Always You: A Lilac Bay Novel (Friends with Benefits) (2 page)

But what was so wrong with that? What was so wrong with wanting to do well?

I rolled my eyes. “I’m so sorry that I happen to be driven.”

“Uh huh. Driven,” he muttered, before taking a large bite of his food, presumably so that he wouldn’t be tempted to comment further.

“Well, it’s like Heather Dale always says—”

He groaned, shaking his head. I could see the muscles in his throat working furiously to swallow his potatoes so that he could argue with me about my choice of topic.

I gave him my sweetest smile as I continued. There was nothing I loved more than forcing Andrew into conversations about my idol, TV personality Heather Dale. There was something so satisfying about the way his ears turned redder than his hair when he was annoyed. “Like I was saying—Heather always says, ‘we only fail when we fail to try.’ ”

“No. Absolutely not,” he said, apparently free of the risk of choking now. “We are not talking about Heather Dale at lunch. You
promised
.”

“She came up naturally!”

He shook a finger in my direction. “You look for reasons to bring up that nutjob.”

“Nut job?” I cried, honestly offended now. “That woman is my hero!”

He closed his eyes. “Oh, God. Here we go.”

“Did you know that Heather Dale was the youngest-ever lead anchor on a local Detroit news affiliate?” I asked. “And that she was offered a correspondent job at the American News Network in New York only two years later? She took a failing morning show and completely rebranded it, totally revolutionizing the format of daytime talk shows. She’s an inspiration, Andrew. She had to battle humble beginnings, sexism
and
ageism in the work place, the loss of her fiancé—”

“I know, I know,” he said, holding out his hands in defeat. “You’re right. The morning news lady is a hero to us all. Can we drop it now?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “She’s not just the morning news lady. In addition to being a featured correspondent on The Morning Show, she’s the host of her very own program. The
top rated
daytime show in the country. Not to mention the host of several successful primetime specials and variety hours—”

He buried his head in his hands and muttered something muffled that sounded like,
I should have just let it go.

“Yes,” I said primly, reaching over my shoulder for the remote on the counter. “You should have. Because now we’re going to watch the last ten minutes of
Daytime Dale
so you can see exactly how impressive she really is.”

“No.” He sat up straight and turned pleading eyes toward me. “Please, Riley. Don’t make me watch that show. I’ll do anything. I’ll—” His eyes frantically scanned the table, apparently in search of something to offer. “I’ll give you the last bite of my cookie!”

“Too late.” I hit the power button and punched in a seven, smiling when Heather’s face filled the screen. “Perfect timing.”

I drowned out Andrew’s groan by turning up the volume.

The host had just finished an interview and was now addressing the audience, something she did at the end of every episode. I relaxed into my chair, forgetting all about Andrew’s anti-Heather attitude, my entire focus on the screen. I was recording this at home, of course, just like I recorded every episode. I watched them when I got home from work, my little reward for getting through a long day of Millie’s disapproving sighs. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a nice treat to catch an episode live.

I hadn’t been exaggerating when I said Heather Dale was my hero. I had looked up to her ever since college, the only time in my life when I lived off the island. I’d attended school downstate in Detroit, where Heather was in her second year of anchoring the news for the local ANN affiliate. Back then, I had grand ambitions of someday going into news or television, so I had always made it a point to watch as many different newscasters as possible. As soon as I saw Heather Dale on my TV I knew she was going places. She was beautiful, for starters. I had serious hair envy for her long and wavy chestnut locks. My own hair was an acceptable shade of blonde, but stick-straight and virtually impossible to style. Where I was tall and thin, Heather had a perfect curvy figure that would have suited a swimsuit model. But she was way too ambitious and professional to ever consider a career like that. She infused both her morning correspondent segment and daytime show with a mixture of hard-hitting interviews, news, politics, and culture. She could make her guests laugh and cry and shake in their boots with fear when she turned her relentless questioning on them—all in the same interview. She dressed really well—professional but stylish. She was charming, warm, whip-smart, with a killer sense of humor.

I wanted to
be
Heather Dale.

“Oh, God,” Andrew muttered. “You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that tells me I’m eventually going to have to drive to Manhattan to bail you out after your arrest for stalking a TV news star.”

I threw my napkin at him, never taking my eyes from the screen.

Of course I didn’t want to stalk Heather Dale. I just found her inspiring, that was all. And, honestly, who could blame me? It was pretty damn hard to find beautiful, successful, glamorous women to look up to on this island. Unless, of course, your dream was to operate a fudge kitchen or a tourist kitsch shop on Main Street.

“I grew up in a small town,” Heather was saying on the screen. “And as much as I love living in Manhattan, there are definitely many things that I miss about home. I’m sure many of you grew up in small towns just like the one I called home.”

The camera panned to the audience members as they smiled and nodded.

“Riley, please, I’ll never say another word—”

“Shush.” I threw another napkin. “I want to hear this.”

“I think small towns are the back bone of this country,” she went on. “And that’s why I’m so excited to announce my next project. We’re going coast to coast, searching for America’s Best Small Town!”

The audience dutifully clapped and cheered as the camera closed in on Heather’s face, her eyes narrowing slightly in her patented I-Couldn’t-Possibly-Be-More-Passionate-And-Engaged-About-This-Topic expression. “Guys, I’m not just talking about a feature on
this
show. We’re going
all out
here. Six weeks of competition, aired every Wednesday in
prime time
, our finalist cities battling for the title—which
you
will vote on. We’re talking prizes, money for development, grants for schools and libraries. Exposure for your town. We want to hear your stories. We want to meet your people. This is going to be
huge
. And I’ll be there every step of the way, helping the audience to cast their votes for the most worthy candidates.” Huge applause from the audience as Heather Dale grinned. “I am
so excited
for this, America!”

I turned to Andrew, speechless, as the familiar closing music of
Daytime Dale
began.

“Oh my God.”

“Riley.” There was a warning note in his voice, his eyes widening as they met mine. “Just chill, okay?”

“You heard her,” I cried, pointing at the TV. “Grants and prizes! A ton of exposure! We have to do this!”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t look into it—”

“Andrew, it’s meant to be! What are the odds that we would just happen to turn the show on at that exact moment? After we just finished agreeing that this town needed a boost?”

“Hey, I didn’t agree—”

But I barely heard him. Already my mind was spinning. What was the application process going to be like? Would every town they chose be featured in each episode? Holy crap, six weeks of episodes. In prime time. And it was Heather Dale! Everything she touched was a ratings success. People would watch this, tons and tons of people. The exposure something like this could bring—

“Riley, please don’t get obsessed with this.”

I gaped at him. “What are you talking about? Andrew, this could be huge for us!”

“I understand.” He raised his hands, placating me. “I know you like to take things and run with them. It’s a great trait. But sometimes you get a little—crazy. And I’m just saying to take a breath and chill, okay? You still have this spring campaign to get through today.”

I sputtered, incoherent. Crazy? I didn’t get crazy. Passionate, sure. A little competitive, yes. But not crazy.

Before I could calm down enough to tell him that, Millie appeared in the doorway to the break room.

“Oh,” she said, in the dry, disapproving voice she reserved just for me. “There you are. Mayor Jones was looking for you. I didn’t realize you would still be at lunch…” She trailed off pointedly as she looked down at her watch.

“Yes, Millie,” I snapped. “I’m a whole two minutes late.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just go tell him that you’ll get to it when you’re ready.”

I sighed, standing as I grabbed my Tupperware from the table and snapped the lid on. The combination of Millie’s mere presence and Andrew’s assessment of me were putting a huge damper on the excitement I had felt only a moment before. “You can tell him I’ll be right in.”

She glanced at her watch again as she left, and it was all I could do not to throw a napkin at her as well.

“Hey,” Andrew said, reaching for my wrist. I pulled away, quickly cleaning up my lunch mess, and he stood, taking my shoulders in his hands and making me look at him. “Riley.”

“What?” I looked up at him, into those very familiar blue eyes, which right now were clearly full of regret.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really? Cause you spent the beginning of our break talking about how I—what was it? Like to crush people under my far-superior heel? And now you’re calling me crazy.”

“No! I’m not. Hey.” He shook my shoulders gently when I looked away, bending his knees a little to bring his eye line closer to mine. “I love how passionate you are about stuff. I really do. It’s one of your best qualities. I was just teasing you, okay? That’s all.”

I sighed. It was impossible to stay mad at him when he did that wide-eyed puppy-dog thing. Which I guess made me just as stupid as the other girls on this island when it came to Andrew Powell.

“Fine. Now get your hands off me so I can go get the bad news from Jones.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” he said, obviously relieved that he had been forgiven. He began to help clear away our dirty plates. “I have a good feeling about this. Here, why don’t you let me finish up here and you head down.”

“Thanks, Andrew.” I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek to show I forgave him. “I knew there was a reason I was friends with you.”

He cleared his throat before his cocky grin appeared once more. “You mean it’s not my grandmother’s cookies?”

“Not
just
her cookies.”

“Whatever. Call me when you’re done.”

I waved as I headed out of the break room, trying to get my game face on for my meeting with the mayor. I could think about the Heather Dale contest later. For now, I was going to get that damn tourism campaign approved. It was like Andrew said—I might just be the most competitive person on this island. And that meant that I liked to win.

* * *

A
half hour
later I sat at my desk, feeling numb—though frustration was fast taking over. All of that work, all those weeks, and what had it gotten me?

A pat on the shoulder. Literally.

The phone on my desk rang, startling me, and I reached for it in a daze, barely noticing the red light next to the extension for the accounting office. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Andrew said. “What happened?”

I felt the slightest flicker of shame in my chest. Somehow, I didn’t like the idea of telling Andrew that I had failed. He’d been so sure it would work out.

“Riley?”

“He doesn’t think it’s a necessary investment at this time,” I replied, a new emotion joining the numbness and frustration and shame. Anger.

“That’s bullshit," Andrew said. “Seriously, bullshit.”

“Yeah, well. Not much I can do about it, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry. I was positive he was going to go for it. You did such great work.”

I shook my head, even though he likely couldn’t see me across the office. “I guess it’s what I should’ve expected. It’s like you said, people around here don’t like things to change.”

“So what did he say?”

I closed my eyes, remembering the exact expression on Mayor Jones’ face as he turned me down. It was that slightly bemused, slightly indulgent smile he always seemed to wear when I brought him a new idea. Like he was humoring me, like he was doing me a favor. Encouraging the kid. The anger flared again. “What do you think he said?”

“If you tell me he said, ‘if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it,’ I’m going to be seriously pissed off now.”

I laughed and it sounded about as bitter as I felt. “You know your boss well.”

Andrew swore under his breath. “Did he even look at your information? All of that research?”

“He did. He said it looked very impressive — and a little too sophisticated for Lilac Bay.” I sighed. “To be honest, I think I overwhelmed him. You know how he gets when anyone starts to talk about website traffic and maximizing return on investment. He doesn’t get it, so he dismisses it as too complicated for the island.”