The Right Stud

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  Marv’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. It’s his tell that he’s nervous—which makes me nauseous. “They think we need fresher faces. Someone who’ll appeal to the… eighteen to twenty-five age bracket.”

  “You have got to be kidding me! Those aren’t the people who watch the news.” I pace around the room, propriety gone.

  Cade clears his throat. “Marv, I’m not sure I should be—”

  “They’re thinking of the advertisers,” Marv continues. “Viewers don’t want to be scolded by their mothers on the nightly news.”

  My brain literally short-circuits, and I can’t decide if I’m more offended by his use of the word scolded or his use of the word mothers. “I’m single! I’m not even dating anyone!”

  “Well…perhaps you should.”

  My jaw drops. He did not just go there. “That’s sexist! My personal life has nothing to do with this job.”

  “This is news to me, Marv,” Vicky says, her voice infused with calm. “Maybe we should discuss this in private before we make a decision.”

  He shrugs, eyes fixed above my head. The ass can’t even meet my gaze. “Maybe there are some steps you could take to improve your on-camera look. Something around the forehead to look less…angry.”

  “Botox?” I snap. “Are you saying I need Botox?”

  “Now, don’t put words in my mouth.” He rises from his chair, holding out a conciliatory hand. “I didn’t say anything about possible plastic surgery. Did I, Cade?”

  “Plastic surgery!” My heart beats faster and my chest rises. I twist the handles on my bag. Shit, I might hyperventilate. “I just turned twenty-eight!”

  Cade shifts in his chair, and Marv continues. “Now, Rebecca, even you have to admit you haven’t been yourself lately.” His eyes drift to my straining waistline.

  I stiffen, standing straighter and trying to suck in subtly.

  “You’ve been with us five years without a break.” He scratches his nearly white goatee. “Maybe a little R&R…combined with some good, brisk walks around the park.”

  “Are you calling me fat?” My question is just short of a shriek.

  Marv looks like he swallowed a goldfish and isn’t sure how it’s going to come out.

  Again Vicky attempts to calm the situation. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we all get some rest?” She takes my upper arm and leads me to the door. “Marv and I will get with Liz over the next few days, and we can talk more about it then.”

  “Good idea,” Cade says.

  I allow Vicky to lead me to the door, but I’m vibrating with anger and outrage.

  “Just breathe,” she says a notch above a whisper once we’re in the hall.

  “Oh, sure, quote classic country to me.” I don’t smile. It’s easy for her to say. She can age all she wants in the control booth, but I have to remain eternally twenty-one.

  Cade exits Marv’s office and does a sudden U-turn when he sees us. I can’t stop a tiny growl. “He should not have been in that meeting.”

  “I agree.” Vicky’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “I don’t know what Marv is thinking.”

  I’m still feeling sick. Production is where you work if you love TV news, but the camera doesn’t love you. “Is he right, Vicky? Do I look like somebody’s overweight, angry mother?”

  “Of course not.” She pats my arm. “I’ve got you covered here. Still…you could help me help you.”

  I halt and meet her gaze head-on. “What are you saying?”

  “Stop frowning.” Her eyes travel down and up my body. “Just make some changes on your end. You know…little things.”

  I grip her forearm. “Be brutal and pretend we aren’t friends. Tell me what to do to stay in front of the camera.”

  Releasing a deep sigh, she crosses her arms. “Okay…but I’m only saying this because I care. You need to drop at least five pounds—at least. High-def shows everything.”

  Looking down, I see the seams straining on the sides of my skirt, and I tighten my lips. It’s true. I’ve let things go a little bit. When my best friend Nancy had lived with me, she’d always been able to whip up my favorite Tex-Mex recipes with half the fat and calories. It had been her specialty—favorite foods with a healthy twist. Now she’s at the Culinary Institute in New York chasing her dream of being on the Food Network, and I’m left with Doritos Locos Tacos from Taco Bell…and an additional fifteen pounds.

  Of course, there’s also the other thing.

  “I guess I’ve been in a funk since James and I broke up…” I hope for a little sympathy. “It’s hard to care what you look like naked when the chances of anyone seeing you naked are less than zero.”

  “You can increase those chances if you pay attention to your makeup.”

  I throw up my hands. “We busted our asses to file that pageant story on time. It was hot as hell in the expo center, and when I realized I’d left my blotting papers in the van, it was too late…”

  Her expression changes, and my voice trails off. I know what she’s going to say before she even begins.

  “This is a competitive, appearance-driven field, Becks.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “You can’t slack off, even for a month, and expect to move up in the ranks. I’ll buy you a few weeks, but you have got to show that you’re making changes.”

  “I know.” I rub my forehead. “You’re right. I know you’re right!”

  “Get started tomorrow.” She leaves me at the door and heads back to the control room to prep for the ten o’clock broadcast.

  I throw my blazer over my arm and start for the door. A unisex restroom is just at the back exit, and I decide to make a pit stop before heading to my car and getting stuck in late-evening Houston traffic needing to pee.

  Flinging the door open, my eyes land on the glorious backside of none other than Captain Sexy himself. He steps away from the toilet, and not only do I get an eyeful of that sexy tush in all its toned and lined greatness, he turns before his slacks are completely over his hips, and I’m treated to a view of his long, thick… member. If that’s at ease, what must it look like at attention?

  My jaw goes slack, and the horrible meeting is forgotten as my purse plops to the floor. Never in my life have I ever wanted to increase my chances of being seen naked again. Forget being seen—I simply want to be naked all over that…

  It. Is. Amazing.

  Two

  Cade

  “Don’t you know how to knock, Stone?” I finish buckling my belt, hiding my surprise at seeing the sexy blonde bursting in the door like a wild woman.

  Her mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. “Your pants were down! I saw…” She swallows, her face cardinal red. “I can’t believe you go commando in Armani!”

  My lips twitch as I wash my hands and dry them. “It’s called taking a piss, and I usually do it alone. Do you mind giving me some privacy?”

  I turn to adjust my tie in the mirror, secretly pleased we have something to distract us from that bullshit meeting Marv pulled me into just now. He’d been dead wrong thinking I’d side with his sorry ass over Stone. I’ve had my eye on her since day one, with her laser focus and her utter disinterest in me. Part of me finds it intriguing—a woman not falling at my feet—while the other side of me is annoyed. I want to get to the bottom of it.

  She huffs. “Well, you should have locked the damn door—and stop calling me Stone! It’s ridiculous. Killer.”

  My jaw tightens at her reference to my old football nickname. “I see you’ve done your homework. Do you prefer Becks?”

  “That’s for close friends only.”

  “Rebecca?” I ask silkily, liking how the three syllables roll off my tongue. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

  “No.” She crosses her arms.

  “Why don’t you like me, Stone?” I arch a brow as I turn around to face her. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “For starters, you should not have been in that meeting just now.”

  “Agreed.”

&
nbsp; I can tell she’s stunned by how fast I answer. Her face shutters, and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. While her eyes are fixed on the floor, I take a minute to study her uninterrupted. Her rumpled hair is a deep honey color and perfectly complements her pale, creamy skin. She mutters something to herself.

  “What was that?”

  Clearing her throat, she says, “I said you also remind me of someone. My ex, James. He had the beard thing too.” She waves her fingers toward my face, still not making eye contact.

  “It didn’t end well?”

  “He was a douche.” Her hair slides over one shoulder as she shrugs. “He left me three months ago for the coffee barista who used to wait on us every morning on the way to work. Now I can’t even go to my favorite coffee place. Did I mention she’s twenty-one? Right up your Killer alley.”

  “Are you saying he’s my doppelganger?” That bothers me, imagining Stone in a relationship with my twin, not twin.

  She sighs. “The beard and hair is the same, but you’re—”

  “Hotter?” I grin.

  Her lips purse and she starts to say something but seems to think better of it.

  I study her. “The truth is you’ve been mad at me since I started here. Why?”

  A flash of determination glints in her irises. “You want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s annoying—no, maddening—that you breeze into the best station in Houston without a journalism degree and suddenly become the sports guy, all because you were a decent quarterback and your dad happens to own half the city.”

  I smirk. She’s trying to get under my skin, and I like it, but I can’t let the football slight pass.

  “Decent quarterbacks don’t score Super Bowl wins. I’m one of the best.”

  She thinks for a moment and nods. “Fair enough. But you insist on having that…that hair on your face when everyone else on camera is clean-shaven. Heck, your beard even gets fan mail!” A long exhale comes from her mouth. “Everyone loves you, and you didn’t earn it.”

  “That’s it?” I tuck my hands in my pockets.

  “Mostly.”

  I shrug. “Cool. I can live with that.”

  She cocks her head and gives me a quizzical look. “It doesn’t piss you off when I say you’re skating by on your ridiculous beard, past talent, and family name?”

  “How do you skate by, Stone? What’s special about you?”

  Her lip trembles, and I immediately want to yank the words back. Shit. Usually she’s up for the snarky banter, but after that brutal meeting…

  I scrub my face. “Er, what I meant was—”

  She holds a hand up, seeming to find her equilibrium. “First off, I don’t have to skate by. I have a bachelors in pre-law and a masters in journalism—”

  “Couldn’t get into law school?”

  “And six years experience in front of a camera—”

  “So do I. It’s called the NFL—”

  “Get into law school?” she repeats. “As if I want to be stuck in a stuffy office all day reading briefs and clocking billable hours.”

  “Good point. I probably wasted my time in law school.”

  Her eyes widen. “What? Where?”

  “Leland, top of the class.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I thought you did your homework?” I smirk.

  “Why are you smiling?” she demands with a little huff, and my slow grin widens.

  “Because I’m not the dumb jock you think I am. I deserve this job. I’ve worked for it just as hard as you—only in a different way.”

  She dips her head. “You’re probably right.” Her voice is defeated.

  No. I don’t like this. My jaw grinds, and I’m pissed at Marv for blindsiding her like that. Stone is never this easy to best, especially in a verbal sparring match. I let my eyes cruise over her, scrutinizing her wilted shoulders and the way she holds herself as if she might break, and shit—her face scrunches up.

  Wait.

  Is she crying?

  No, Jesus, please. Not here. Not now. Not with me.

  She is. Her shoulders tremble as she sniffs and wipes her nose with her hand.

  Fuck me.

  Helplessness rolls over me, and my eyes roam around the room. Seeing the tissues on the counter, I grab a handful and press them into her hands.

  “Shit, Stone. Did I hurt your feelings?”

  She takes them and cleans her face. “God no. It’s not you. Sorry for this. I never cry. It’s been a long, craptastic day.”

  “Right.” I pause. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not with you.”

  Thank fuck. I don’t know how to talk to women. I’ve spent most of my life in a locker room surrounded by men.

  Against my better judgment, I ease closer to her. “Look, I know we don’t know each other well, but I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

  She blinks up at me, emerald eyes glistening with tears. “Of course you are. You’re Mr. Perfect, right?”

  “I’m far from perfect,” I murmur quietly. “In fact, I’m drawn up in a knot right now because you’re crying.”

  She smiles a little. “Really?”

  I nod.

  She gathers herself as she dabs at the mascara under her eyes. I watch her intently. The truth is I’m a bit fascinated by Stone. I blame it on her lips. They’re a deep pink color—naturally—with a lush bottom lip that begs to be tugged in a soft nip.

  And her breasts are fucking incredible, perky and full, and I may have pictured my face there a few times—

  Don’t touch those tits, I remind myself sharply.

  Don’t mess with your co-worker when you’re beginning a whole new career.

  Voices echo from out in the hall, bringing home that we’re two people in a one-person bathroom—which could be construed as inappropriate. Marv and I do not see eye to eye, especially when it comes to Stone, and I don’t want to give him any more ammunition. Since the moment the board agreed to give me free reign of the sports department without his influence, he’s been a little bitch.

  She’s still unsuccessfully fighting tears, and I rake a hand through my hair and pace around her. Screw it. Feeling uncomfortable, I go with my instincts and walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her loosely. It’s a slight hug, sort of like I’d give a sister if I had one.

  “Fuck Marv,” I say gruffly. “Want me to kick his ass?”

  Her head is buried in my shoulder and moves from side to side in a no motion.

  We huddle together in the small space, and I wait patiently as she takes deep breaths, seeming to calm herself. After a bit, she leans back from me, straightens her shoulders, and looks around the room as if orienting herself. “I’m sorry for barging in on you.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say softly. “We can get out of here and have a drink if you want?” My eyes land on her full lips.

  She stares at my beard, meets my eyes, and then flushes a deep red again. “No…no, I can’t.”

  I heave a sigh of relief. I don’t know what crazy part of me even offered that.

  She says a hurried goodbye, scoops up her purse, and practically runs out the door. I hear her bump into someone in the hallway and apologize. It sounds like the fresh-from-college reporter Savannah.

  I stand there and wait for the hallway to clear as I run the last few minutes through my head. Rebecca Fieldstone has seen my cock, told me off, cried on my shoulder, and then apologized. It’s the most personal interaction we’ve ever had.

  I make my way back to the den and into my private office. The contractors had just finished it a few weeks ago. Whole new offices were part of my requirements for coming onboard at KHOT. The board had agreed—not the usual for a sports guy—but then not everyone is Cade Hill. I could have gone anywhere I wanted, even SportsCenter, but Houston and this station are exactly where I want to be.

  I shut the double panel door quietly and stalk toward the plate-glass
window that overlooks the parking lot. I want to make sure she gets to her car without any trouble. Our office is in the nice part of downtown but there have been a rash of muggings in parking garages lately. From witness reports, police think it’s the work of the same guy or the same group of guys.

  I watch her stomp out into the September night, legs flashing under her snug pencil skirt. She’s tall in her heels, about five feet eleven and curvy in all the right places, just how I like a woman.

  And I’m a fucking hypocrite for thinking about her like that. I push it down. I have better shit to focus on. Like work. I need to run through the line-up for the college football games tomorrow.

  Still, I stand at the window, my eyes following her.

  With a fast pace, she clutches her brown bag against her chest and moves toward her little green death machine, an electric Prius. People in Texas drive trucks or SUVs, but not Stone. Nope, she’s entirely different.

  She flings the door open and throws her stuff inside. Then with a quick spin, she turns back to face the red building and flips the bird with both hands.

  I laugh. I’m sure it’s for Marv…and the fucking insultants.

  Hell, maybe it’s for the whole damn system.

  She climbs in her car and cruises out into traffic quiet as a mouse. It’s not the tire-squealing exit I’m sure she wants, but at least she’s saving on gas.

  From behind me, my office door opens.

  Two things happen at once: an irritating giggle meets my ears and floral perfume assaults my senses. I turn to see Savannah standing there. Pretty, blonde, and bouncy, she’s been sending me signals that she’s available for a quick fuck since she was hired. She’s forever popping in here for some inane reason—without waiting for me to tell her to come in.

  “What?” My voice is sharp as I settle back in my chair and bring up the agenda for tonight on my computer.

  “Oops, sorry, Cade.” Another giggle. “I can’t seem to figure out this door. It just flies open.” She pauses and clears her throat. “Your fiancée is in the sports den asking for you.”

  My head rises slowly. I don’t have a fiancée, but I do have a slightly crazy ex. She has a habit of saying we’re engaged whenever it suits her. I frown. “Skinny platinum blonde with an attitude?”