Homecoming (31 page)

Derek and his father both glanced her way as she got up from the table and walked gingerly toward the door.

Derek caught up with her halfway down the hall. “I’ve got to go return a phone call.”

Angie frowned at him. He hadn’t missed their Monday morning cup of cappuccino since they’d become an “item” last year.

“And lunch is off too. Hair appointment.”

“I think it looks fine,” she said, staring at his perfectly coifed hair.

“Zeke says it’s looking a little shaggy on-camera, so he adjusted some appointments to squeeze me in over the noon hour.” He shrugged his apology before he pivoted to head back toward his own plush office down the hall.

She couldn’t decide if Derek was acting strange or if her perception was tweaked as a result of her weird morning. A morning that had given her a pounding tension headache that rivaled the pain in her knees, a morning spoiled in every way.

And what was that little discussion between Derek and his father after the meeting broke up? And that look they’d given her? Had to be about Green Zone. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of tramping around in freshly fertilized soil to talk about the greening of inner city neighborhoods. Not when Cassondra could easily cover Green Zone in one of her noontime All About Town pieces. Sure, the business warranted some KSUN airtime, it just wasn’t what she wanted for her special spring segment.

She’d worked too hard to stay as far away as she could from anything remotely like down-on-the-farm stories. She’d be using her stint as community reporter to groom a nice path toward a regular field reporter assignment, where she really belonged, covering serious news and not doing fluff pieces. Then, if all went as planned, she’d end up an evening anchor in a couple of years.

She’d just have to convince Derek to back her up. And he would once she explained her reasoning that Green Zone belonged in Cassondra’s segment and not hers.

On her way to her office, Angie paused at the reception desk to pick up her messages. She waved at Claire, who was busy on the phone, then turned to walk away. Just as she did, she felt both bandages lift free from her knees and fall out the bottom of her pant legs. When she stooped down to retrieve them, fresh pain shot down both shins.

With difficulty, she rose to her feet and tossed the bloody evidence of her horrible morning into the trashcan in the lobby.

As she limped toward her office, she groaned out loud as she read the first one. Zeke had called to apologize that he needed to cancel her hair appointment so he could get Derek in for an emergency cut, but he could squeeze her in tomorrow night instead. Obviously, Derek’s hair came first.

Next was a message from a “Ms. X” who said not to bother to call her any more.

Darn it.
She’d been counting on the scoop to elevate her hard-news potential. Her plan had been to add another serious news story to her résumé. No one else had been able to get close to the woman whose politician brother was about to go to court.

The third one was from her father, but he’d left no message.

Angie stopped and leaned against the wall for a moment, checking the time noted on the slip. Five minutes after he’d called her at home. Could something really be wrong? He’d never told her the result of his annual physical...could that be it? She felt her stomach knot-up in response.

On the last message, Claire had written that a man had called asking if the new Up Close and Personal reporter was there because he was on his way in to see her. A mean-looking frowny face had been drawn at the bottom, Claire’s depiction of the man’s attitude.

Was her world falling apart or did it just feel that way? Her father had called twice in one day. Her career felt like it was teetering in the wrong direction. Her future husband and her boss were ticked off at her, and she was pretty sure her knees were about to bleed through her Armani slacks.

When she finally dropped into her chair, Angie put the messages and the plant on her desk, placed her briefcase on the floor, toed out of her new Sergio Rossi taupe leather sandals, and pulled both pant legs up to her thighs. She flipped her wastebasket on end and propped her feet on it to take a look at her wounds.

“Jeez, Angie, what happened?”

Angie shook her head without looking up at the sound of Claire’s voice. She knew it was the receptionist’s morning break time and, with any luck, maybe she was going on a coffee run, which would be lovely since Derek had cancelled their cappuccino date. Maybe Claire could get her a tall coffee and some fresh Band-Aids while she was at it. “Claire, don’t even ask. It’s been a morning.”

Angie scrutinized her knees, which seemed a lot worse. “And don’t send that cranky guy back here. Just tell him I’m busy. I’m gone. Whatever.”

It was then that Angie glanced up just enough to notice another pair of shoes parked next to Claire’s perky red-sequined platforms. A pair of honey-colored,
definitely
Tony Lama elephant skin...at-least-four-hundred-dollar...cowboy boots.

Angie closed her eyes, certain she had to be seeing things. This isn’t happening. When she opened them again, only the Tony Lamas were there. Slowly she lifted her head, forcing a cheerful smile and trying desperately to think of something intelligent to say.

But as she prepared to look at the man standing in front of her, he had already lowered himself to one knee and was staring at her legs.

“Did you ice them?”

Angie chewed on her lower lip as unwanted tears sprung to her eyes. It was the last straw. Total embarrassment washed over her and she started to jerk her legs off the overturned wastebasket.

But before she could, she felt the rough palms of his hands against her ankles, preventing her from moving.

“I’ll take that as a no.” She watched as he released one of his hands to reach into his shirt pocket, retrieving a small tin, then looked at her. “May I?”

As she stared into his eyes, any words she might have said were stuck somewhere between her brain and her lips. At least she’d managed to keep any tears from escaping.

How could it be him?

Odds were astronomical in a city the size of San Diego against running into the handsome plant-man again, let alone within an hour on this horrible Monday morning.

“It’s just an herbal salve,” he explained. And taking her silence for permission, he used his little finger to dab some of the ointment onto her knees.

“Ow!”

He looked up at her, his eyebrows pulling together. “Should I stop?”

A little voice in her head whispered, “No, don’t ever stop.” What was it about this man, and more specifically, this man’s touch? She shuddered, then forced her best business smile to her lips. “I’m fine. Sorry. Low threshold.” He looked away, but not before she noticed the change in his eyes. There was something painful there, something dark.

“These are pretty nasty abrasions; the salve should help soothe the pain in a minute or two. You should really keep your legs up for a while if you can.” He stood, slipping the tin back into his shirt pocket.

Not caring if the salve stained her slacks, she dropped her feet to the floor and stepped back into her shoes and stood up, stretching her five-foot frame as tall as she could. She didn’t intend to have him baby her. She felt ridiculous enough. “I’m Angie Fletcher.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for him to get to his feet.

His hand swallowed hers and he grasped it firmly, holding onto it a few seconds longer than necessary. His dry, callused hand felt familiar, somehow. Then she identified the feeling. It was the hand of someone who worked with his hands, probably outside—a dramatic contrast to the smooth, cool skin of Derek’s hands. No, this man’s hands were used to physical labor and not opposed to getting dirty to get the job done.

“Jason Ryan Macdonald,” he said as he finally let go. “I’m here to pick a fight with you.”

Angie drew her brows together as she stared up at him.

“I understand you’re the new reporter for the Up Close and Personal segments, and the latest roadblock to getting filming started on Green Zone.”

He was Mr. Green Zone?
Angie swallowed hard. “It’s nothing personal, Mr. Macdonald. It’s normal for the new reporter to come in with other ideas that seem better suited—”

“To what?”

“Excuse me?”

“Better suited to what? Your career? Your image? Don’t like the idea of walking around in your Italian shoes looking at compost piles and drip irrigation?”

“Look. Every Up Close and Personal reporter puts his or her stamp on the show. I’m considering your business along with a couple others.”

Jason deepened his glare. Then he started to pace the floor in front of her desk, looking like he was about to blow a gasket, looking like he definitely wasn’t used to hearing the word
no
.

“Not personal?” His voice rose a notch. “Of course it’s personal. I’ve put an entire neighborhood on hold waiting for something that has been all but promised to me already. You enter the picture and now I’m not supposed to take it personally?”

Before Angie could begin to try to calm him down, the cavalry arrived. Derek walked in, made a beeline straight to her, and gave her a light peck on the cheek. Then he turned and extended his hand to Jason, who’d stopped his pacing and now stood in front of her desk.

Jason’s hands stayed defiantly on his hips, his glare now shifting from her to Derek.

“I’m Derek Ethan.”

“Jason Macdonald from Green Zone.”

“Ah, yes—we’ve spoken on the phone. I see you’ve met our new Up Close and Personal reporter.”

Jason continued to ignore Derek’s extended hand and, instead, crossed his arms against his chest. He stood tree-straight, and looked like a man with his heels dug in and ready for battle.

“I’m sure Ms. Fletcher will give her nod of approval on Green Zone—”

“Actually,” Angie interrupted, “I just explained to Mr. Macdonald that I haven’t finished exploring all the alternatives—”

“—because I’ve just come from the station manager’s office.” Derek paused to make sure she’d heard him. “And he has just given his full approval.”

Angie stared at Derek as he put his arm around Jason’s shoulder and ushered him toward the door.

“I’ll take you back to reception and someone will take down your availability. Ms. Fletcher will get back to you with the filming schedule later today.”

Angie watched the two men go through the doorway, both acting as though she’d become invisible. At the last moment, Jason turned his head to look back at her and winked in what could only be smug satisfaction.

Angie slammed the door after them, leaning against it.

Wonderful. Now she’d be stuck with Green Zone—and plant-man—whether she liked it or not.

The thing was, she really couldn’t afford to choose this hill to die on. And, to make matters worse, deep down, if she was really being honest with herself, Green Zone really was a perfect fit for the Up Close and Personal extended seasonal segments.

With a resigned sigh escaping her lips, she knew the outcome already. She’d swallow her pride and be a team player, like always. But she’d make darned sure she would be the one to make the next selection. And it would be something really over-the-top-serious so she could balance out the fluff-piece the Green Zone coverage was sure to be.

There was a soft knock on the door behind her. Probably Derek coming back to apologize.

Angie opened the door, her game face on. But it wasn’t Derek. Claire stood behind a giant bunch of fresh-cut lavender in a crystal vase.

“These are for you.”

Angie frowned. That was odd. The flowers Derek had delivered each month weren’t due for another week.

She followed Claire to her desk and then leaned her nose into the long stems, breathing in the fragrance. “It’s the first nice thing that’s happened all day.”

“You think he’s cute?”

“Hmm?”

“The Green Zone guy. Jason Ryan Macdonald—I love a man with three names...always means something special, don’t you think?”

“Hush, I’m enjoying my flowers.”

“You think he’s my type?”

Angie turned away from the lavender to look at the twenty-something Claire who wore a red leather mini-skirt, matching cropped jacket that barely covered her midriff, spiked black hair, and a nose ring. “Might have to tame down a little for him.”

Claire sighed. “Too old for me?”

“Nah—well, maybe.” She’d guessed Jason might be somewhere in his thirties, though it was hard to say for sure.

“Oh, well. Makes for nice eye-candy—and he should look good on camera.”

Angie had to agree. He would. He had that all-American look that men paid good money to hair stylists and personal trainers to get. All the men she knew either went to the gym like addicts, or had a personal trainer. She’d quickly determined men here were nowhere near in as good a shape as the boys she’d chummed with back home.

Here, most of the men worked hard after work instead of at work. But that was fine. She’d grown to like the guy friends she’d met at her own gym, some of whom were eager to give her image tips. They’d been crucial in helping her make her own transformation.