happened. The poor woman who’d come in had nearly passed out from fright. Vance unleashed a barrage of profanity so spectacular I stood and listened to him in awe. Sydney laughed and nudged me.
“We haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”
“He’s rather artful with his language,” I remarked. “Come on. Let’s go see if the set in the back studio is interview ready.”
We walked down the hall to a smaller studio. There were some plush chairs and a couple of tables strewn across the set. Sydney and I positioned them nicely and grabbed some plants to dress it up a bit. Vance came in a few minutes later with a much calmer looking guest. I chatted with them briefly and was relieved to see them both in good spirits. The crew filed in and within minutes the interview was underway.
Bruce popped his head in the control room, summoning me to his office. I signaled I’d be there in a couple minutes.
When the interview ended I strolled up the hallway. Cynthia was coming out of the green room, looking TV ready as usual. Her perfectly arranged auburn hair looked like it could survive a hurricane and a trip through a wind tunnel without breaking formation.
“Hi, Lia. On your way to Bruce’s?”
“Yep. You too?”
“Yeah. Excited for the big gala on Saturday?” she asked as we walked to the news director’s office.
“I am. How’s your speech coming along?”
“It’s not. That’s probably why Bruce wants to see me.” She stopped at his door and leaned closer to me. “If he asks you to help me write it, say no. You have enough stuff going on with sweeps.”
Bruce was typing intently and squinting at the monitor. His bright blue tie sat in a crooked slant against his crisp white shirt. He resembled a mad scientist with disheveled curly black hair and wire rim glasses.
“Come in, you two,” he said, waving his hand.
Cynthia and I sat on the old school, aluminum framed office chairs. I’d be willing to bet a week’s paycheck Bruce had owned these since his college days. The leather cushions were practically flat.
“We’re sending out a camera with you for Saturday. Freddie will be there early to get the arrivals.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Senator Greyson will be there. His press secretary confirmed with me this morning. Cynthia, you’ll have about fifteen minutes to sit with him for an interview. Lia, I’ll need you to be on site by six to field produce and get the room set up…”
Cynthia and Bruce continued to chat about the interview. Whatever they said went over my head and out the window.
“Lia. Lia?”
I looked up and swallowed. “Got it. Six. I’ll be there.”
Bruce handed me a folder loaded with talking points and kept Cynthia with him to work on her speech. Saturday’s banquet was an important annual fundraiser for the children’s hospital downtown. Up until this moment, I’d been excited to go. The minute I got back to my desk I dropped the folder and called Stephanie.
“Hey, girlie. You caught me at a busy time. What’s up?”
“Shoot. Sorry. Call me when you’re free.”
“You’re on the early show today, right? Come over when you’re done. I feel like I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Okay.”
I sat down with a flourish and opened the rundown. There were a few notes in the system from the assignment desk, plus my email inbox was littered with publicists vying for coverage for their clients. Oh, and of course there was a message from Alastair. There had been messages from him since the weekend. I glared at his name and hit delete.
* * *
“Greyson is going to the gala.” I said in a rush.
Stephanie swirled the wine around in her glass, looking at me shrewdly. “The dad?”
“Yep.”
We were sitting at her kitchen table, making our way through bottle number two.
“Well,” she paused. “It’s in a big ball room. You probably won’t even see him.”
I squirmed in the chair, tapping my fingernails against the glass. “They’re having Steele interview him. I’m field producing.”
“Christ in a wheelbarrow. Are you going to be alright?”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, rubbing my eye.
“What if Nathan shows up? Want me to cancel my trip and go with you?”
“No, no. You’ve been looking forward to this conference. I’ll be fine.”
“You said that already.”
“Yeah, well, what can I do? It’s my job. It’ll be quick. The interview is only supposed to last fifteen minutes.”
My eye started twitching. If the earth chose this moment to open up and swallow me whole I wouldn’t object.
"So," Stephanie pursed her lips. "Have you heard from Alastair at all?"
“Yep.”
“What does he have to say for himself?” she inquired, eyes wide and glossy.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve deleted every email he’s sent.”
Stephanie’s jaw dropped. “Really? You’re not curious about what he has to say?”
“Why should I be?”
“Because you like him,” she proclaimed.
“No, I don’t.”
Stephanie tapped her well-manicured nails on the table and looked me up and down.
“I’ve known you what, five years? I have never, in all that time, seen you light up the way you do about Alastair. I don’t care how hard you try to hide it, I see it. He dazzled you.”
“He’s not good for me.” The words sounded unnatural coming out of my mouth.
“Why?”
The twitching in my eye got worse. Because he sees me. He gets under my skin and into my soul too easily.
“Lia,” she said, shifting in the chair. “I’m all for self-preservation, trust me. He’s still on my shit list for being so friggin bossy about wanting you to delay your flight home, but you said yourself that he treated you really well. As far as the photo or whatever, hear him out.”
* * *
Flashbulbs popped as reporters, bloggers and casual on-lookers watched guests arrive at the Peabody Hotel for the Black and White Ball. I stood just inside the main doors waiting for Cynthia to finish posing. As soon as she got inside we dashed off to the conference room that was designated for the interview. I was in full-on work mode, scrutinizing the lights and making sure nobody tripped over any cables. I had even made six copies of the talking points in case Cynthia lost hers.
The senator and his entourage arrived on time and as scheduled at six-thirty.
“Good to see you, Lia,” Kenneth Greyson clasped my hands, smiling. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I said, guiding him to a high-backed leather chair. “Would you like some water or anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay. Cynthia will be sitting across from you. This shouldn’t take much more than fifteen minutes. Thanks again for this, Senator.”
Kenneth adjusted his jacket before sitting down. I’d forgotten how much he looked like an older version of Nathan. They both had the same square jawline and dark blue eyes.
“Think nothing of it, Lia. It’s my pleasure. Actually,” he paused, regarding me thoughtfully, “I’m glad I have this chance to see you. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and my son. Samantha and I adore you and were hoping…well, you’re missed. That’s all.”
He patted my shoulder and sat down. I wanted to throw up, but forced a smile instead. Pushing all the discomfort to the pit of my stomach, I focu
sed on the task at hand and made sure Cynthia’s interview went without a hitch. Senator Greyson was gracious and personable, answering questions ranging from the economy to immigration reform.
They went well over the fifteen minute target and only stopped when one of the event organizers came in to ask when he’d be ready to address to the ballroom.
After everyone said their goodbyes, I lingered in the empty conference room for a few minutes before going to the gala. This section of the hotel was relatively quiet. The sound of my heels clicking on the marble in the hallway echoed and bounced off the walls. As I got closer to the ballroom, applause filled the hallway.
Walking in was like entering an enchanted land. Everything was decorated in black and white. Guests were also urged to wear those colors. It was a good excuse for me to wear my favorite black cocktail dress and sparkly red heels. Making my way to the table, I noticed each place setting was adorned with a small, white mask. Nice touch. I joined Cynthia and several other media personalities at a table close to the main stage.
The whole room sat enraptured during the senator’s remarks. I half-listened to him, playing on my cell phone instead. I’d received a few texts from Stephanie and replied, letting her know that everything was fine. Senator Greyson talked forever. Everyone at my table was either eating or whispering to each other. I only had to stay until Cynthia was finished with her speech. Time could not pass by fast enough.
A hand pressed into my shoulder, warm and strong.
“Hello, Lia.”
The low cadence of that voice paralyzed me from the inside out. Gathering what strength I could, I looked up to my right and locked eyes with Nathan. The smug smile that crossed his lips drained the life out of me.
“So nice to see you again. Come, walk with me.”
He squeezed my shoulder, not really giving me the option to say no. Cynthia glanced at me as I stood up. Not wanting to make a scene, I gathered my clutch, smiled weakly and let Nathan lead me out of the room. Scattered applause rippled through as the senator wrapped up his speech.
“This way,” Nathan instructed, pointing me towards the hall I’d come from earlier. The minute we turned the corner and were out of sight, he caged me against the wall.
Catch My Breath Page 10