Something had flinched across Everett’s face. “Really, this is the worst possible moment . . .”
Then a familiar face had risen from under his desk. Barb Nelson. Lipstick smeared, she’d brandished a pen in one hand.
“Here’s the pen I was looking for, Everett. It rolled under your desk. It’s my favorite pen, I sure would have hated to lose it.” Barb had come around the desk with a hip-rolling stride and brushed past Melissa. “Oh, Melissa, I hear you’re leaving us. Better luck next time. One tip for the road. Knock before you spill your guts.”
Melissa had stared numbly at Everett, before fury washed over her. “I could bust you. I could tell human resources.”
“Don’t make a scene. A halfway decent producer wants to take on a world-famous news director and an internationally known reporter? Don’t let your ideals run away with you, my dear.”
She’d left Los Angeles with a broken heart, shattered self-confidence, and the belief that “talent” always held the trump card. “A halfway decent producer”—those words felt branded on her forehead. The only small moment of satisfaction had come when Nelly had called Everett and verbally ripped him to shreds.
That was then, this was now. Did it matter to her what Everett did? Back then, she’d been bedazzled by the man. Now, he meant nothing to her, except as a reminder of her second-best status. Still shaky, she slumped back in her chair. Ella and Everett could screw their little brains out as far as she was concerned. Two people more perfect for each other, she couldn’t imagine.
Bill Loudon stepped into the conference room, and everyone scrambled to attention. He rarely attended the news meetings, leaving mundane details such as daily news content to the assistant news director. He took a seat at the head of the table and cleared his throat. As he surveyed the suddenly alert faces around him, Melissa noticed he avoided meeting her eyes.
“Where’s Ella?” he said with a frown. No one answered. “Never mind. I want to let you all know in person before the e-mail goes out. We’re doing some restructuring. Long overdue. Starting Monday, all special investigations and projects will be under the direct supervision of Blaine.” He indicated the assistant news director, who didn’t bother to hide his smug smile. “Our own Melissa McGuire will work exclusively with the top anchor here in San Gabriel, who I need remind none of you, and she would remind you herself if she were here, is Ella Joy. Since the City Hall fire, ratings on the Eleven O’Clock News have gone up another point, and a compelling case can be made that it’s due to Ella. We need to capitalize on this momentum. I want Ella fronting at least one field report a week. Melissa, this will be your responsibility.”
Melissa stared at him with burning eyes, but still he refused to meet her gaze.
“Any questions?” he said, in a tone that discouraged any such thing.
She should keep her mouth shut. Accept the change in duties and soldier on. Make no waves, like a good little “halfway decent producer.” But she didn’t. “What will my title be?”
“Same. Anything else?” He looked around the table.
Again, her mouth opened on its own. “What about my salary?”
“That’s for another conversation.” Melissa knew what that meant. Translation: same. It didn’t matter anyway. They could double her salary, and it wouldn’t make any difference. She rose to her feet.
“No,” she said. In the sudden silence, she heard the blood singing in her ears.
Loudon’s weary gaze traveled reluctantly back to her. “Please, Melissa. Sit down. Don’t make a scene.”
Don’t make a scene? Don’t make a scene? Exactly what Everett had said, while he was driving a stake through her heart and her career.
“I’ll damn well make a scene whenever I damn well want to. If you think I’m just going to sit still while you turn me into Ella’s little news slave, you can kiss my ass.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a ring of shocked faces around the conference room table. Loudon’s eyes widened; it might have been the first time she’d seen them fully open.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Hardworking little Melissa, just shuts up and does as she’s told. The only one who can put up with Ella’s crap. Well, no more. I kicked ass on that fire story, and I kick ass on every other story I do, and if you can’t see that, you have your head up your ass even more than most news directors. So you can take your precious little title and your nonexistent pathetic raises and do you-know-what with them.”
She gathered up her papers and marched out of the room. She’d said the word “ass” four times in one tirade. Too bad Brody missed it; he would have laughed his ass off.
Then it sank in. She’d just quit her job.
In the safety of her cubicle she dropped, shaking, into her chair. The red light on her phone blinked. Her computer hummed. This morning’s Starbucks cup teetered precariously on the edge of her desk. She threw it in the trash. She’d have to clear out her desk. Blindly, she started piling up papers. Her career, for which she’d struggled so hard, was over. You couldn’t leave two news stations under tumultuous circumstances without paying for it.
Chang stuck his head into her cubicle. “You okay, loudmouth?”
“Leave me alone.”
“What’d you get, a personality transplant?”
“No, I got a clue. I’m not letting anyone walk all over me anymore. And that includes you!” She turned on him. “Next time, knock before you walk into my soon-to-be-former cubicle.”
“Dude!” he protested. “This is me, Nolan. When did I ever do you wrong?”
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Not a good day. Will you do me a favor and tell Ella I’m outta here?”
“Tell Ella what?” Ella sauntered past Chang and perched on Melissa’s desk. She wore her fuchsia suit, but the blouse was partly untucked, and she had a general air of disarray about her. Her lipstick was smudged. She looked, thought Melissa with disgust, like an ad for some kind of trashy liqueur.
“I’m gone, that’s what.”
“What? Absolutely not. I’ll talk to Loudon. He can’t fire you without my consent.”
Melissa shot back. “I’m not fired. I quit.”
“Well, I’ll talk to someone. You’re not leaving, and that’s final.”
“Ella!” Melissa jumped to her feet to face off with the anchor. “I am done. Done. No one here has any say in what I do anymore. Especially you. So get out. Go kiss Everett’s ass, and get your little interview. Maybe if you’re really lucky and your guardian angel is watching out for you, you won’t get the job. If you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Then again—silly me. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”
She hauled Ella off her desk and gave her a push toward the cubicle door. Chang barely managed to get out of her way, and had to catch her as she stumbled. “Damn, Ella, you smell like—”
“Never mind,” Ella snapped as she twitched her arm away from his grasp. She stalked back to her office. Every flimsy wall in the newsroom shook as she slammed the door shut.
Melissa, shaking from the aftershocks of all her outbursts, stuffed her personal possessions into the cardboard box that held the recycling. Photos of her and Grans, postcards from various friends, some inspirational quotes. This was right, she knew it. It was about time she started to stand up for herself. Stand up for herself. Rodrigo had used the same phrase.
Oh crap. Rodrigo. How could she help Rodrigo if she had no job? He was, at this moment, about to risk everything to get the footage she needed. And as a former employee of the Sunny Side of the News, there would be absolutely nothing she could do with it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Brody strode through the station, ignoring all attempts at friendly greetings, and shut himself in his office. These days, not even Stan was allowed in. The poor dog whimpered outside the door. Brody buried his head in his hands. Everything felt wrong. Rebecca had been living in his
house for four days. On every one of those days, he’d wanted to ask her to leave. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Protecting Rebecca had been second nature for so long.
But he didn’t want her. He wanted Melissa. With Melissa, he felt alive. He could let down his guard, he could laugh. With her, he didn’t have to be the invincible commander. Except in bed, of course.
His groin throbbed. He missed Melissa with a fierceness that kept him awake at night. She kept coming to him in his dreams, a soft-skinned goddess with magical eyes.
Someone knocked on the door. “Come in.”
Ryan poked his head in. He looked nervous.
“What’s up, Hoagie?”
“I just thought I’d . . . Well, to tell you the truth . . . That is to say . . . What I mean is that . . . You know . . .”
Good Lord. What was wrong with the kid? “I can’t even begin to guess what you’re talking about.” He fiddled with a paperweight on his desk, hoping Ryan would take the hint and leave.
“No, I know. How could you?”
“How could I what?”
“Guess. You couldn’t.”
“And I won’t. Is that it?”
“Yes. I mean, no, darn it! Here it is.” He gestured with one hand, as if presenting a gift. “Be grateful for each moment, for it is a gift from the universe.”
“What?”
“Be as the wave on the ocean. The wave doesn’t notice when it begins, and when it ends.”
“Excuse me?” Had Hoagie smoked something before work?
“Be happy in the here and now, because the past is gone, and the future may never arrive. Suffering is the greatest of all teachers. From suffering comes compassion. The night is darkest just before the dawn.” The affirmations came tumbling out of him like rocks skipping down a mountainside.
Brody didn’t know whether to be touched or offended. “Well . . . um . . .” Touched won out. Ryan had a good heart. “Food for thought. Thanks.”
“You know, if you’re having problems with Hollywood . . . well, do you want any of us to talk to her?”
So that’s what this was about. He should have known. “Why would I want that?” Brody scowled, but Ryan didn’t back down. He’d never lacked guts.
“We all really like her, and sometimes you can be . . . Well, we know you really well, so if you did something to make her mad, I could explain it to her. Maybe she doesn’t understand—”
“Rebecca’s back,” interrupted Brody, punctuating his shocking statement by plopping the paperweight back on the table.
Ryan took a step back. “Back? Back here?” He looked around wildly, as if expecting to see her emerge from a corner.
“Back with me.” He couldn’t manage to bring one bit of enthusiasm to that announcement. Once the words were out, it sounded like a death sentence.
“Oh.”
“Got an affirmation for that?”
Ryan’s jaw tightened. Brody knew he’d never liked Rebecca. “Sure, but they might have some curse words in them.”
Brody felt a smile crack his face—the first in days.
“We’re here for you, Captain. No matter what.”
“I appreciate it, Hoagie. Now get the hell back to work.”
After Ryan left, Brody’s brief smile disappeared. He’d said the words aloud, so it must be true. Rebecca was back in his life.
She’d settled herself into the main house with a worker-bee attitude that implied she had no intention of leaving any time soon. Her clothes were everywhere. One bedroom had become her crafts room, where she was busily turning out new versions of the famous flip-flops. She’d set up a computer and fax machine to take orders.
She spent most of her time on the computer, and most of that time was spent arguing with Thorval. They had long, angry e-mail exchanges about the business and God knew what else. Hours later, she would still be fired up, fizzing like a firecracker, anxious to relate every heinous thing Thor had said.
But she was trying hard to patch things up, putting together nice meals from takeout and inviting him up to the house. After dinner, despite her broad hints and increasingly provocative lounging outfits, he took himself off to the trailer.
There in the Airstream, where the air still had a tang of vanilla and every surface held a memory of the sensual wonders of Melissa, he’d watch TV until he finally fell asleep. Funny that before this, his deepest desire had been for Rebecca to admit her mistake and beg him to take her back.
There’s an affirmation for you: Be careful what you wish for.
Now it was happening, almost exactly as he’d fantasized, and it brought him not an ounce of joy. But what could he do? He couldn’t abandon her now, not with a baby coming. Maybe the baby would change her. Make her more . . . coolly intelligent, more sweetly vulnerable, more cream-over-fire, more forest-green-eyed. More Melissa.
Stop, he ordered himself. Melissa is gone. Don’t torture yourself. He looked at the scheduling calendar. Thursday. He had tomorrow off. And all weekend. What would Rebecca try to pull if he was around all weekend? He’d better stick to the Airstream.
On Friday afternoon, while scrubbing the Airstream bathroom, he heard Melissa’s Volvo drive up. He would have recognized that coughing, rattling noise anywhere. His pulse raced and he scrambled to get the yellow rubber gloves off his hands.
But when he opened the door he found not Melissa, but Haskell, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Good to see you, Haskell.”
“Yah.” The man shifted from foot to foot. Brody wondered if he too was about to spout some affirmations.
“Can I get you some coffee? Tea?”
“Nah.”
A long silence followed, during which Brody decided to make himself some coffee. Haskell followed him into the trailer and sat at the kitchen booth while Brody ground the beans, boiled the water, and pulled out a mug.
“You sure you don’t want any?”
“Yah.”
Brody shrugged and poured boiling water over the filter. Talking had never been Haskell’s forte. If he had something to say, he’d get to it when he got to it. When Brody had finally settled back at the table, mug in hand, Haskell cleared his throat.
“So, you don’t got no one to make your coffee for you?”
At first Brody didn’t get it. Who would make his coffee for him? Then he understood, and almost laughed out loud. Haskell was asking about Rebecca.
When he didn’t answer right away, Haskell blurted out, “Nelly wants to know. My ma.”
“Nelly sent you to find out if anyone’s making my coffee?”
“You know how she is.”
Haskell, looking miserable, fiddled with the salt shaker. Brody racked his brain for a way to let him off the hook. For the second time that day, should he say out loud that Rebecca was back in his life? If he said it to Haskell, it would be irrevocable. Melissa would know within an hour. Maybe it would be better that way. It would help him put thoughts of Melissa aside. Yes, that’s what he should do. This was the perfect opportunity. But when he opened his mouth, the words refused to come. He snapped it shut and willed himself to try again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Mystified, he started to try one more time, when a commotion outside made both men jump up.
“Harry!” he heard Rebecca yell. “Harry, get out here!”
Haskell and Brody ran outside. Rebecca stood on the front steps, shrinking back in horror from a small, bloodied figure. She was shrieking and clutching her belly. “This . . . creature is trying to attack me! Get him away from me!”
The kid—just a boy—shook his head and held up his hands to show he meant no harm.
But Rebecca kicked at him. The boy stumbled backward.
“Rebecca, stop that! He’s not trying to hurt you.” He ran to the boy, who was nearly unconscious and mumbling deliriously.
Ignoring the blood, he grabbed him before he fell. “What’s your name, kid? What happened?”
“What do you care what his name is?” cried Rebecca. “He tried to hurt my baby!” Haskell put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down, but she shook him off.
“No!” mumbled the kid. “No, no. Don’t let her kick me.”
“Relax, kid, no one’s going to hurt you,” Brody told him. “What happened? Who are you?”
“My head . . . the camera . . . Melissa! I want Melissa.” And he passed out.
The kid wanted Melissa? His Melissa? Brody remembered the investigation she’d been talking about, the boy who’d been abused. He pulled out his cell phone to dial her.
“This is Melissa.”
At the sound of her voice, he felt more alive than he had in days. “It’s Brody. I think the kid you were talking about is here. It looks like someone beat him up. He’s asking for you.”
“Oh my God. Where are you? Shit, my dad has my car again.”
Brody glanced at Haskell. “I’ll go get her,” Haskell said instantly.
“Call 911 too. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Harry, what the hell is this? Why aren’t you trying to help me instead of him?” Rebecca’s voice quivered in that way that used to send him rushing to her side.
“You didn’t just get the crap beaten out of you.”
She sucked in a breath at his tone. He never spoke to her like that. “And who’s this Melissa? This lowlife’s mother? How do you know her?”
Brody ignored her, although he was tempted to march her inside the house and order her to get a grip on herself. Instead he focused on the kid. “Can you say your name?”
He opened his eyes a slit. “Yes. Rodrigo Juarez.”
“See? He’s probably illegal. We should call the cops,” said Rebecca.
“Go get some ice, Rebecca. In the fridge in the trailer.”
Rebecca looked mutinous, but he’d used his most commanding fire captain voice. As soon as she’d left, Rodrigo let out a sigh and relaxed.
“How’s your head feeling?”
The Fireman Who Loved Me Page 23