Chapter Eight
Sterling
I never should’ve let him come upstairs with me. I’d prepared for an argument when Denis came out of the bedroom, but he strode across the room to me, saying, “My apologies. I’m very sorry I upset you. I never meant to invade your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re correct. Because this is the first, last, and only time you’ll be in my apartment. You wanted breakfast? Here. Sit and eat, and then you can be on your way.”
As usual, the damned man surprised me. “I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll be on my way.” He took his phone, wallet, and keys, and without further ado, walked out, slamming the door behind him.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, now alone. After taking out all that extra food. Not to mention preparing a whole argument, ready to go at it.
I ate my breakfast, drank my juice, and steeped my tea. To clear my mind, I sat on a yoga mat facing the windows overlooking the park and tried to think pleasant thoughts. An endless blue sky, tranquil waters, birds chirping in the park. My feet hitting the ground while I ran.
The face of Denis Bouvier ruined my calm. Glittering black eyes, a wicked grin, and utter perfection of physical form had my heart topsy-turvy.
“No,” I whispered in the stillness of my living room.
“No. I refuse to let that pompous, overbearing sports junkie invade my personal space.” Having lived with someone whose sense of self-worth was measured by ratings and reviews, I had no desire to waste my time with someone whose good looks were only exceeded by his ego and the need to be stroked every day.
Wait, no, I didn’t mean that.
Drawing all the strength I’d mastered in my forty years, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And another. Soon I’d dismissed the unpleasant morning encounter and found my rhythm.
Twenty minutes later, I opened my eyes and got to my feet, ready to face the office. After my morning run, I opted for a car, and I walked into the newsroom energized and loving the hum of activity. This was my domain.
“Sterling, how’s it going?” Rob DeVine, our news director, stopped to chat. He was a bit arrogant but shrewd as hell, and we had a good relationship. He and I would talk about the important stories of the day, and he allowed me to set the schedule of reporting and who to send out to get each story.
“Considering I just walked in the door, it’s great,” I joked, and he fell into step with me. “You look like you have something to say.”
“I do want to talk.”
“Why don’t we go to my office?” I suggested, and we walked inside and closed the door.
We sat—me at my desk and Rob at the small conference table. I made a cup of tea for myself. Rob shook his head when I offered him one.
“What’s up, Rob?”
“The summer was pretty slow in the city, as usual. Most people were out in the Hamptons or upstate, and if they don’t have kids going back to school, they’re still making their way home.”
I made a face at the mention of the Hamptons. “Not my scene. Coming from Beverly Hills, I have no desire to hang out with the rich and beautiful people.” I cracked a smile. “I prefer you guys here.”
“Funny, Sterling. But there have been changes these past few years—you came on board, Adrian too, and we have Tag Gold, the new sports reporter.”
“Bryan leaving surprised me.” Not that I was unhappy about it. I’d always found him to be an obnoxious prick.
Rob made a noise in his throat. “He had an overinflated sense of self-worth. Guy was a good second-stringer, but he’s no Louie. You’ve either got charisma, or you don’t.”
“And he didn’t?”
Rob examined his fingernails. “Nah. You, Adrian, Tag, and Allie Brenner on the Queens beat…all of you have that ‘it’ quality—in different ways of course, but you get what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess.” I lifted a shoulder. I didn’t really, but personality deep dives weren’t my thing. “Where is this leading? I know you didn’t come visit to tell me the news has a low rating. I see the numbers. We’ve climbed into the number one spot finally.”
“See? You’re a cut-to-the-chase guy. I appreciate that.
The powers that be came up with the idea to run small pieces on our reporters.
The focus groups we met with over the summer have shown us that viewers love learning more about the people they tune in to see every night.
Where they grew up, favorite foods, their pets, what they do in their spare time to wind down… you know, the warm and fuzzies.”
My stomach went into free fall, and I forced a half smile. “That sounds like a terrible idea. Who wants to know about us? We’re boring.”
“Speak for yourself, Sterling. I’ve mentioned it to some of the staff, and they love the idea. As does Ed Riley.”
My worst nightmare. If the station head wanted it, it was considered a done deal. “Well, who am I to be the lone naysayer?”
“Good. I was hoping not to have to twist your arm. You’ll be first.”
I blinked. “What? Why me?”
“Because you’re the anchor. The face of the news and the main reason viewers tune in.
Our focus group also showed that most people want to know about you.
And in case you were wondering, it’s split pretty evenly—fifty-two percent women and forty-eight percent men made you their first choice as the Channel 8 personality they’d most like to meet.
” Rob’s smile was cunning. “We need to capitalize on both sides of the aisle. You keep your personal life extremely close to the vest. That makes you mysterious. And a man of mystery is a man whose layers people want to peel away to get to the core of who you are.”
“What am I, an onion?”
Rob chuckled. “Was that a joke? I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
Maybe the hockey guy was rubbing off on me more than I thought. “I do if I want to.”
“So think about what you want to say. Production will be in touch.”
This wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t talk about my past—I never had. I’d left it all vague and had paid very, very good money to have all mentions of Dahlia and Marisel wiped from my background. With enough money, you could get anything accomplished.
“Are you sure about this? I’m not very exciting, you know. I don’t have any hobbies or visit exotic places or even have a cute pet.”
Rob shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure there’s something they can find to make you interesting.” He cackled. “I’ll see you at eleven for the morning news roundup.”
After he left, I did a deep dive on myself to make sure my online history remained as sanitized as possible.
About once a month I did a search on Dahlia.
She hadn’t done a movie in years—when she’d hit forty, she’d formed her own beauty company, and as of last year, she was one of the world’s richest women, with a net worth hovering near one billion dollars.
She’d started various foundations concentrating on women’s issues—rape, domestic violence—which, considering what had happened to her, made sense.
It softened me toward her, knowing she hadn’t forgotten where she came from and was using her extreme wealth to help people.
She’d never had any children with her three ex-husbands, and I remembered reading in gossip magazines about her decision to remain childless.
I wondered if she ever thought of me or regretted how she’d cut me out of her life to keep her traumatic past a secret. From the day I’d moved out for college, I’d neither seen nor spoken to her. Twenty-two years of silence. A punishment for a wrong I’d had no part in except being born.
Marisel too had walked out of my life and disappeared. Taken the millions of her payout and most likely was living in luxury somewhere. I couldn’t blame her. I was a nobody in her life, a burden she’d never asked for but had benefited from.
I was the only stupid one who couldn’t forget anything.
Nothing was getting accomplished by this morbid walk down memory lane, so I dove into my work. There were notes to prepare and clips to review. I ate a salad at my desk while watching the daily White House press briefing. For a few minutes, I closed my eyes and indulged in a what-if fantasy.
What if I’d let Denis tug my towel all the way off?
What if I’d taken off my clothes when he stood naked and sweaty in my living room and touched him. Gotten to my knees and—
Someone knocked on my door, and I rubbed my eyes. “Come in.”
Adrian popped his head in. “Hi. I have that information about the city-council vote tomorrow. Do you want to discuss it?”
I blinked. “Oh, uh, yes. Please. Come in.”
“Great. Apparently there’s a bipartisan coalition that opposes the mayor, and it could get ugly.” Adrian talked, and I listened and made comments where appropriate. He closed his notebook, and I waited.
“Something else? It sounds like you have it all covered and it could prove to be a rowdy meeting, which makes for a juicy news story.”
“Uh, well, preseason starts this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d like to come watch the opening game. It’s Saturday night.”
“Why? I’m not a hockey fan.”
“Yeah, I know, but I thought, well, it might be nice. You don’t really know that much about it, and I thought maybe you’d like to see them play live. Neil can’t come, and I hate to sit by myself.”
“I don’t think so, but thanks. It’s not my thing.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry to bother you.” Adrian ducked his head, gathered his notebook, and hustled out of my office.
Had I been too harsh? “Dammit,” I swore and left my seat to follow him to his cubicle. “Adrian.”
He faced me with a bright smile. “Yes? Did we forget to talk about something?”
“No. I just want to apologize for being so abrupt. It wasn’t very nice of me. But I’m sure you could find someone who actually likes hockey to go with you.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I just thought you might like to see it’s not all brawn and no skill.”
I wasn’t about to argue with him. After all, he was married to a hockey player.
“Well”—I gave him a quick smile—“I’ve got stories to check.”
“Denis mentioned to Rip he saw you in the park this morning?”
The confusion in Adrian’s eyes matched my own.
Shit. Of course he would. My gut tightened, recalling him naked in my living room and how he’d touched me in my bedroom.
I rubbed my eyes. “It was odd running into him, but I guess it’s one of those New York coincidences. The city isn’t as large or anonymous as we think. Funny, right?” I attempted a grin.
“Yeah, I thought so too, especially since I know you’re not friends. Anyway, I understand you’re not a hockey fan. I’d better get my notes prepared for tonight’s broadcast and get the clips from production.”
I had no clue why I didn’t simply agree with him and walk away.
That would’ve been the smart thing to do.
I couldn’t fake interest in watching a bunch of grown men with big sticks, skating around an ice rink, fighting over a puck.
From the little I’d seen, it could be a brutal, dangerous sport.
I preferred my book and comfortable chair, with calming music in the background.
My own company was all I needed. No one else could be trusted.
And yet, I heard myself saying, “On second thought, I’ll be happy to join you at the game.
” There was something so disarming and so damn sweet about Adrian that I couldn’t say no to him.
It would have been like kicking a puppy.
Varying emotions played across Adrian’s face—shock, followed by excitement, and finally happiness.
“Really? Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured or think you’re going to upset me if you don’t come.
I sit alone at the games a lot. I mean, sometimes Seb’s wife comes—or Neil, but I think it’ll be fun. ”
The conversation was getting to be a bit much. “Sure. Thanks.”
“I’ll leave the ticket for you at the box office special event window.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you in the newsroom later.”
I retreated to my office, closed the door, and with a great sigh, leaned against it.
“What the hell am I doing?” I shook my head in disbelief. “I’m making way too much of this. I’ll go to the stupid game, and that’ll be it. I’ll have to make sure Denis doesn’t see me. He’ll think I’m there for him.”
Yet suddenly I wished it wasn’t Monday. Saturday night felt as though it were a very long way away.