It's News to Her (6 page)

“Just in case?” she asked with almost no air in her lungs.

“Of course.”

After they'd landed, and Hunter thanked the crew again, Phil Porter smoothly and efficiently drove them back to the office. After they came to a stop and Hunter
had said good-night to Lane and Phil, Cord insisted on walking her to her car.

“Will you let us follow you home so I don't have to worry about you on the streets alone at this hour?” he asked when they were a few feet from the Cadillac.

It was now two in the morning, but the hour wasn't too unusual for her. There were often functions she had to attend or some major news story or the elections. “It's not necessary, really. Besides, since Texas is a concealed-handgun state, I'm licensed. My weapon is locked in here,” she said, tilting her head at the silver Escalade parked in her reserved spot. “Mr. Henry suggested it about a year after I started full-time with the station. There had been a murder of an anchorwoman in another state and it troubled him. I go to the firing range every quarter to keep up my skills.”

“It's a relief to know you have some protection,” he said, “but I still insist. We'll be right behind you.”

Although she shook her head, Hunter's lips curved at the chivalry. “Poor Lane and Phil. Less sleep for them than anyone tonight.”

“They're well compensated, and right about now, they're betting each other a crisp Jackson whether I'll get to ride with you to your place or you keep me locked out of your vehicle.”

“Whoever has figured out that I'm grateful but no pushover or fool wins.” Hunter used her remote to unlock the door. “But thank you again for all you did.”

“Hunter.” Cord waited for her to pause and meet his gaze. “I enjoyed tonight. It's the first time I felt like
myself and not a commodity in—well, I don't know in how long.”

She supposed he ran into that often being who he was, but even with the planes and limousine, Hunter realized she'd only been thinking of him as her boss—except when she was thinking of him as an extremely charismatic man. Feeling more than a little dazed, she whispered, “Good night,” and sought the escape of the Escalade's interior.

It was a relief to turn onto her road and then her driveway. The Cadillac had stayed devotedly behind her, but not so close she was blinded by its lights. Phil may have lost or won twenty dollars; however, nothing showed in the way he tailed her. She pulled the car into the garage. It was a greater relief to hit the remote again and have the garage door descend behind her. She was not in Cord Yarrow Rivers's league, and she needed the respite.

Her BlackBerry sounded and she saw an incoming text. As she unlocked the door to her townhouse, she brought up the message.

Since there are too many ears in this car, I'll just wish you a good-night back.

Unable to resist, she texted back, Who won?

After a slight hesitation came the brief message, Sweet dreams.

Throwing back her head, Hunter laughed out loud. No, she wasn't in his league, but she'd held her own. At least for tonight.

I
t would be an exaggeration to say that she arrived at the station refreshed. She definitely wasn't ready to deal with the on-air announcement about Mr. Henry, but Hunter made it in at the same time the morning staff did, warning everyone that extra eye drops and makeup would be required before she was willing to remove her sunglasses. Last night, after changing into her most comfortable nightie and robe, she had read the text reminder from executive producer Tom Vold regarding his concern about how fast gossip traveled and that, if possible, they wanted their announcement of transfer of power to Cord to be done before most of the public left for work. Knowing their writer and video people would need anything and everything ASAP, Hunter never went to bed.

Considering the cacophony going on at the station's main telephone bank some kind of leak had occurred. Staff filed in, exhibiting everything from confusion to doubt. Fortunately, the powers that be decided extra security was justified, and Joey had a bleary-eyed Earl joining him. Earl gave a new definition to bloodshot eyes and kept his gaze locked on the doors as though he expected a UFO to navigate itself into the building at any second. Otherwise, things seemed to be business as usual.

Hunter came dressed in black sweats and carried an ivory dress suit with a gold rose pin on the left shoulder. The pin was a cherished gift from Mr. Henry from last Christmas. He'd dubbed her his rose of KSIO as he'd assured her that she had her job as long as she wanted it.

She already knew Tom and Fred were pleased with her text for the presentation because extensive communication between them had been done before she'd arrived.

“Have you considered a future as a presidential speechwriter?” her director, Wade Spangler, asked minutes later when he entered the makeup room holding a hard copy of her announcement. “This is going to be played all over the country and probably on late-night TV tonight.”

“Well, give it back,” Hunter told him, grabbing for the draft. “It'll be easy enough to muddy up.” She was glad that Wade was pleased, but she was sensitive to exaggeration at this point, especially since she'd heard
nothing from Cord, despite having fulfilled her promise to text him early.

Wade snatched the sheets out of her reach. “Changes would have to be over my dead body. They're loving it over at the inner sanctum. I just wanted a glimpse at what you were wearing so I could think lighting.” He nodded at the outfit Hunter had changed into. “Thank goodness your skin isn't bone-white. Okay, Fred will pop in here momentarily to let you know that we're set to put you on as our A-Close,” Wade said, referring to the last story in that programming block.

Now dressed in her suit, Hunter nodded, knowing in this case that her announcement was timed to leave viewers moved.

“Check with Fred about the midday news,” he said, continuing to peruse his notes. “They want a recap instead of replaying the parcel, and to have you sitting in the guest seat beside Molly and Ed so they can pose a question or two. At that point, the whole country will have the news, and we don't want to stay with a depressing tone, so they'll shift over to yesterday and the commencement speech you gave. Is that okay with you?”

“As long as we don't have to linger on why I moved from there, otherwise we will sink into a depressing topic again.”

“Damn, you're right.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, then try to think of something that's coming up on your calendar that's upbeat. Stay on your toes. It'll all be fluid.”

As he turned to leave, all droopy shouldered, Hunter
called, “Understood, coach. My money is on you to make me look good and hide the shadows under my eyes that this makeup isn't covering very well.”

“Oh, please. Everybody should look so good,” Wade muttered as he exited the room.

“See, I told you that you're still too young for it to show,” Linda, their makeup technician, said.

She was about done as the morning crew entered, now dressed in their stage clothing, too. When she first joined the network, Hunter worked this shift and had an affection and empathy for their lot. They saw her as the next level to reach for and acted starstruck. Oddly, that added to her feelings of nostalgia and melancholy.

When she was cued to take her seat, she made herself think only of the gentleman who would forever be her hallmark in the business. Upon cue, she began, “Good morning. On behalf of Yarrow Communications, KSIO and all of our sister stations across the country, it's my sad responsibility to announce that our much-loved leader, mentor and the original visionary of YCI, Mr. Henry Yarrow, is retiring.

“It's impossible to encapsulate in mere words what he has meant to me, let alone done for this giant family in communications. I was the novice fresh out of college when he brought me onboard here in San Antonio, and he guided me through my first days of the fascinating, treacherous and nerve-racking paces of TV news. When some said network TV was dead, and cable was the future, Henry Yarrow denied them that black-and-white conclusion and cable continues to respect his strength.
When political bullies and business opportunists tried to silence his voice, he led a public protest that kept freedom of speech alive.

“Nevertheless, being number one was never Mr. Henry's ultimate desire. He wanted something beyond letting the public know what the big story was, why it was on everyone's lips and what the core questions were that needed to be asked. Then he pointed to us, his reporters, the front line of any information, ‘Tell our public what they don't know yet. Give them the news and the facts to help them make sound judgments, and don't
ever
let them get bored or complacent so as to switch channels without understanding that the future still lies in their hands.'”

In her earpiece, Hunter could hear control room staff voice variations of an affirmative and Wade's soft coaxing to slightly rein in the passion. It was probably the wise thing to do if she was running for city council, but Mr. Henry's list of champions and charities was long.

“San Antonio experienced a burst of growth when he decided to make this the location for YCI headquarters. The country benefited as KSIO launched and/or acquired sister stations on both coasts and in the Midwest. Under his direction, YCI funded new communication departments in several area high schools, improved hospitals and nursing home facilities with home entertainment centers and libraries with state-of-the-art resource centers. Privately, he and his wife Lenore are often anonymous donors to various charities and per
forming art centers. Where there has been a need, he has often been the first to ask, ‘What will help?'

“Sadly, health issues demand that he turn his entire focus and energy on himself, but we're privileged and honored that his grandson, Mr. Cord Yarrow Rivers, is willing to step in at this difficult time.

“Finally, on a personal note, I'd like to say to Mr. Henry—as he will always be known to me—we love you and will miss you. You will remain the standard we hope to rise to. Forevermore.”

The camera switched off of her, and Hunter watched the rest of the package on a nearby monitor—photos and videos of some of Henry Yarrow's greatest achievements—before the piece ended on a picture of him and Lenore at their last, big public function together: last year's Emmy Awards when he was presented with a Lifetime Achievement Award. They both looked so happy and healthy. Tears of appreciation and sadness filled Hunter's eyes as the screen finally went black.

“And that's our A-Close,” Fred said from the control room. “Thanks, everyone.”

Usually special events brought cheers, but the room was silent and so was her earpiece. Scanning the audience, her vision finally cleared and she saw a technician pinching the bridge of his nose to hide his emotion, another wiping away tears. Hunter blinked hard and started thinking about the rest of her day to keep from totally breaking down.

“That's a moment of history that we'll be proud to remember. Beautiful job, Hunter.”

She raised a hand in thanks to Tom's praise and pulled out her earpiece. She didn't want to test her ability to speak right now. But she realized she wasn't going to be given a chance to recover because Cord emerged from the shadows.

“Grandfather will be so pleased,” he said as he approached her.

“You're not supposed to be here.” Hunter knew she sounded the fool, but she couldn't help it. Cord had assured her that he needed to stay with Henry at the estate for this, and no one had told her otherwise.

“Thanks for the warm welcome.”

Hunter shook her head. “You know what I mean. You said you needed to stay close.”

“I intended to, but Grandfather thought better of the idea.” He glanced down at her bare feet and smiled. “If you'll slip your shoes on, I'll escort you up to my office.”

Although Hunter did slide back into her camel-colored strappy heels, she wasn't happy about it or his comment. “Why do I want to go to your office?” she asked just before Kandi, a sound technician, reached her for the mike, battery pack and earpiece.

As soon as she left, Cord replied, “Because having the conversation we need to have might embarrass you down here.”

Startled, Hunter could only stare at him. She was pretty sure that she wasn't about to get fired, which left her with only one conclusion to draw. “Mr. Rivers—”

“Cord.”

“We're not alone,” she sang softly, mentally punching him.

“But we spent last night together—or most of it anyway.”

Horrified that someone should hear that and take it the wrong way, she ducked her chin and headed for the hallway. Within a few strides, Cord was right beside her, and his grin made her all the more agitated.

“Why do you buy such narrow skirts if you're determined to keep trying to outrun me?”

“Try finding something that doesn't fit like a glove these days—in stores or online.”

“I'm wholly into it,” he mused. “Until you get a skin burn.”

Hunter stopped at the elevator and took pains to depress the up button with care, all the while hoping not to lose her temper. “This is a sad day for me,” she said, staring holes into the elevator buttons. “It should be for you, as well. How can you reduce it to—”

“It's a good day. The tough one comes when he enters the hospital for surgery,” Cord interjected.

The elevator arrived and Hunter stepped in, knowing he was right. She even forgave him a little because she now understood that he was coping, and who was she to judge how anyone did that?

The chime announced their arrival at the top floor. With characteristic smoothness, he touched his hand to the small of her back to encourage her exit. Once again, it wasn't an overtly physical gesture, and yet Hunter's body tensed and her temperature soared as
though someone had flipped a switch. Add the attention they attracted walking down the hallway as they passed the various secretaries, and Hunter was grateful to reach Cord's office. It was a small gift that Kym was away on some other assignment or chore. That triggered a question.

“I heard you call Lane your executive assistant yesterday,” she began. “Please don't tell me that Kym is about to be deeply hurt from all of this?”

“Not at all. We talked it out. She'll continue her role as assistant to the CEO, but I couldn't very well have Lane around with the title tail gunner or even chief of security without triggering too much attention of every imaginable variety.”

He reached around her to open the door to his office, forcing Hunter to turn sideways to avoid the physical contact she suspected he wanted. “Thank you for the explanation and reassurance.”

“The reassurance that I'm not just a suit—or tool, as the kids say these days?”

Hunter stopped in the middle of the room and clasped her hands behind her back. There was no way that she would respond to that. As relieved as she was for Kym, she had to wait on what else was coming.

“Why am I here?” she asked instead.

“Can I get you something?” Having closed the door, he gestured for her to have a seat. “The coffee is fresh, and the fridge is loaded with plenty of choices.”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

As she sat, she was glad to note that there weren't
many changes to the office—yet. It was early, of course, and he had every right to remove all semblance of Henry Yarrow and make this his own throne room. But the only things that were gone were Henry's favorite family photographs on the credenza against the wall of windows. So far, the credenza was bare of anything personal.

“Well, then let's get to it. I have some good news for a change,” Cord said as he unbuttoned his navy blue suit jacket and sat down on the edge of the desk. “We're going to have you start soloing the evening news.”

Hunter gasped. He called that
good
news? “No! You can't fire—”

“Whoa—who said anyone is losing their job? Did we not clear up your jumping to conclusions when I explained about Kym? But I want people to know who is giving them their news. I want them to trust what they hear because they know and trust the person delivering the news. And the way we do that is by spending more time with those individuals.

“Ever since Walter Cronkite retired, whenever there's a scandal or other grumble in the news, the credibility of the information depends on who's delivering it. More often than not we hear—depending on the age of the viewer—‘If Walter were here, we wouldn't be experiencing this.'” Cord pointed at her. “What I want is for viewers to invest that kind of trust in you.”

Hunter didn't understand the need to veer from the proven. “It's already done. We're winning in both of our time slots. Why change what's working?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Cord shook his head. “You are probably the only reporter that I know who would try to talk her boss out of making her a star.”