Her kiss was cautious and light. When he kissed back, it was hungry and hot. She felt something let go inside her. Now she was against him, moving with him, sending shivers through her body. He shifted and laid her back on the chair, unbuttoning her blouse and exposing her bra. She met his eyes and felt heat diffuse to the very edges of her body. She reached up to trace her finger over his bare chest. He made a sound deep in his throat and pulled her toward him. As she felt his skin hot against hers, he asked what she wanted and she didn’t need to think.
“You.”
Just then her phone rang.
“Do you need to get it?” he whispered.
She shook her head no and reached for him. His lips were on hers, moving soft but firm, when the phone rang again. And the dog started to bark. Loudly.
“CP, quiet,” James commanded, then went back to what he’d been doing with his mouth.
The barking continued. James stopped and smiled.
“I’m sorry. Would you give me a minute?” he asked, looking apologetic while still on top of her. “I better deal with Colin Powell.”
She frowned. “What about Colin Powell?”
Pushing himself up and off the bed, James shook his head. “He needs to pee.”
She stared at him. “Colin Powell needs to pee.”
He reached for a leash by the side of the bed. “Colin Powell is my godfather. He gave me the dog. So I named him Colin Powell.”
She stared at the dog and back at James. She was at a loss for words. James was hot and he was a gentleman and Colin Powell was his godfather?
After he left the room, she stretched out and luxuriated in the feeling of being in James’s place. I could be here all day, she thought. If it weren’t for the wedding from hell.
Her phone rang again and she sighed. She was sure it was her sister, Sarah, reminding her to bring an extra set of stockings and a pair of low heels in case she needed them later that night. Taking her time, Natalie reached for the phone. The screen didn’t say Sarah, it said News Desk, and they were calling for the third time.
“Natalie, we need you here ASAP.” It was a What Girl.
Calmly, she explained that this was her mom’s wedding day. That she’d requested it off even before she’d agreed to move down to DC, temporarily. That even Bibb understood she had the day off.
“Hang on,” the What Girl said.
The line went silent and she knew the next voice would be Hal’s. This had to be his doing.
“Natalie, I know it’s your mother’s wedding.” To Natalie’s surprise, it was Bibb. “But we’re doing a special at the top of the hour and Jazzmyn can’t make it in. We need a female voice.”
Jazzmyn! They wanted her to miss her mother’s wedding to accommodate Jazzmyn’s morning schedule. Does that involve breakfast with the boss, Natalie wondered. She’s leaning all the way in, she thought, then instantly felt guilty.
“I’m sorry, I have to be at my mother’s wedding,” Natalie said firmly.
Bibb continued, “I need you at work. Sonia Barbaro is in the US and is saying things that could precipitate an international crisis. We’re in major breaking news and need a woman’s voice. What time does the wedding start?”
In a low voice, Natalie said, “There’s a gathering at 10 a.m. The wedding’s at noon.”
“I can let you out in time for the wedding. You can skip the pre-wedding activities. You’ll be anchoring with Ryan. I’ll personally ensure you’ll make it in time for the ceremony.”
When she hung up, James was standing over her, looking apprehensive.
“What is it?”
“There’s breaking news, they want me in,” Natalie said, feeling defeated and embarrassed in front of him. “Saying no isn’t an option. It’s hard to explain—”
He held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. My dad was a deputy secretary at the Pentagon. Forty years in the service. I understand when saying no to work isn’t an option.”
She stared at him. Who was this guy? A saint?
He reached past her to hang up the leash and she saw his biceps flex. No. Saints definitely did not have arms like those. She thought of the way he’d just kissed her and she wanted to make sure he understood she really didn’t want to go. “James, I—” She began.
The phone rang again, like an incantation. This is your chance. You’re on the elevator now.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.
She had to get to work.
23
The Surrendered Reporter
“I know it tickles, honey, but sit still or the lash won’t go on right,” the nice woman painting wet glue onto the rim of Natalie’s eyelids told her.
“Sorry. It feels like my eyeball is on fire.”
“Try to think of something else. Think about how you’re becoming a star. You’re getting PFE,” the makeup lady said.
“PFE?” That was a new one.
“Pure effing exposure. Getting your face on TV as much as possible.”
The makeup lady blew on Natalie’s lid as she used tweezers to press the lashes into place, making Natalie’s lid start to go numb.
Numb is good, she thought. Numb means your eyeball doesn’t burn anymore.
At 8:46 a.m., even small victories were important.
“Savage in the house! Anchor chair, here we come,” Matt’s voice said, seeming even louder than usual.
She hadn’t expected him to be there. “What are you doing up so early?” Natalie asked, sneaking a glance out of one eye.
“Keep them closed,” the makeup lady barked. She went on, apparently addressing Matt, “Don’t you interrupt. She has to be on set in ten minutes.”
“I just want to congratulate my reporter on getting an anchor spot with McChesty,” Matt said, sounding unusually cheery. “And make sure she understands her role.”
“Meaning?” Natalie asked. Even with her eyes closed she could feel him standing too close.
“Meaning DO NOT let Ryan interrupt you. You need to get in there. Equal time. Think of this as a WWE matchup. You’re going for the smackdown. Bury him. Have no fear, show no mercy.”
“I left my Lycra unitard at home so I don’t think WWE is happe—”
Natalie felt a tap on her chin, an indication it was okay to open her eyes. She did and the mirror showed her lashes the size of small tarantulas. Natalie forced a smile at the makeup lady who beamed back and started looking through her kit of lip glosses.
Natalie turned to Matt. “More important, where is Jazzmyn? Any gossip?” She paused while Dusky Rose lip gloss was painted onto her lips. “I’m dying to know why she can’t be here.”
Matt shook his head. “Other than the thing in EarlyBird, no clue.”
“What was in EarlyBird?” Natalie asked, studying the lip color in the mirror.
“She was spotted doing a bad walk of shame out of the Jefferson Hotel last night. Tears ’n’ all,” he said. “Some Mr. Right must have turned out to be Very Wrong.”
Natalie turned to face Matt, realization dawning. “Matt, she was there with the Chief.”
“Definitely Mr. Wrong,” Matt said, gloating.
“Shit. What if something terrible happened?” Natalie whispered, staring at the floor.
Pulse flaring, Natalie felt her chest pool with dread. Except it wasn’t dread, it was guilt. After what happened with the Chief in the kitchen, she should have found Jazzmyn. She should have stepped in. She’d let Jazzmyn march into that. Why? Was she jealous? Trying to hurt her? Honestly, she hadn’t even thought about the younger woman. She’d just taken the pills and checked out.
“Listen, lie down with dogs,” Matt said.
“Jazzmyn can take care of herself,” the makeup artist declared, squeezing Natalie lightly on the shoulder. Turning, the woman faced Matt, brandish
ing a flatiron like a weapon. “Now back up. We need to get her ready.”
“Okay, okay, don’t brand me please,” Matt said, putting up his hands in surrender.
Natalie’s eyes were wet when she turned to Matt. “Matt, can you please find out where Jazzmyn is today and how I can reach her?” Her throat was starting to go sore.
“Just focus on nailing this gig,” Matt said. “I like the idea of producing for an anchor.”
“Please,” Natalie implored.
“Fine. If you’re going to be a downer, I’ll go raid the office supply cabinet. Did you know they still stock office supplies? Welcome to the modern office of the new millennium, have a number 2 pencil. See you in the studio, Hot Nerd,” he said as he ambled out of the room.
When Matt was gone, Natalie wiped away her tears and inhaled deeply. She would check in on Jazzmyn later. There was nothing she could do right now. She had to focus. She apologized to the makeup artist who leaned in for a quick touch-up.
“You didn’t get this from me,” the makeup artist said. “Better to lie low with the Chief. He can be vindictive. Whatever you think you know, let it go. Jazzmyn will be okay. She’s spent a lot of this time in this chair and I can tell you she’s tougher than you think. So don’t play the hero, just get on that set and do your thing.”
When it was complete, Natalie gave herself a once-over and saw the makeup woman had outdone herself. She’d walked in looking like Humpty Dumpty after the eggpocalypse, but now you could hardly tell she was just off of a week of epic travel, word of a possible assault, and a one-night stand with a golden retriever.
Also a make-out session. She allowed herself one moment to think about James, then, feeling guilty, forced her mind from the past to the future. She needed all the confidence five pounds of makeup, three inches of heel, and a little cleavage could give her to get Savage with McChesty.
* * *
The blast of air-conditioning that hit her when she opened the studio door sent a shiver down her spine. She wished she was wearing something more than a thin skirt and silk chiffon blouse. She wished she’d eaten breakfast. She wished she was still in bed with James or at least his dog.
“On this set, they see your whole body. Legs ’n’ all, so don’t do anything dirty below the waist,” the stage manager said as he led her to a high stool with no back. Even with Natalie’s heels, the chair was way too high for her, so the stage manager had to heave her up onto the seat.
“These things aren’t made for smaller women,” he said.
Yeah, she’d gotten that. Between the temperature and the fact that any guest wearing a skirt could accidentally “do something dirty” by shifting in her seat, it was clear the whole set wasn’t designed for any women, small or large.
He thrust an earpiece at her and efficiently strung the chord down her back, plugging it into a box affixed to her chair, indicating the volume knob for her to adjust, then repeated the procedure with the microphone and her chest before he headed off backstage.
Natalie was thinking about Sonia Barbaro’s comments on the red carpet when she became aware that the studio was rotating around her. Or rather that her seat was turning in a slow circle toward the back of the room. She shifted her weight, trying to make the seat stop rotating and felt around for a footrest for leverage—no luck. When the chair stopped moving, she was facing the back of the room.
And stuck.
She evaluated her options: unhook her earpiece, mic, and the cords going up her back, jump off the stool, and then attempt a remount on her own. Or wait helplessly like a baby in a high chair for someone to push her back into place.
She heard the studio door open.
Please let that be a tech guy, she prayed.
“Nat, is that you?” Ryan’s voice asked her.
Not the tech guy.
He stepped into view. “Why are you facing the corner? Have you been naughty?” he said with a smirk.
“Morning!” she said with exaggerated cheer. “Actually, if you could turn me around and push me a little closer to the desk, that would be great.” She smiled at him with as much dignity as she could muster.
Ryan did as she asked. “Probably want to hold on for safety,” he advised, tapping his knuckles on the gray Formica surface of the desk.
“Thanks,” Natalie said, mortified and annoyed at once.
As Ryan perched on the stool next to her effortlessly, Natalie felt a sudden craving for the comfort of warm pants, low shoes, and a workplace designed for her ease.
“We’ve got to repeat the Bickersons routine from the other day,” Ryan said brightly. “That was TV gold.”
“I think—”
“Even you can’t possibly want to defend Sonia Barbaro. She is shameless,” he interrupted as he started stringing the microphone up his shirt. “What a piece of work.”
“Excuse me?” Natalie asked, biting back a snarl.
“Save it for air, you two,” a voice said into Natalie’s earpiece.
As she held onto the Formica and stared into the silent studio, listening to the producers on her earpiece talk about nut allergies, she felt a rising worry. Like she was strapped in to a roller coaster that was missing its safety bar.
Come on, this is exactly where you want to be.
Intense yellow lights came on, flooding the studio like a heavenly intervention. A voice came alive in her ear.
“All right, you guys. We’ve got the top of the show scripted in prompter. After that, it’s all you. Ryan, you’re on cameras one and three. Natalie, you’re on two and four. We have two-shots on cameras five and six. And we’ll be ready with video of Rigo, the protesters, Sonia. You say it, just assume we’ll play it. With some surprises to boot. Ready, guys?”
“One minute to air!” someone shouted.
Natalie fluffed her hair and smoothed out her blouse, then realized her stool was rotating away from the cameras again. She pawed desperately at the desk, catching the edge just in time to right herself, looking around to see if anyone had noticed.
“Thirty seconds!” someone shouted.
Ryan was making big movements with his mouth, like he’d done when Heath was on set, only now he was showier and added in big shoulder circles and a tongue flutter.
“We’re live in 15...10...5, 4, 3, 2...”
The stage manager pointed at Ryan, who emanated Good Cheer and Down-home Machismo. “Good morning. It’s 9 a.m. on the East Coast, 6 a.m. on the West Coast. Welcome to a special edition of Big Politics This Weekend, I’m Ryan McGreavy.”
The stagehand pointed to Natalie and she began reading off the teleprompter into camera 2.
“And I’m Natalie Savage. Today we lead with the Sonia Barbaro bombshell that is sending shock waves from Hollywood to the nation’s capital,” she said dutifully.
Ryan took over. “The Venezuelan vixen was strutting the red carpet for the Los Angeles premiere of her controversial new film, Trafficked. It’s about a young women kidnapped into sex slavery. What a coincidence!”
Following along in prompter, Natalie noted that Ryan had ad libbed generously.
Two can play that game, she thought as she took the baton.
“Her alleged attacker, the Colombian party boy Rigo Lystra, remains holed up in the Colombian embassy in Washington, DC. Lystra says he fears the Venezuelans will kidnap him if he leaves the embassy and force him to stand trial,” said Natalie before adding her own commentary. “However, it’s important to note that the US State Department has assured Rigo Lystra safe passage home.” She turned to Ryan. “Many critics are asking, if he’s innocent, why is he so afraid to leave the building?”
A voice in her ear directed, “Guys, this is great stuff but save it for later. Stick to the script for the intro.”
Ignoring the prompter, Ryan replied, “Because the Venezuelans will set him up for a trial as fake as the
se accusations.”
“Throw to graphic!” the voice said from the control room.
They did and the screen exploded into the tiny red and green shards from which the words BREAKING ON ATN came bursting forth, followed by video of Sonia Barbaro on the red carpet. Natalie hadn’t yet seen the footage. Barbaro looked gorgeous, in a strapless burgundy mermaid gown, cut to show her long caramel legs, black hair shimmering down her back. The woman was flawless.
“Look at that.” Ryan said as the video of Barbaro squeezed back to take up half the screen, the other half filled with a shot of Natalie and Ryan on set together. “Does she look like a victim living in fear? I don’t think so.”
“She looks like a professional actress doing her job,” Natalie replied, wondering whether Ryan believed what he was saying or was just posturing for TV. “We’re all savvy enough to understand actresses are expected to dress provocatively when they promote their films.”
In Natalie’s ear, someone said, “Good comeback, Natalie. Keep it going, guys.” The monitors switched now to show three boxes. Ryan in one, Natalie in another, video of Sonia in the middle.
“Have to or want to?” Ryan asked. “And I think ‘promote’ is the key word there. As in self-promotion.”
“Love that!” the voice said.
Natalie smiled to soften what she was about to say. “Wait, you’re calling her a self-promoter because she’s showing some flesh? Isn’t that a little close to home?” She batted her false eyelashes and to the camera said, “Hey, control room, can we put up video of Ryan disrobing outside the embassy?”
“Love it!” the control room said as, on cue, one half of the screen filled with video of Ryan removing his shirt earlier that week, on the other half was a live picture of Ryan, looking pissed, on set.
In her peripheral vision, Natalie noticed Matt on side of the studio, making pummeling gestures like he was knocking out a WWE competitor.
“Thank you for making my point for me,” Ryan said, recovering.
“Which is?”
“Showing flesh gets attention. So do fake accusations. Do you think it’s just a coincidence Barbaro is promoting a film about sexual assault while claiming to be a victim of one? Listen, I grew up in politics and I know how these games go. Claiming assault is a great way to get free media and lots of sympathy, which is exactly what we’re giving her right now.” He sounded sanctimonious. “If you want to talk about victims, let’s talk about the victim holed up in the Colombian embassy.”
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