Love. Local. Latebreaking.: Book 1 in the newsroom romance series

by H. Laurence Lareau

  “Not only are you rude, Jake Gibson, you’re an idiot.” Karli turned and began dragging cables back into the truck, making no contact with Jake’s liquid brown eyes. She looked up at Erik, whose head had been swinging back and forth between Karli and Jake. “Yes, we are moving out. Keep everything turned on that you can for a very short drive, okay?”

  Erik nodded and ducked back into the van. Jake stomped on the quickly tangling group of cables Karli was heaping helter-skelter into the live van. The cables stopped dead with the sudden weight and nearly tipped Karli off of her high heels. Just as she regained her balance and lifted her sparking eyes to Jake’s, the fire engine rolled to a stop next to the live truck. Its PA system cut off her intended description of his shortcomings. “You must evacuate this area immediately,” came the officially amplified voice. “The train was carrying dangerous chemicals. You must evacuate immediately.”

  Karli glared pointedly at Jake, tipping her head toward the engine and its message by way of silent but emphatic told you so. She resisted the urge to flip him the bird, only because they were standing right next to a van with Three NewsFirst painted on this side in three-foot letters. Jake took his foot off the cables and began to coil them himself, though neatly and quickly rather than in the tangled mess she had begun to create. She walked to the passenger side of the fire engine, looking for the ranking firefighter.

  “Karli Lewis, Three NewsFirst. Where is your command post set up?”

  ***

  With only five minutes left before the show started, they had moved the truck to the local Kum & Go franchise’s parking lot near the center of Cambridge. Karli, Jake and Erik scrambled to set up and go live. Erik raised the mast and chattered into his two-way radio while moving joysticks to restore the microwave signal that carried sound and video back to the station’s master control room. He also kept a wary eye out for more sparks between the reporter and photographer. The day was hot enough already, he thought, without another blow-up. Karli flipped back through her notes and paced the parking lot, mumbling as she rehearsed her report.

  She couldn’t help glancing, then outright peek-sneaking, as Jake, wearing a Three NewsFirst polo and 501s, strung audio and video cables from the truck and far enough across the parking lot that the noisily rattling generator powering the truck’s array of broadcast equipment wouldn’t be picked up as background sound. She noticed especially how he moved—somehow more lithe and powerful than the simple economy of movement that comes from repeating a practiced task. His strength was like a graceful cat’s ever-ready yet relaxed power. Watching Jake’s arms ripple as he spun out and dressed the cables, she remembered the irresistible strength of his hands as he’d taken the camera and tripod from her. And he handled the camera and tripod as smoothly as inanimate dance partners. His face and physique were the classic picture of handsome: waves of hair and a strong jawline framed expressive brown eyes and a razor-straight nose; a smooth neck arced to broad shoulders and a lean, muscled torso; the worn jeans rode over long legs and showed a distinctly impressive dimension around the button fly.

  He’s handsome, sure, Karli thought to herself. Too bad he’s an arrogant jerk. Regardless, I don’t have time for news photographers who cop attitudes right before we go on the air. The decisions on location are mine to make, not his.

  Still, there was an unusual kind of sexy that made Jake different. He was good-looking, yeah, but it wasn’t any particular thing about how he looked that kept drawing her eyes back to him. It was an unusual air of effortless competence, as though no problem were beyond his ability. Yet he wasn’t cocky or arrogant; his was, rather, a calm presence that didn’t seem likely to break a sweat over any difficulty. This won’t do at all, she thought. She was attracted to this Jake. And she couldn’t work with this photographer every day if she wanted to jump his bones. She needed a working partner to make her stories as visually brilliant as they could be, not a . . . well, not whatever Jake would be if she slept with him. And watching him move was compelling.

  Karli took her spot and checked her earpiece. “Ready remote?” she heard Chuck Teros the director ask in her ear, followed by his call for the title sequence. She heard Erik’s two-way radio echo through Chuck’s headset, “We’re ready to go live,” and then heard the broadcast through her earpiece, with the opening music for the Three NewsFirst midday show and the announcer’s voice trumpeting, “Live, from the News Center Plaza, it’s Three NewsFirst at Noon.”

  Her sudden, reflexive cry of panic was silenced by the concern that her mic might be live, yet Karli felt a jolt of impending live-television doom shake her as Jake locked his camera into place on the tripod, straightened up, then ran away from the setup at a sprint. It was time to go on the air, but Jake was leaving his camera?

  They hadn’t been set up in time to do a live headline of their story before the newscast’s open, but they were ready to go live as soon as the show started. Karli’s earpiece brought the sound of the anchors on set in Des Moines reading her lead-in about the location of the train’s derailment, between the Heart of Iowa Nature Trail to the south and Ballard Creek to the north. The director switched to video they had beamed back earlier of the evacuated town and the derailed cars. The video changed back to the newsroom’s veteran anchor, Arthur Brinkman, who greeted Karli and introduced her as reporting live from Cambridge.

  Just as the director cut to Karli on-camera, Jake sprang back into view, silently dropping a huge white box onto the ground near Karli’s feet. Bright sunlight reflected off the angled white surface and into her eyes. Karli fought off the glare’s distraction and began her report with the most recent development, the hazmat teams suiting up and starting to clean the spilled chemicals just across town, then she led into a recorded interview with a local resident who had heard the train squeal and thunder off the tracks.

  While the sound and video of that taped interview rolled, Karli kept her eyes toward Jake and his camera. She couldn’t help noticing Jake’s hair curling behind the lens and his tall, masculine frame wrapped possessively around the camera and tripod. His muscular legs were locked into position to keep the camera rock-steady. The resident’s sound bite ended, and Karli was back on, live.

  “…Story County Sheriff’s Captain Tina Mowbrey is with me here live.” Jake smoothly zoomed out and panned to include the officer. “Captain, what progress are the hazmat teams making so folks can return to their homes here in Cambridge?

  “We expect that work will be done within 24 hours. Any time you have chemicals leaking into the environment, that’s a serious issue, and we are playing it safe. We’re getting that under control, and the town is being evacuated now only as a precaution.”

  “Captain, isn’t one of the chemicals leaking from the train sodium hydroxide, a chemical so corrosive it could injure or kill people who come in contact with or breathe it, right?”

  “Yes, that is one of the chemicals we’re dealing with. But we’re getting it under control. We're glad to have the wind out of the west today, as that will blow any dangerous vapors away from town.”

  “Thank you, Captain.

  “And Arthur,” Jake zoomed tightly to Karli’s face, her startling blue eyes turning underneath her long bangs to look into his lens as though directly into the eyes of the anchorman on set in downtown Des Moines, “as we said earlier, over 800 people have been evacuated from Cambridge today as a result of this toxic chemical spill on the east edge of town. We’ll have more on the story this evening at six. Reporting live from Cambridge, this is Karli Lewis, Three NewsFirst.”

  “Thanks for that report,” Arthur’s deep bass rumbled in her earpiece. “Karli Lewis, the newest member of the Three NewsFirst team, live from Cambridge, where hazardous chemicals from a train derailment have caused the town’s evacuation. We’ll have more on that story throughout the day.”

  Arthur’s co-anchor for the noon show, Bailey Barber, read the lead-in to the next story, about pesticide levels in Des Moines’ tap water. Karli kep
t her eyes on the camera in front of her until she heard director Chuck’s voice in her earpiece saying, “You’re clear, remote.”

  Before she had the chance to feel the relief that always came as the adrenaline rush from a high-pressure live shot dissipated, Karli’s iPhone buzzed in her pocket; the caller ID said Three NewsFirst. Expecting congratulations on a triumphant first day at the new station, she slid to answer: “Karli Lewis.”

  “Why weren’t you ready to go in the break before the show? We sent you up there with our best photographer and engineer—so you could beat everyone else to the scene—and they tell me you made them move the entire shot away from the scene? You were supposed to tease the newscast!” Karli’s new boss, News Director Jerry Schultz, was spitting mad. Her cheek and ear were practically wet.

  “Uh, hi Jerry,” Karli stammered. “We weren’t safe that close to the leak. I googled the placard on the leaking containers, and I learned that sodium hydroxide is deadly. It is caustic enough to burn or kill people, and when it reacts with metals—like those train cars—it creates explosive gas. ”

  “You mean you couldn’t have waited ten minutes until our lead story actually led the newscast?”

  “The fire department came to evacuate us just as I told Erik to take the mast down. They weren’t going to let us stay there, Jerry.” Karli’s voice shook with live-shot adrenaline and from the surprise and fear of the unexpected confrontation with her brand new boss on her first day at work.

  “So the officials removed you from the scene?” Jerry sounded surprised, and Karli heard his chair groan as he shifted with his reaction.

  “Yes, Jerry. They directed us to move at about the same time I said to take the mast down.”

  “Okay. Well, that can’t be helped,” Jerry conceded grudgingly. “At least you didn’t fumble the shot once you did get on the air.”

  Is this what passes for praise here? Karli wondered. “Yeah, well, thanks. As far as I can tell, we were the only station to identify the chemical, and we covered the whole story from the resident witness to the evacuation and the danger from the chemicals and the cleanup. And I already have a line on some interviews with folks who’ve been evacuated.” Karli didn’t want to sound defensive, but she had done a solid job today. She had been working as a television news reporter for over four years after all, and she knew what she was doing.

  Although her confidence could sometimes come across as a bit arrogant, Karli was deeply committed to excellence in her reporting, and it almost always came through in her reports.

  The time she had spent in the tiny Palm Beach television market had taught her a lot about how to work toward her goal of reporting in one of the top markets. She had to cover stories that would gain national attention or at least report some stories that would win some of the big awards in the news business. It helped to be a member of the so-called Missou Mafia—alums of the University of Missouri (Columbia) broadcast journalism program—who have a powerful presence in newsrooms throughout the country.

  As good as her reporting in Florida had been, it had been handicapped by the newsroom’s lack of staff. She’d had to do her own photography and editing in addition to the reporting. And although she could run a camera competently, her training and interest focused on reporting and writing. Television is a visual medium, and Karli knew that winning big awards meant going to a market where she could work with hotshot photographers and editors. Operations like Three NewsFirst were among the best in the nation for that kind of talent. Or so she’d thought. Until her first day on the job. Today.

  As she hung up from her call with Jerry, Karli’s eyes brimmed with furious tears. My first day. I save the whole crew from toxic chemicals, and the jerk photog bitches about it and tells me I’m a hack from the tropics. I nail the live shot, and my new boss thinks I’m a screw-up.

  I’m so glad I took this job.

  Deep breaths, Karli, she thought to herself. You’re a short-timer. Stay cool.

  Get some good stories here for the resume reel and get the heck out of here and on to bigger news pastures, like a job reporting in a real market like Chicago. And especially don’t waste energy thinking about sexy photogs who won’t do anything but hold you back. This too—all of it—shall pass.

  Chapter Two

  Salon Cut it Out!

  Ingersoll Avenue, Des Moines

  Tuesday evening, July 16

  Karli took a long sip from her diet Mountain Dew and, her back to the mirror, regarded her new hairdresser’s straight, fine features and his deliberately tousled, product-laden hair. “Trevor, is it like this for every new reporter here?”

  “Like what?” Trevor asked as he ran Karli’s wet hair through his fingers, checking his work with a critical eye.

  “Everyone is mean. Seriously mean. Like they want to see if they can make me cry. Because they like to see the new reporter cry.”

  Focused on his work rather than Karli’s complaints, Trevor tilted his head to the side as he swung the chair from side to side, examining Karli’s new style. He snipped at some imperfection only he could see, then finally met Karli’s eyes. “Karli, you're beautiful. We’re going to move away from that girl-next-door look and show everyone just how beautiful you are. Wait till I blow this dry. It’s going to open your face up for everyone to see.”

  Karli glanced down at the unusually large piles of hair on the floor with concern and tried to imagine what the finished product would be like. “Every move I make, everyone feels entitled to second-guess me and tell me that I’m not doing it right or not doing it the Des Moines way. Like that Jake—the photographer. He just belittles me and looks at me like I’m an idiot. And he’s even worse than that.

  Right when we went live, he tried to freak me out by flashing this big white thing in my face. If I hadn’t been live, I would’ve screamed!”

  Trevor nodded and started running product-covered hands through Karli’s hair. “Jake Gibson? He comes here, too. Well, pretty much everyone from the newsroom does because there’s a trade-out deal. He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Trevor’s eyes twinkled salaciously at the mention of the lean, muscled photographer.

  “Who cares if he’s gorgeous? He’s a dick! I found out that the stuff leaking out of that train was likely to kill us, and he couldn’t do anything but tell me what an idiot I am for wanting not to wade in it,” Karli fumed. “And then I nail the live shot and he just starts putting his gear away. No nice job, new reporter who I’m going to be working with now. No glad you’re on the team, new reporter who just saved my life and still got the story. Nothing.”

  Then Karli remembered what he’d looked like while he’d bent over his camera, enveloping it with his broad shoulders and strong, carefully steady arms. Okay, she thought, he’s got a powerful, sexy presence. Her pulse quickened slightly as she remembered his intense, liquid brown eyes framed by those light brown curls. Okay, she conceded, he’s gorgeous. She felt her nipples draw tensely as she remembered how his muscles had rippled under the polo shirt while he moved equipment, and how the 501s had pulled taut across his hard ass, and how they had hinted at something special behind the button fly.

  She shook herself back to the point. “So my next live shot is going to have to be good enough to win an Emmy to be good enough for middle-of-nowhere Des Moines. But Trevor, I don’t care.

  This job is really only a stepping-stone. I’m not going to worry about satisfying all these cornfield creeps. My reporting is going to get me a job in a top-ten market, where I can tackle national politics more than once every four years and cover official corruption and other issues people really care about.”

  “Des Moines isn’t necessarily bad, you know,” Trevor said. “It has been a good place for me. And do you really want to live where the corruption is?”

  “Hold it, you’re not from here?” Karli’s voice rose in surprise. “When he sent me here, Jerry made it sound like you were the native son who was positively the only one who could fix my not-good-enough-for-
Des Moines hair. So where did you come from?”

  “You’ve never heard of it,” Trevor said dismissively. “It’s a little farm town I escaped from right after high school.” Trevor fastened the diffuser to his blow dryer and began moving it carefully over Karli’s hair as he shaped it with his left hand.

  “I can’t see ever fitting in here, Trevor.”

  “Really?” Trevor quirked an eyebrow at her, then gave her a long, appraising look, the blow dryer hanging noisily at his side. She watched his eyes run over her entire compact frame, starting with her new haircut and her startling, long-lashed blue eyes. Then he stared frankly at her smooth neck and at the small round breasts that rode high on her strong pectorals. He kept looking, seriously but somehow not leering, taking in her athletic figure’s flat stomach and clean-lined, tanned legs.

  “I need to update my radar,” he concluded. Trevor indicated an exotic-looking hairdresser across the salon with a nod of his head.

  She was tall—maybe 5' 10"—with lustrous, straight brunette hair cut asymmetrically and long. As she watched the stylist turn to escort her freshly coiffed client to the front of the salon, Karli saw the subtle contours of a long figure under red leather pants and a loose-fitting natural silk blouse.

  “Leeza is back on the market,” Trevor said. “She broke up with her last girlfriend about two months ago, and she’s probably ready for dating again. You two would look great together.” Trevor’s eyes twinkled above the same naughty grin he’d had when talking about Jake.

  It took Karli a few beats to figure out what Trevor was suggesting. Then her eyes popped wide open and a deep blush flowed over her face. “Oh my gosh, Trevor. I didn’t mean different like that! I mean, I like boys!” She took a nervous swig from her diet Dew, then took another furtive look across the salon. There was no denying that Leeza was beautiful, but Karli wasn’t... well, she wasn’t like that.

  “Sorry, Karli. It sounded like that’s what you meant. And it sort of fits with you not noticing Jake,” he said. Trevor’s eyes drifted off his work and focused somewhere off in space. “If you like good-looking men, you pretty much have to notice Jake. And not as a jerk. He’s hot—and genuinely caring, too.”