Thicker Than Water. Maggie Shayne

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СКАЧАТЬ “Okay, we’ll put this on terms you might believe. I want to succeed.”

      “So?”

      “So every marketing study out there shows that viewers prefer news shows with male-female coanchors. Your boss was right about that when he hired you as Jim’s partner three years ago. If I get you fired, they’ll just hire someone else. I already know you’re good. And for some inexplicable reason, you’re popular. The viewers love you. The fact that your ratings have dropped since Jim retired isn’t because of you, it’s because he’s gone. The other shows have coanchors, and they’re picking up your audience because of it.”

      She lifted her chin. “My ratings haven’t dropped that much.”

      “You were number one in Central N. Y. Now you’re number three.”

      “The difference between one and three is only a few points.”

      “The difference between one and three is the difference between winning and being the second runner-up, kid. WSNY wants that number one slot. And now that I’m on board, we’re going to give it to them.”

      She lowered her head, shook it. “Maybe I’ll just quit.”

      He pursed his lips. “No, you won’t. That would be unprofessional, and you might be a whole lot of things, Jones, but you are not unprofessional.”

      She pursed her lips.

      “Why do you hate me so much, anyway?”

      “I don’t hate you, MacKenzie. I couldn’t care less about you. Don’t flatter yourself by taking it personally. I’d feel the same way about anyone who was after my job.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Prove it.”

      “How?”

      “Name one other journalist who went up against you for that anchor chair three years ago. Just one.”

      She frowned, looking around the room as she searched her memory for names and found none. MacKenzie drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, glanced at his watch, whistled an uneven tune.

      “Well?”

      “That doesn’t prove anything.”

      “Proves one thing,” he said, getting to his feet. “Proves it is personal. Hell, Jones, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re working so hard to hate me just to hide what you really feel.”

      “Oh, please. This I’ve gotta hear. What does your warped little imagination tell you I really feel?”

      He smiled at her. “You want me.”

      She stared at him for a long moment—at his smoky gray eyes and full lips. And she said, “You’re right. I do want you—in so many ways.”

      “Yeah?” He looked surprised, and maybe a little bit turned on. “God, tell me more.”

      She began counting on her fingers. “I want you drawn, quartered, gelded without anesthetic, beheaded and spit-roasted. But for now, I just want you out of my office.”

      His smile didn’t disguise the look of relief that flooded him. “Damn, I’m gonna love working here,” he said, and he turned, whistling off-key, and walked with a spring in his step out of her office.

      But not, she feared, out of her life.

      Chapter Five

      When Sean returned to the newsroom, he noticed three things. First, the early-morning bustle of the place had slowed to a hum. Reporters were making calls from their partition-separated desks, and several had already left to cover stories. Second, his office door was marked for him by the handful of foil balloons tied to the knob. It was just past the newsroom on the right. An office hadn’t been part of the initial offer, but he’d insisted on one as part of the deal, then been surprised that WSNY had agreed readily to that and everything else he’d asked for. Jones would probably be livid when she found out.

      The third thing he noticed, after walking into his new digs, was the new suit hanging from a hook in the wall. A red tie, white shirt, navy jacket. They’d even included the pants. He pursed his lips and leaned back into the hallway, glancing toward the glass-enclosed office attached to the newsroom. The news director was inside at his desk, the phone to his ear. He gave Sean a smile and a thumbs-up.

      Sean took two steps in that direction before his beeper went off. “Hell.” He took it out, glanced at it and read the text message. Then he sighed and hurried across the hall to Jones’s office, reminding himself that now that they were partners, scooping her was no longer the goal. Getting dirt on her would still be fun, but it would be purely for entertainment purposes. He walked in without knocking.

      She looked up from her computer as if irritated. “What now?”

      “Blackwood’s name is being released. We got the go. They’re holding a press conference in…” He glanced at his watch. “Forty minutes.”

      “Call them, get the details and meet me in the studio.” She was already around the desk, pushing past him into the hall and running for the newsroom, shouting Allan’s name.

      Five minutes later, Sean headed into the studio with a sheet of scribbled notes.

      Jones was at the anchor desk, a hand mirror propped in front of her, wielding a hairbrush with one hand and a makeup brush with the other. She dropped the brushes and dug in her bag. “Where the hell is my mascara?”

      Amazing. A few minutes ago she’d looked scattered, sleep deprived and a little wild. Now she looked smooth, composed and flawless. She’d tamed her hair into a respectable bun and slapped on a coat of makeup so fast it made his head spin.

      He handed her the sheet of notes and sat down in the chair next to her.

      “Sean, you need to change!” called a fresh-faced kid he didn’t know, the one who’d given up his seat at that morning’s meeting and now stood nearby with the blue suit in his hand. “Just from the waist up. Hurry.”

      From the control booth, a tinny voice announced, “Thirty seconds.”

      Sean glanced at the kid, licked his lips. Might as well get fired now as later, he thought. “Look, you guys need to get used to this. I don’t do the suit thing. I’m not that kind of newsman.” As he spoke, he stuck a tiny microphone up underneath his shirt, out the neck and clipped it to his collar.

      “Doesn’t matter,” Jones said, scowling at him. “You don’t need to be here at all.”

      “Standby one.”

      “I’m here, and I’m staying,” he said. “You just read the report and don’t sweat it.”

      She frowned so hard he thought her face would break.

      “Roll one!”

      The transformation was instant and nothing less than amazing. Her frown vanished as she lifted СКАЧАТЬ