by Pamela Yaye
“I might have to skip that manicure,” Salem said, tapping the face of her watch. “It’s getting late, and I have plans with my husband tonight.”
“Are you guys going to the Cadillac Palace?” Angela wasn’t a fan of the theater, but she loved connecting with viewers, and opening night of Les Misérables was sure to be a star-studded affair. “I’ll be there with the crew, covering the event, and I think fans of Eye on Chicago are going to love getting an up-close view of what happens backstage.”
“I really want to go, but my husband got tickets for the Vultures game.”
“But you hate hockey.”
“Yeah, but he loves it. And if I want him to go with me to the Enrique Iglesias concert next month, I have to suck it up and go cheer on the home team.”
Turning her face toward the window, Angela touched a hand to her mouth and patted back a yawn. “Excuse me.”
“Late night?”
“No, early morning.” Swallowing another yawn, she dabbed her teary eyes with her fingertips and smiled sheepishly at her boss. “I had another session with my trainer this morning, and he worked me so hard, I hurt in places you wouldn’t imagine!”
“Well, keep it up because all your hard work is paying off. Hey, think your trainer can whip me into shape? I’d love to drop a few pounds by my fortieth birthday.”
Angela made a sour face. “Salem, you don’t need to lose a single pound. I have handbags that weigh more than you!”
The waiter arrived and, after unloading the food from his tray, bowed chivalrously at the waist. “Enjoy your desserts, ladies. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Angela watched Salem slice into her raspberry cheesecake and giggled when her boss moaned out loud. Now’s the perfect time to talk to Salem about my new proposal, she decided, sipping her coffee. She’s high on sugar and caffeine—there’s no way she’ll blow me off!
“I really enjoyed reading the proposal you turned in last week.”
Inwardly, Angela cheered, but outwardly she remained as calm. “You did?”
“Yup, all nineteen pages!” A grin spread across her face. “One of these days, we’re going to have to sit down and discuss a shorter, more succinct approach, though.”
“I’m just glad you liked it. I worked on it for weeks.”
“I know. It showed.” Salem reached for her mug and took a sip of her chamomile tea. “You always do a great job on your proposals, but you really outdid yourself this time. Once I started reading, I couldn’t stop. Your report was that compelling.”
Angela felt as if she were going to burst. Happiness filled her, and she was so overcome with excitement that she wanted to reach across the table and hug her boss. “Salem, thank you so much. I really appreciate this opportunity and I promise not to let you down.”
Salem coughed, then pushed a hand through her long, wavy locks.
“I can’t wait to get started. Would it be okay if we met tomorrow morning to discuss—”
“Angela, your proposal was outstanding, and the sexual harassment of female soldiers in the military is a story that needs to be told, but I can’t approve it.”
“Why not?” The question shot out of Angela’s mouth before she could stop it. “I don’t understand. You just said you loved my proposal.”
“I do, but the story’s all wrong for Eye on Chicago.”
“But the victims are Chicago natives and decorated war veterans, as well.”
“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Angela, but viewers don’t give a rat’s behind about human-interest stories,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “These days, all people care about is which celebrities are dating and who was caught with his pants down—literally.”
Plastering a smile on her face, one she hoped concealed her profound disappointment, Angela stirred her spoon furiously around her coffee mug.
“Online celebrity videos get millions of hits every day, but human-interest stories get little to no press,” she continued, her expression contrite. “This is the first time Eye on Chicago has been number one in the ratings, and if we want to stay on top, we have to keep giving the viewers what they want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Scandalous, salacious stories featuring their favorite entertainers. People like...”
Angela sat frozen, with her eyes lowered and her lips pursed, listening to Salem go on and on about hot topics and future celebrity guests. She heard her cell phone buzz but didn’t dare take her BlackBerry out of her purse. Although Angela was angry that Salem had shot down her proposal, reading her messages right then would be rude.
“Viewers have an insatiable appetite for celebrity gossip, and whenever you interview a ditzy actress or troubled athlete, fans tune in by the tens of thousands.”
“I know,” Angela agreed, “but we’ve been doing essentially the same show for the last nine months. I think it’s time we shake things up and—”
“Hold that thought.” Salem whipped her iPhone out of her jacket pocket and checked the screen. “This will only take a minute.”
“No problem. Take as long as you need.”
“Hello, Salem Velasquez speaking,” she said, pressing her phone to her ear. Pushing away from the table, she hopped to her feet and strode toward the ladies’ room.
Angela looked down at her dessert and pushed the plate aside. She didn’t feel like eating. And if she thought her boss would understand, she’d grab her stuff and head home.
Staring aimlessly out the window, Angela watched as pedestrians drifted up and down the street. A guy wearing a Chicago Royals jersey and tattered jeans stood at the bus stop smoking a cigarette. The number seven was marked on the bottom of the shirt, and the initials DM were on each capped sleeve.
Those initials, of course, belonged to Demetri Morretti, the face of Grey Goose, Nike and a dozen other international companies. These days Angela couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his handsome face splashed across a billboard, the side of a bus or a glossy magazine.
Her thoughts returned to last Friday and the exact moment she spotted Demetri Morretti at Samson’s gym. Time stopped when their eyes met. Angela had been so stunned to see him that she had become hot and flustered. She’d dated a lot of men over the years but she’d never felt a spark with anyone. Never experienced that indescribable magic she saw in movies or read in romance novels. But every time she saw Demetri Morretti, Angela felt as if she was going to pass out. The man made her quiver. And tingle in the most delicious places. And that was reason enough for her to stay far away from him.
“Sorry I took so long.” Salem plopped back down in her seat and rested her cell phone on the table. “That was Demetri Morretti’s publicist, Nichola Caruso.”
Angela’s stomach lurched. She already knew what this was about and quickly racked her brain for a way out. She thought of telling her boss about her run-in with Demetri at the gym but decided against it. Salem would want to know details, and Angela didn’t feel like rehashing her ten-minute conversation with the surly baseball star.
“I’ve got bad news,” Salem said. “Morretti refuses to do your show.”
Relief flowed through her. Angela wanted to scream for joy but kept her feelings to herself. Angela didn’t want to look like a fool in front of her crew or her viewers and was secretly thrilled that the baseballer had turned Salem’s offer down.
“You know what this means, right? He’ll probably go ahead and sue us.”
“I doubt it. Morretti’s all talk.” Angela wasn’t scared of being sued, and she’d read online that defamation lawsuits were likely to be dismissed.
“You’re probably right. It’s not the first time someone’s threatened to sue the station, and it won’t be the last.” Salem tapped her fingernails absently on the table. “I’m sure his legal team wil
l talk him out of it. Suing us would be a waste of time and money.”
Angela picked up her fork, sliced into her cake and tasted the dessert. Her head tilted to the side as she savored the moist, rich flavor. A smile tickled her lips. All wasn’t lost. This wasn’t over. One way or another, she’d find a way to convince Salem to approve her proposal. She had to. Her future was riding on it.
“I’m more upset about him not doing the interview than anything.”
Angela gave a dismissive shrug of her shoulder and took another bite of her cake. “You win some, you lose some, I guess.”
“This isn’t over,” Salem announced. “We’re going to get Demetri on Eye on Chicago if it’s the last thing we do.”
“We? Count me out. I couldn’t care less...” Catching the surprised look that crossed her boss’s face, Angela broke off speaking and cleared her throat. “What I meant was, we’ve had really great guests this year, celebrities who actually like giving interviews, so why even bother with someone as grouchy as Demetri Morretti?”
“Because he’s the hottest thing in sports right now!”
Attempting to play dumb, Angela made her eyes big and wide. “You think so?”
“Uh, yeah. Where have you been?”
Busy writing proposals no one gives a damn about, Angela thought, stabbing her cake with her fork. Were her colleagues right? Had she been hired because of her looks and not because of her talent? The truth weighed heavily on her, but before she could get Salem’s take, her boss dropped another bombshell.
“Talk to Demetri tonight when you see him at Dolce Vita. And by ‘talk,’ I mean do whatever it takes to get him on your show.”
Angela stared openmouthed at her frizzy-haired boss.
“Get him alone, away from his entourage, and work that Angela Kelly charm,” she advised. “And this time, no yelling or screaming at him, okay?”
Angela’s cheeks burned like fire. Ever since her argument with Demetri went viral, everyone from the cameramen to the engineers had been teasing her. Salem thought the video was great press and had even spoken to their computer tech about uploading the clip to the station website. But Angela was dead set against it and had talked the tech guy out of posting it.
“We have to strike while the iron’s hot, and since your showdown with Demetri, the whole city’s been buzzing about you and your show.”
“How do you know Demetri will be at Dolce Vita tonight?” Angela asked. “The guy’s a recluse who rarely goes to parties or local events anymore. And when he does, he never stays more than ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Dolce Vita is his brother Nicco’s brainchild, and Demetri has attended restaurant openings from Tokyo to Dubai.” Salem looked determined. “Angela, I want Demetri Morretti on Eye on Chicago during sweeps week—”
“Then why don’t you talk to him?” Angela heard the edge in her voice and rephrased the question. “You’re the producer of the show, and if you called him up and talked to him about an appearance, it would carry more weight.”
“I would, but Demetri’s not sweet on me. He’s sweet on you.”
“No, he’s not. He hates my guts, and the feeling’s definitely mutual.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Salem said, raising her eyebrows. “Especially for two people who have insane chemistry like you guys do.”
“Chemistry?” Angela shook her head and the thought clear out of her mind. “You must be confusing us, because the only thing Demetri Morretti and I have in common is mutual disgust and animosity for one another.”
“There’s a thin line between love and hate...” she sing-songed. “And trust me, when it comes to you and Demetri Morretti, the lines have already blurred.”
“No, they’re not. I know exactly where I stand. He’s not my type, I’m not even remotely attracted to him, and to be honest, I think he’s obnoxious.”
“Oh, drop the act already! You’re not fooling anybody, Angela.”
“What act?” Angela fussed with the silver necklace draped in front of her purple V-neck sweater. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” Salem studied her closely and then wagged an index finger at her. “Just admit it. You’re attracted to Demetri Morretti, just like every other woman in America. Hell, the man gives me butterflies, too, and I’m a newlywed!”
Angela had zero interest in talking to Demetri again, but she couldn’t dismiss her boss. Not after all Salem had done for her. They were friends, the only two women of color at WJN-TV. And Angela could always count on her producer to go to bat for her. But that didn’t mean she was willing to throw herself at Demetri Morretti. There were just some things Angela couldn’t do, and begging him to appear on her show was one of them.
“Salem, I’ll do anything to make Eye on Chicago a success, but I’m not a miracle worker. Demetri isn’t going to talk to me, let alone agree to be on my show.”
“I think he will.” Her smile was coy. “His personal chef is in my yoga class, and yesterday she mentioned that Demetri’s foundation is having a Fourth of July extravaganza for hundreds of children and their families.”
“Okay,” Angela said, slowly drawing out the word.
“Maybe if you agree to cover the event, he’ll agree to do your show.”
Angela wished she shared her boss’s optimism, but she didn’t. “I doubt it.”
“Then try talking to his publicist, Nichola Caruso,” Salem said while signaling the waiter for the check. “There are rumors circulating that they’re lovers, and apparently, she can persuade Demetri to do anything.”
“I bet.” Angela had heard the rumors about Demetri and his publicist and didn’t doubt for a second they were true. She’d seen pictures of them eating at five-star restaurants, shopping on the Magnificent Mile and cruising around in one of his many sports cars. Athletes got a kick out of sleeping with their staff, and the internet was saturated with intimate photographs of Demetri and his female employees. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Salem, but how do you expect me to persuade Demetri to be on my show when he obviously doesn’t want to?”
Salem winked. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll think of something.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think I can!”
“You do want Eye on Chicago to stay on top of the ratings, right?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Good,” she said curtly. “Then quit arguing and go get me that interview.”
Chapter 8
Touted as the hottest restaurant lounge in the city, Dolce Vita Chicago offered world-class food. Its stylish rooms were draped in plush black silk, and its terrace was decked out in cozy furniture, vanilla-scented candles and hanging lights that bathed the space in a soft blue light.
“Let’s head upstairs,” Angela suggested, addressing her three-man crew. The restaurant was crowded, packed from wall to wall with Chicago’s brightest stars. The air was saturated with the scent of expensive perfume and fine Italian cuisine. “I spotted a famous blogger head into the VIP area, and I’d love to get him on camera. He always has something outrageous to say!”
“My lower back is killing me,” the cameraman complained, sliding the camera off his shoulder and resting it at his side. “I need a break.”
“Another one?” Angela glanced at her thin silver watch. “But it’s only been thirty minutes since your last break.”
The lighting technician spoke up. “Yeah, but we put in four long hours at the Cadillac Palace, and the music was so loud, it gave me a headache.”
Angela smelled alcohol on his breath and knew his last bathroom break had involved a trip to the bar. She had warned him not to drink on the job, but instead of calling him out in front of the rest of the crew, she reached for the Tylenol inside her purse. “Want some?” she asked, presenting the bottle in
her hand.
Shaking his head, he stared down at his sneaker-clad feet.
“I need a five, too.” The sound assistant took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Climbing up and down those steps holding our equipment was no walk in the park, Angela.”
I managed just fine, she thought, nixing an eye roll. And I’m wearing stilettos! “Let’s go strong for the next hour and then finish up. Once we get some shots from the roof and I do another quick round of interviews, we can call it a night.”
“Or we can call it a night now.” The cameraman wore a grin. “It’ll be our little secret.”
Angela shot him down. “No way. We have takes to redo, and—”
“We’re not redoing any shots, Angela. I told you, everything looks fine.”
“‘Fine’ isn’t good enough, Mac. The footage needs to be perfect, and those clips we shot earlier aren’t fit to air,” she told him, refusing to back down.
“I don’t have the energy to refilm.” The cameraman opened his mouth wide and yawned so loud, he startled a couple standing nearby. “Are you forgetting that we put in a full eight-hour shift today at the station?”
Angela didn’t like his condescending tone, but she didn’t lose her cool. “I’ve been up since four-thirty this morning, but you don’t hear me complaining.”
“Yeah, getting gussied up in hair and makeup is real tiring work.” Snickering, the cameraman bumped elbows with his colleagues. “Anytime you want to swap jobs, let me know!”
“One interview and then we’ll take another quick break.”
“Break first, interview second.” The lighting technician watched a buxom waitress sashay by and licked his thin chapped lips. “I’m going to the bar. I need some, ah, water.”
Angela crossed her arms. This was why she hated working with this crew. They complained about everything, took countless breaks and had the attention span of a toddler in a toy store. “Ten minutes, guys. That’s it.”
Their eyes lit up with boyish excitement.
“Let’s meet in the lobby at...” Angela paused to glance down at her watch, but when she looked up, her crew was gone. Peering around the lounge, she watched the trio make themselves at home at the sleek circular bar.