Just This Night (7 page)

BETH

I
slipped into my car, my face aflame and my stomach twisting into knots. I knew it'd be hard to see Mac again, but I had no idea just how hard it would actually be. To take in his long, lean frame, his broad shoulders, his piercing blue eyes. To force myself to stay cool, calm, collected and not throw myself at him all over again. But that would be beyond stupid. After all, he'd made it pretty damn clear he wasn't interested. And I needed to retain what scraps of dignity I had left if I was going to be able to find a way to be coworkers from here on out.

I frowned, thinking back on the encounter. I guess I'd thought at the very least he'd offer up some kind of lame apology. Or maybe an excuse or something. Didn't I deserve
that
at the very least? Even a “Thank you for letting me crash at your place” would have been something.

But no. All I got was a “See you around” and a lame-ass handshake.

I closed my eyes, my mind falling back to the handshake in question. From the very same hand that had explored every inch of my naked body just two nights before, the very
same fingers that had made me scream—now they might as well have belonged to a stranger.

They
did
belong to a stranger, I scolded myself. As Stephanie kept reminding me, that had been the whole idea.

But now they also belonged to my new coworker.

With a heavy sigh, I reached down to insert my key into the ignition. I'd been at work since four
A.M.
and was very ready to go home and crawl into bed for my regularly scheduled midmorning nap. But before I could pull out of my parking lot space, my phone vibrated on my lap. A blocked number, which meant it was probably work.

I put the phone to my ear. “Elizabeth White speaking.”

“Elizabeth!” my news director, Richard, barked into the phone. “Are you still in the building? I wanted to catch you before you left for the day.”

I bit my lower lip, looking around the parking lot. I could tell him I'd already pulled out—he'd never know. But no. Then I'd just wonder all day what he'd wanted from me.

“Yeah, I'm still here.”

“Great. Come swing by my office. I want to talk to you for a minute.”

“Why? What's up?” I asked, before I could check myself. When the big boss tells you to come to his office, you didn't ask why. You just went.

“It'll only take a minute,” he added, then hung up without explaining.

I stuffed the phone in my purse, my hands shaking a little as my nerves tensed. What did he want from me? Had I done something wrong? My mind raced over the stories I'd covered the past week, trying to think of anything that might have warranted a meeting with the news director, but I couldn't think of a single thing. In fact, if anything, I'd been feeling pretty good about my performance of late. Even when covering inane feature stories like the Lemon Grove craft fair, I'd managed to keep a positive attitude and I hadn't missed any of my live hits. Hell, I'd even gotten a few viewer fan emails over the last week.

So what could Richard want from me?

I waited until Mac and Javier entered the building before getting out of the car. Didn't need to run into him twice in one day. As I headed across the parking lot, I wondered what he would think when he discovered that I worked here. I knew I probably should have broken the news myself when I'd returned the jacket—that had been my plan originally, anyway.

But seeing him again had disconcerted me so much, the words had stuck in my throat and I had walked away without playing my hand. And who could blame me, really? No matter what Stephanie said, I knew this was going to be so damn awkward. And a lot harder than I cared to admit. How was I going to work in the same building with him day in and day out? A walking, talking reminder of my big mistake.

I shook my head, trying to swap my focus. There would be time for me to stew over my love life—or lack of it—later. Right now I needed to stay professional and find Richard. Find out what I did wrong and grovel appropriately to appease him. So as I pushed through the newsroom door, I fought also to push Mac from my mind.

The inside of News 9 looked like something out of Tomorrowland at Disney World. A sci-fi nightmare dressed in neon lights and littered with TVs strategically placed on every available surface. I guess the idea was to create something that appeared bustling and busy, but in truth, it usually looked more like an epileptic seizure waiting to happen.

As I crossed the newsroom, passing producers and writers preparing for the noon broadcast, I spotted Joy Justice back at her desk. Our station's main anchor had been “on vacation” for the last three months and must have just returned. And while she had announced her destination as Cabo San Lucas for a little “fun in the sun,” rumor had it was really for a little nip and a tuck. Sure enough, even from here I could tell something was different about her face. I shuddered a little, trying to imagine going under the knife. I think I'd rather deal with wrinkles—even if they did mean possible death to my on-camera career.

Shaking the thought from my head, I made my way to
Richard's office and knocked tentatively on the door. The news director glanced up from the call he was on, and motioned for me to come in. I sat down in the chair opposite his oversized, over-cluttered desk and tried not to squirm. Looking down at my hands, I realized they were shaking and shoved them under my legs before he noticed

“I don't give a shit what that PR hack told you,” Richard was yelling into the phone, raking a hand through his thick brown hair. His dark brown eyes suggested that the fifty-something-year-old news director might have been quite handsome back in the day. But years of job-related stress had left him with a haggard, worn look. “You get in there and you get that interview and you get it in time for the five o'clock newscast or your ass is out the door!”

He slammed down the receiver. Then looked up at me. “Sorry about that.”

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” I squeaked, now more nervous than ever.

“Damn Stephanie,” Richard growled, shuffling through some papers on his desk. “San Diego is the twenty-eighth largest television market in the country. And I have interns who could do a better job.”

I gnawed on my lower lip, wondering if I should speak up for my poor roommate. I was probably already in trouble for something and arguing her good points would likely only serve to aggravate him further. But still . . .

“Stephanie's a good reporter,” I tried. “She's just . . .”

I trailed off. Just what? Hungover? Still drunk? Despite her promises of never drinking again, my roommate hadn't gotten home from the bars until after three
A.M.
last night, just as I was heading out the door to work.

“That's sweet.” Richard waved me off, pulling a piece of paper from the stack and filing it away in a manila envelope. “But do you know how many live shots she missed last week?” He gave me a smug look. “Three.”

Wait, what? I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Missing live shots—your time slot to report during the local newscast—was pretty much a mortal sin around here. And Stephanie
had missed three? That didn't sound like my roommate. I mean, sure, she could be a flake, but she was usually very serious about her career. I needed to talk to her when I got home—make sure everything was okay.

I realized Richard was looking at me intently. I squirmed under his gaze. “Uh, yeah?” I stammered. “Sorry. You wanted to see me?”

He nodded. “How long have you been with us, Elizabeth?”

“Uh, just over two years.”

“And you've been on the morning show the entire time?”

I bit back a frown. He knew that. He had to have known that. What was he getting at here? “Yes, sir.”

He leaned forward, meeting my eyes with his own steely ones. “Do you
like
the morning shift, Elizabeth?”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing with what he expected me to say
. Why yes, Richard, I love the morning shift. Especially the part where I get to wake up at three
A.M.
every day to go to work. And my social life has simply been off the hook since I started going to bed at seven thirty each night, just to get enough sleep. And as for doing live shots in the pitch dark that even the earliest commuters sleep through? Dream come true, boss. Dream. Come. True.

“It's been a great experience,” I declared with as much bravado as I could muster. “The morning show crew is wonderful and I consider myself very blessed to be part of the team.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “In other words it totally sucks and you want off, ASAP, correct?”

“Uh.” I stared at him. “I mean . . .”

“It's okay,” he said with a smirk. “I know the morning shift isn't exactly Glamour City. I worked overnights for ten years back when I first started producing and I'm pretty sure I was a zombie the entire decade.” He shook his head, as if remembering. Then he looked up. “How would you like a change?”

My mouth dropped open. “A change,” I repeated. “You mean, like a shift change?” And here I thought he was going to yell at me. Instead he was promoting me?

“I'm taking your little roommate off air for a while,” Richard explained. “She can write copy for the newscasts until she gets her act together.” He leaned forward again, a smile on his face. “And I'd like you to take her spot reporting for the evening news.”

I stared at him, speechless. This was the moment I'd been waiting for since I first walked through the station's front door. A chance to report during the day, when people were actually awake and watching. A chance to live a normal life with a normal schedule. This was a huge career boost. This was a dream come true. This was—

A huge, huge blow for my roommate.

“What about Stephanie?” I found myself asking.

His smile faded. “Look, Elizabeth, I'm running a top market newsroom here, not a little league team. Not everyone gets a trophy. If you don't want your big break because of some misplaced loyalty you have to a girl who doesn't even care enough to show up to work on time, that's fine. Trust me, I have plenty of other opportunists clawing at my door. Stephanie's off the shift, whether you replace her or I get someone else.”

“Right.” I swallowed hard, my heart pounding a mile a minute. “I'm sorry. I get it. And yes, I'll take it. Of course I'll take it. Thank you.”

Richard nodded knowingly, as if he'd predicted my answer all along. And of course he had, I realized, feeling a little sick to my stomach. I tried to tell myself that Stephanie would have done the same thing in my position. That I would
want
her to do the same thing. But, in truth, it didn't make me feel much better.

“Excellent,” he declared. “You start tomorrow.” He paused, then, “Make sure you show up on time,” he added. “You have one month to prove to me you can do this before I make the job permanent. Screw this up and you'll not only lose this shift, but your entire position here at News 9. There's no going back.”

“What?” I cried before I could stop myself. The idea of losing my job was terrifying. As much as I hated the morning
show, it had always been somewhat safe and secure. If I got let go now, what would I do? It wasn't as if reporter jobs were easy to come by, especially in good markets like San Diego.

“Having second thoughts?” Richard asked, raising an eyebrow. “If you think you aren't ready, it's better you let me know now.”

“No!” I blurted, horrified he might change his mind. “I can do it. I swear. It'll be great. I won't let you down.”

Richard's expression softened. “I know you won't,” he assured me. “Or I wouldn't have made you the offer. You're a good reporter, Elizabeth. And I'm looking forward to seeing great things from you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I babbled as I rose from my seat, attempting a graceful exit on legs made of Jell-O.

“Oh, and one other thing,” he added, just as I reached the door. I froze.

“Yes?” I squeaked out, turning back to him, my heart in my throat all over again. What now? Did he want me to sign the new contract in blood or something?

He laughed. “You can wipe that look of terror off your face. It's nothing bad. It's just, I don't know if you heard, but I hired a new photographer. Jake MacDonald out of Boston. Supposedly he's really good—won a ton of Emmys. Today's his first day.”

I stared at him, my pulse thrumming madly. “Oh, yeah?” I managed to squeak out. Why was he telling me this? Why did I need to know this? Warning bells began to go off inside my head.

New position . . . New photographer . . .

Surely fate wasn't
that
cruel.

“I'm assigning you two to work together,” Richard announced cheerfully, sending any faith I ever had in karmic justice crashing and burning into the ether.

I stumbled backward, only managing to knock a spider plant off its stand by the door. It crashed to the floor, dirt flying everywhere. Face flaming now, I dropped to my knees to pick it up. I could feel Richard's stare burning into me as I set it back on its table.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding a little suspicious. “Is there some problem with you working with Jake?”

“No problem,” I managed to squeak out somehow. “I mean, how could there be? I don't even . . . know the guy.”

“Right. Of course.” Richard laughed. “Sorry. For a moment there, I thought you were going to say he was your ex-boyfriend or something. The look on your face!” He shook his head. “Leave the plant. I'll get maintenance in here. You go home, get some sleep, kiddo. You've got a big day tomorrow.”

I nodded, making my way to the door, careful not to knock anything else from its place with my hasty exit. “Thank you, sir. You won't regret it.”