by K. N. Casper
“I don’t know. I can’t imagine it doing any good. Taggart will just deny it. Even if Renn gets Wayne to admit Taggart put him up to it, it’ll just be a disgraced photographer’s word against the great analyst.”
All day Sunday Audrey debated with herself about what she could do to help Marlee.
Monday, April 21
THE QUIET LIFE Renn had so carefully honed for himself was falling apart. At work people were on edge, waiting for a decision about who would get the nod for sports director. They were beginning to vote in the only way they knew how. Renn sat in on all Taggart’s shows now to make sure things ran smoothly. There hadn’t been any more mangled tapes or late cues, but the spirit of cooperation and teamwork that had been the hallmark of Clark’s stewardship was decidedly missing. People did their jobs, but that was all. At least as far as Taggart was concerned.
Marlee, on the other hand, could do no wrong. They all knew she’d saved Wayne’s butt—again. The first time, they figured, he’d deserved it. This last time, he definitely hadn’t, but they respected Marlee’s willingness to give him another chance for the sake of his wife and baby.
There was another aspect of his job that was driving Renn crazy—being around Marlee. Until he’d kissed her he was able to convince himself his attraction was simply the normal, uninvolved appreciation of a healthy man for a beautiful woman. The kiss, or rather kisses, had changed that. Appreciation was much too mild a word, and uninvolved definitely didn’t apply. Not anymore.
They’d managed to avoid being alone together since the night of the ball, the night he’d held her in his arms, taken her home, stood hand in hand with her as they gazed out across the moon-glittered lake. It didn’t do any good. He was still stirred by the thought of her, and judging from the way she avoided eye contact with him, she was aware of him, too. If circumstances were different, he’d ask her out, but aside from the little detail that she was on his do-not-touch list, Coyote Springs was too small and she too well-known for them to go anywhere in public. Which was unfortunate, because he would very much like to find out if she was as good at the Texas Two-step as she was at jitterbugging.
Monday, April 28
“YOU WANTED to see me?” Marlee asked, as she approached the door to the vice president’s office.
“Come in.” Faye motioned to the chair on the right side of her desk.
The room was chilly, or seemed so to Marlee, who was wearing a short-sleeved blue cotton shirt and brown slacks. Faye had on a medium-gray gabardine suit with pointy lapels, over a sage-green silk blouse.
“Because of budget cuts, we’ve been reviewing and revising all our contracts, yours among them.”
She opened a folder on her desk and removed a sheaf of papers, which she shoved across the desk. “Please read this contract carefully. If you have any questions, I’ll answer them for you.”
Marlee was stunned.
At the lowest levels, assistant producer and some technical people, contracts were standardized and basically nonnegotiable. As you moved up the ladder to producer and on-air personality, they became individually tailored. At the highest echelons, no two were alike and their specific provisions were highly confidential. Revisions were common when contracts were renewed and often involved lengthy bargaining. Marlee’s would be coming up for consideration soon, but she hadn’t expected to see an actual offer this quickly.
Her heart started pounding. Did this mean she wasn’t getting the anchor job? Or was this a contract for it? And where was Renn?
“I’ll give you a few minutes to read it over,” Faye said blandly, rose from her chair and left the room.
Marlee’s fingers trembled as she picked up the file, which was several pages long and stapled in the upper left-hand corner.
Her eyes skimmed past the boilerplate information, her name, social security number, address, and raced down to the text. The words didn’t register. She had to take a deep breath, slow down and concentrate on their meaning.
Reporter, not sports director.
The contract ran for three years. Nothing new. Only veterans like Clark were offered longer contracts. The first significant change that jumped out was compensation. Her pay was being cut ten percent. Overtime would be recompensed in time off rather than cash. In other words, she wouldn’t be paid for her long hours on the job. Comp time was essentially a joke, because it had to be used within a specified period or lost, and there was rarely an opportunity to take it. Contributions to her retirement were likewise reduced.
Marlee’s heart sagged and a wave of depression washed over her. She kept reading. The clause on termination was also significantly altered. Her current contract provided for six months’ notice. Under those circumstances, she received severance pay equal to that amount of time. The provisions of this new contract were for only thirty days’ notice.
Marlee hadn’t hired an agent when she’d applied for this job because Clark had personally recruited her and had made sure she was given favorable terms. Since she’d had no on-air experience, she had very little bargaining power anyway. What she needed now was an agent who could fight on her behalf or, more likely, a headhunter to find her another job somewhere else.
Did Renn know about this? He hadn’t been at the station when she’d arrived. His secretary said he was at a special meeting with advertisers, which was definitely out of the ordinary.
Her depression deepened. He’d already admitted to using her as a foil to prevent Taggart from getting the job. Where was he now? Why wasn’t he here?
She’d been naive to think she had a chance at Clark’s position. Had Renn been sincere when he led her to believe she did, or had he just continued to string her along? And his kisses. Were they part of the game?
Faye reentered the room. “Have you read it?”
“Why is my pay being cut?”
“I told you—because of budget constraints.”
The temptation to call her a liar was nearly overwhelming. “I find that very hard to believe,” she said firmly. “You’ve saved big bucks by not paying a sports director salary for nearly three months. What are you doing? Banking money because you’ll have to hire someone to do Taggart’s work when you give him the job?”
Faye inhaled sharply. “You’re out of line. The details of our budget are none of your business.”
“Having my pay cut is my business.”
Faye resumed her seat. “Do you want me to recite the litany of things you’ve messed up around here?”
“Shall I show you the numbers that clearly demonstrate our ratings haven’t been hurt?” Marlee countered. “In fact, they’ve gone up over the past few months.”
“In spite of your screwups.” Faye eyes locked with Marlee’s in a hard stare.
This wasn’t getting them anywhere. Glenda had warned her that Faye would give Taggart credit for any good news.
“I need to have my agent and lawyer review this before I make a decision.”
“Of course. I’m not asking you to make a decision this minute. Take a few days to think things over. I will tell you this, Marlee. This contract is not negotiable. Have your people examine the fine print so you understand what it means, but this offer is a matter of take it or leave it.”
“And if I choose not to sign?”
“Then,” Faye said, “you’ll be given notice of immediate termination.” She folded her hands primly in front of her and looked Marlee in the eye. “You will, of course, be compensated under the provisions of your existing contract, which means you will receive six months’ severance pay. Under the noncompete clause you will also not be allowed to work at any other station within fifty miles of Coyote Springs for one year. The choice is yours, but as I said, the offer’s nonnegotiable.”
An ultimatum. One Marlee didn’t like; one she wasn’t expected to like. One, Faye no doubt hoped, she would reject.
“If I do sign this new contract, will I still be considered for the sports anchor job?”
Faye’s smile
was brittle. “Of course.”
Except Faye would be able to use the argument that Marlee didn’t have much confidence in her own abilities, since she’d just signed a contract that cut her pay.
Marlee picked up the papers and rose from her seat. “When do you need my answer?”
“By Friday before your broadcast. If you decline this offer, someone else will give the sports segment of the news.”
Marlee moved to the door. She didn’t have to ask who.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RENN WAS GETTING ready to go for a sail when the doorbell rang. He rarely had visitors, so he assumed it was a salesman. There’d been a number of them making their rounds along the lakefront the past month. His immediate inclination was to ignore the bell, but whoever it was would see him when he went down to the dock and would probably pursue him.
He yanked the door open. “Whatever it is—” His heart stopped. “Marlee. What are you doing here?”
His bark flustered her and he immediately regretted the harsh tone. He seemed to use it a lot with this woman, always unintentionally, but that didn’t change its impact.
“If I’m interrupting…”
Her meekness and the sad look in her eyes stabbed him.
“Sorry for snapping.” He chuckled, hoping to put her at ease. Something was definitely wrong. He’d never seen her so downcast. A death in the family? Another accident? “I thought you were a salesman. They always seem to attack at dinnertime.”
“You’re eating your supper. I’m sorry. I should have called. I’ll…another time.” She started to turn.
He reached out, clasped her upper arm and coaxed her around to face him. “Marlee, what’s the matter?”
“I…”
“Come on in,” he said, “and tell me what’s bothering you.”
He gave her arm a gentle tug. She entered demurely, shyly.
Not a death in the family, he decided. She could cope with that, and she would say it outright. Whatever was troubling her had her confused and perhaps angry. He couldn’t quite read her expression.
“I was getting ready to go out for a quick sail before it got dark. Join me,” he said.
“I really…”
“Sure you can.”
She was about to refuse his invitation. The pale-green blouse and buckskin-colored slacks she had on weren’t exactly suited to manning a catamaran.
“If you’re worried about your clothes, I have a sweat suit you can wear. It’ll be a little big, but I bet it’ll work. How about it?” He could see she was tempted. “Please, join me.”
“I really ought to get back to the station.”
“Sorry I missed your five o’clock broadcast.”
Faye had asked him to meet with a group of their advertisers while she was tied up with the station’s lawyers. A waste of time. One of those interminable sessions that had no focus and accomplished nothing. By the time he was able to break loose it had been after five, so he’d come straight home. He planned to watch a tape of the program at the station in the morning.
“Is that why you’re here?” He’d felt safe leaving because Taggart wasn’t around, and Mickey promised to call if he showed up. “Did something go wrong during your show?”
She shook her head. “Everything was fine.”
“Let’s get you those clothes.” He headed for his bedroom, but paused when he realized she wasn’t following. “Unless you really don’t want to.”
Hesitation vanished. “Actually, a sail sounds like fun.” She made an effort to smile as she moved toward him. “I haven’t been out on the lake in over a year.”
“While I’m digging out the sweat suit, phone Mickey and tell him to have Quint come in and do the ten o’clock broadcast. You deserve a night off after all the hours you’ve been putting in. Tell him to call me if he has any questions.”
“Take comp time?” She burst out laughing, and for a moment he thought he detected a note of hysteria. He certainly didn’t hear merriment.
She used his bedside telephone while he rummaged in his closet. He’d inadvertently washed a new pair of cotton sweats in hot water right after he’d bought them. They’d shrunk, but he hadn’t gotten around to dropping them off at the Salvation Army.
“Here you go.” He snatched them off the hanger and brought them out. She was just cradling the receiver. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
In the kitchen, he removed two steaks from the freezer and zapped them in the microwave long enough to partially defrost them. He stuck them in the refrigerator, set the oven, retrieved two large potatoes from the pantry, jabbed them with a fork and put them in to bake. All the time, his mind was conjuring up images of Marlee removing her outer garments and slipping into his. The fantasy was having a predictable effort on him.
She appeared in the doorway, her hair not as neat as it had been, but she didn’t seem self-conscious about it. The outfit, though oversize, wasn’t as baggy as he’d expected. Even though it gathered loosely around her waist and bunched at her ankles, the cloth clung to her breasts, outlining them to pure distraction.
“Not a bad fit,” she allowed, “considering.” She plucked at the side of her waist. He saw, or imagined he saw, the peaks of her nipples beneath the stretched material. “I don’t suppose you have a pair of deck shoes, too.”
On a deep breath, he looked down at her bare feet. He didn’t have a foot fetish—at least, he never had before—but he found her feet very sexy, or maybe it was simply the bare skin that was causing his nervous system to short-circuit.
He located a pair of white canvas sneakers for her. The fit wasn’t nearly as accommodating. They flapped as she walked down the path beside him to the dock.
“I feel like a platypus,” she said.
He shot her a sly grin. “May I touch?” He took her hand in his. “I’ve always wondered what a platypus felt like.”
She grinned over at him, and in that instant her eyes seemed to look into his soul. The sensation made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t want her to stop. They both laughed.
He liked hearing her high spirits and seeing the lightness return to her features. He hadn’t yet asked what was upsetting her, and she hadn’t offered. Eventually, when the mood was right, they’d discuss it. Until then, he tried not to speculate, which wasn’t all that difficult, since his attention was locked on the sight of her wearing his clothes. He kept visualizing her naked body inside the downy cotton.
He’d already raised the mast on the catamaran. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to hoist the sail and cast off. Marlee sat forward, he at the tiller. The gentle breeze moved them into the middle of the lake. Soon they were alone in the world, the only sound the delicate lapping of the water as it curled away from the twin hulls. The low-angled sun glinted off its surface in multiprismed colors.
They floated in silence for the better part of an hour. Renn kept his eye on the contemplative woman in front of him, enjoying the sight of the wind ruffling her blond hair.
She slung around, her knees still pulled up in front of her chest, her arms wrapped around them. The earlier depression had dissipated, but the melancholy that remained tore at his heart.
“Thank you for bringing me out here,” she said in a voice just loud enough to carry over the rushing air. “I’d forgotten how peaceful sailing is. Helps put things in perspective.”
“What things might they be?” he prodded gently.
“I’ll tell you later. Now I just want to enjoy the moment.”
“Is there a particular place on the lake you’d like to go?”
She shook her head. “Around in circles is fine. I love the quiet, don’t you? The serenity. A person is small out here. I’ve often wondered why that’s a comfort.”
“I’ve never thought of it as making me feel small,” he confessed, “so much as being in harmony.”
“In harmony. Yes. That’s a better way of describing it. Anyway, thank you for bringing me.”
“My pleasure.” But
he was speaking to her back again.
The sun nursed its way to the horizon. The sky overhead was bathed in color—pink and iridescent gold, violet and baby blue. Jet contrails crisscrossed overhead like lacy white ribbons tying up this special gift of nature.
Renn tacked and weaved his way back to the shoreline. Marlee came to life when they approached his dock, jumped onto the wooden planks and tied off the bow, secured the stern. Together they lashed the sail and secured the mast.
“Do you like garlic on your steak?” he asked as they strolled back to the house.
Her shoes flapped. “Love it. Good protection against vampires.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Do you run into many vampires?”
“I’m always amazed at how many bloodsuckers there are in the world—” she curled her fingers in his “—and the television business.”
Before long he’d learn what had stirred this note of bitterness that seemed so foreign to her nature; he decided not to push.
While she was freshening up, he removed the steaks from the refrigerator and rubbed them generously with fresh garlic.
“Definitely no vampires around here,” Marlee said, joining him. She’d run a comb through her hair, but it still had a windblown appearance. He liked it and the playfulness he saw in her blue eyes.
She accepted the lettuce he’d retrieved from the crisper and the wooden bowl he handed her.
While she tore the romaine into bite-size pieces, he reached under the island counter and snagged an already open jug of red wine. He poured two glasses and handed her one.
“So what happened today to upset you?”
“Faye called me to her office this afternoon.”
Was that the reason she’d asked him to handle a routine matter out of the office? She hadn’t said anything about wanting to talk to Marlee. If the VP had a complaint about her, she should have brought it to him first.
“And…?”
“She offered me a new contract.”
“She what?”
His movements stalled. Marlee was his subordinate. Faye had no right to make changes in her employment status without consulting him. This wasn’t good. His heart began to pound. He felt robbed by the VP’s preemptive move, even if it was favorable. He wanted desperately to be a part of Marlee’s life, her decisions, her choices. Obviously, Marlee hadn’t been offered the anchor position, or she’d be ecstatic, not disheartened.