His ratings are astronomical and the fine people at our parent company want to jump on the bandwagon. We’d be used as a satellite location for interviews and such but The Archer Hour would essentially go away.”
The alcoholic fruity goodness of my drink slipped down my throat way too easily. I stared at the bottom of the empty glass, ordering another one through telepathy. I should have known being offered a three month contract in a different country without any pushback was too good to be true. Clearly, I was part of Sam and Robbie’s master plan to watch it die a slow death.
Good thing I didn’t sell my car and kept the apartment in Orlando
.
Another cocktail appeared on the table in front of me.
“Looked like you needed a refill.” Julian smiled and squeezed my knee with more affection than was necessary.
“Thanks.” I drank this one a little slower not wanting to give off the impression I was an uber lush. For some reason the drinks in Scotland tasted much better than the ones in Orlando.
“Sorry I laid all that out on you. You’ve been with us a month and I just assumed you were the savior I’d been waiting for. My job has meant everything to me and the thought of it being given to some little tit who’s nothing more than a glorified tabloid reporter pisses me off.”
I felt bad for the guy. I really did. If I’d learned anything from my former night team it was to always stay ten steps ahead of the next generation. That rang especially true for the on-air talent. I could practically hear Cynthia Steele’s strong, melodic voice in my head saying there was always someone younger with no morals waiting in the wings. I was fairly certain she’d been exaggerating about the no morals part but there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere.
“Well, I’m not going to spend my time there going through the motions,” I asserted, taking another sip of my drink. “I’m working my ass off to make sure you have the best produced news magazine show in all of Great Britain. If Sam and Robbie don’t like it, tough shit.”
“Lia Meyers,” Julian said loudly. “You are amazing. If they do end up sacking me, you and I will start our own program.”
I laughed, enjoying the level of passion he exuded for his craft. Grabbing my drink-free hand, he squeezed it.
“We’re going to get on just fine, you and I. And by the way,” he paused, “nice ring. I had a feeling we’d be celebrating an engagement soon enough. If you can melt the notoriously frigid Alastair Holden, you can work magic with my television show.”
Shocked, I stiffened a little. I shouldn’t be surprised though. The ring was like a beacon.
“Not to worry. I won’t pester you to get an interview with him for me right now. I’m a bit of prat but I’m not that callous.”
CHAPTER THREE
“And then,” I said, perching on the edge of the desk in Alastair’s home office, “he called himself a prat and ordered another round of drinks.”
Alastair half-smiled, looking up from the computer screen. “Sounds like you two got along quite well.”
“We did. Most television personalities aren’t as horrid as they appear.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he responded dryly. “Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you there.”
Swinging my legs around so they draped over the arm of his chair, I grinned. “You’re forgiven, chief. This time.”
He sighed, running a hand along my left calf. I hadn’t changed yet and the fuzziness from all the fruity drinks I’d had suggested that I give him a strip tease in the middle of the room. I would have if he hadn’t been staring so intently at the open file on his desk.
“Hey,” I said, nudging him with my foot, “come to bed. It’s late.” I sensed he was stressed and bothered by his day at work but I knew better than to pry. He’d tell me when he was ready, if he wanted.
Silence spread through the room. I tried to see if I could get a read on what was going on in his head.