Chapter Two
Sterling
I woke to the alarm, an anomaly, since I was usually up before it began its incessant beeping.
Annoyance flooded me as I recalled the wasted trip Adrian and I had made.
My source never showed, and the information—that the mayor didn’t actually live in New York City and never had—couldn’t be used without other independent verification.
I doused my face in cold water to wake up completely and tighten my pores.
Once I’d hit forty, I’d become hyperaware of how I appeared on camera.
Someone like Adrian Hunt, young and startlingly handsome, would have no trouble filling my seat.
A focus group had proved what I knew: viewers wanted their news read by youthful anchors.
The age of the wise and trusted gray-haired reporter had vanished, maybe forever.
“Damn the kid for being so…nice.” I strode across my apartment, gazing out the windows where the sun had begun to peek over the tips of the skyscrapers, and hopped on my exercise bike.
“I should’ve said no, but he’s too earnest.” Sweat dripped down my face.
“Well, I can show up and then leave after they say I do. They won’t even notice I’m gone. ”
My ten miles completed, I stripped and showered, scrubbing my scalp vigorously.
I applied my hair-thickening serum and weighed myself, noting with satisfaction that I’d dropped a few pounds.
I’d watched a tape of one of my broadcasts and I’d looked a little bloated, so I’d gone on a strict juice cleanse, and it seemed to have done the trick.
I flipped on the morning news, and it was all about the Blades winning the Stanley Cup.
No matter what station I turned to, all I saw was Adrian’s boyfriend and that big hulk who’d kept getting in my face the prior evening.
Denis Bouvier. The snide bastard was sexy as hell, I’d give him that.
I made a face for taking notice. Arrogant too. I’d concentrate on that fault.
“Jesus Christ, isn’t there any real news?
Who gives a damn about this bullshit sports crap when there’s corruption and crime happening all around us?
” I drank the rest of my green tea and checked my emails.
“Murder, subway delays, and an impending storm. Another fun day in fun city.” I might complain, yet I’d fallen in love with New York City from my first day and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.
I dressed in one of my charcoal suits, with a starched white shirt and blue silk tie that perfectly matched my eyes—or so I’d once been told—and headed out the door to the station. The air was still cool, so I opted to walk and add that to my daily exercise regime.
It was June and the weatherman promised warmth later in the day, so I turned the air conditioning in the office higher and made another green tea while I read the morning reports.
Again, I had to sift through the sports to read that the city was planning on raising parking-meter rates and that the state wanted to screw new workers out of a percentage of their pension.
I had a blessed hour of peace where I took notes and sent directives to the news team. By nine, the rest of the group trickled in and filled the conference room. Adrian, first as always, sat intent, his laptop at the ready.
Of course, everyone in the room was congratulating him on the win and thanking him for the tickets he’d given them.
I hadn’t used mine, as I had little desire to be trapped in a closed space with thousands of screaming people for an event I knew nothing about and cared even less to watch.
It had taken everything in me to go find Adrian in that crowded bar.
“Good morning, everyone. There’s been a few exciting developments overnight that we can report on for the evening news.”
“We know. We were there. The Blades were awesome,” Lars Peterson called out. He was the Brooklyn news director and a good reporter, but this shit had to end.
“All right. Can we all congratulate Adrian for his fiancé’s win and move on? There’s more going on in the world than hockey.”
“Come on, Sterling. This is big news. It took New York almost twenty years to get a Stanley Cup, and we’ve never had two wins in a row. Plus, it’s Friday.”
Scanning the people sitting at the table, I arched a brow.
“And? Does the world stop on Friday? Are you saying there’s no news?
Because I read some stories I think New Yorkers will be interested in long after some silly hockey game is played.
” I caught Adrian’s downcast eyes and instantly regretted how harsh I sounded.
“But yes, congratulations to Adrian, who, more importantly than a winning hockey game, is getting married tomorrow. So lunch will be on me today for the whole news staff.”
After the applause and thank-yous, we got to business.
It turned out to be a busy day, and we had some breaking news of an oil-tanker fire spilling fuel across the northbound lanes of I-95—a major artery in the East Coast—as well as a shootout on the George Washington Bridge.
Adrian had followed up on the pension question, and we had a good clip of the head of the largest city union trying to wiggle out from answering his question as to whether older city workers would see their pension affected by the new rate.
We closed out with, naturally, more hockey highlights and accolades, including interviews with the players.
Once again, Denis Bouvier ate up all the oxygen whenever the microphone was in his face.
The guy loved the spotlight, and unfortunately, it loved him back.
Sure, he was big and brawny and stupidly gorgeous, but he was way too full of himself.
After that, my night was far from over. I had to remain for the ten o’clock broadcast. We’d use the earlier clips for viewers who’d missed the six p.m. news, but we had different staff do night-beat reporting, and there was always something going on in the city that never slept.
“Good show, everyone.” I gave Tanya Slidell, the meteorologist, and Bryan Held, the sports reporter, a brief nod.
I left the anchor desk and the studio to use the restroom, then returned to my office to check my appearance in the full-length mirror I kept behind the door.
Someone knocked, and I frowned. I rarely spoke to anyone between sets, preferring to read or listen to music.
I opened the door to see Bryan Held standing in front of me. “Can I help you?”
“I was curious about something.”
“Yes?” I made no move to invite him in.
“How is Adrian doing?”
The question took me by surprise. I knew the two weren’t friendly. “Why are you asking?”
“I mean, let’s face it. The kid’s only here because of who he’s sleeping with. He was a washout as Louie’s fill-in.” To my annoyance, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
I remained neutral. “And you’re telling me this, why?” I folded my arms. “Did you forget I also worked here at that time?”
Ignoring my question, he smirked. “So you know.” He shifted closer, and I had to take shallow breaths. His cologne threatened to suffocate me.
“Know what?” I grew impatient. “You obviously have an agenda. Spit it out.”
“Why would you pick him? That one little segment he did for the arena collapse wasn’t so special.
He helped some people—big deal. But to give him a camera-facing spot on prime-time news as a political reporter?
And he still gets his own show in sports, which really should be mine. I don’t get it.” Bryan shook his head.
“So you wouldn’t have done squat for the kid.” I attempted that old-boy attitude. “Even with Rob DeVine telling everyone Adrian had the chops, you think he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Rob and Louie are close, and Louie’s softhearted for Adrian. Maybe he’s gay too, I don’t know. I mean, the guy’s never been married.”
“And that’s an indicator that a man’s gay? Because he never married?” My smile was thin. “I’m not married.”
Bryan flushed. “I-I didn’t mean that. If you’re gay, that’s cool. I don’t care.”
“I’m not sure what someone’s sexuality has to do with their job performance, unless they’re a prostitute. Then satisfaction is a necessity.” My gaze turned icy. “What I don’t understand is one colleague seeking me out to bash another, unless it’s out of professional jealousy.”
Bryan’s jaw worked. “I’m not jealous. But I’ve got years of experience on him.”
“True,” I murmured. “And yet you were Louie’s backup and the Saturday night sports reporter. Not the most sought-after position.”
His face flamed. “I’m the full-time reporter now.”
“Yes. I’m aware. But let’s see.” I held up a hand and counted on my fingers.
“Adrian has, in the span of a little more than a year, filled in for a sports legend, Louie Rozner; pitched and gotten a very successful sports talk show; was hailed on national television for assisting in a near disaster; and gotten promoted to a coveted news position. All while being extremely well liked by all the staff. Except, it seems, you.”
“I don’t…you know what? Forget it. You don’t understand.”
“Yes, I do. You’re trying to create tension in the newsroom where there is none.
You’re envious of Adrian’s success and his abilities.
He’s younger than you, better-looking than you, smarter than you.
Now why don’t you leave? Go study some stupid statistic like shots on net or how many points Adrian’s boyfriend made in his game. ”
Bryan snorted. “I see you know nothing about sports. You act so above it all, but people need an outlet to wind down from the day’s work and connect to each other.
Sports satisfies that. Watching a game brings people together.
Maybe you should try it. It would loosen you up. ” He spun on his heel and left.
“I’m plenty loose,” I muttered. “Just because I don’t like watching grown men run around throwing or hitting a ball doesn’t make me a bad person.”