NATASHA WASN’T SURE what she was thinking when she approached the box left at her private entrance at the Palm Desert studio on Tuesday. She and about twenty other people had keys to that entrance. It was well used.
But only by people with keys.
The box, left at that particular door, was odd.
Looking over the top of it as she drew closer, she searched for an addressee. Or sign of where the box had come from.
Found neither.
It looked like a box for moving books.
Nudging it with her foot to see how heavy it was, she jumped as it seemed to move again without her help. She stepped back. Heard scratching. Looked behind her in the mostly vacant parking lot. Workaholic that she was, she was often the first one in in the morning.
She thought about calling Angela. Or waiting for one of the two full-time janitors to arrive—building janitors, not the crew she hired specifically for her show.
“Meeooww.”
The sound was faint. Tiny. But when she recognized it, she stepped up. Opened the folded closure of the box top and peered inside.
Four tiny, wide-eyed, motherless kittens stared up at her.
“Meeooow.”
* * *
“WHAT ARE YOU going to do with them?” Angela, mouth open, stared into the box in Natasha’s office later that morning. She’d been in a meeting with their accountant, handling paperwork for the week’s contestant travel vouchers that she would personally disperse, when Natasha had come in that morning.
“The three gray ones are already spoken for,” Natasha told her assistant, quite proud of herself. She named the three studio personnel who’d claimed them.
“What about this little black guy?”
“I’m told he’s a girl.”
Angela looked at her. Back at the cat. And then at Natasha again. “You aren’t keeping her.”
She wasn’t. Of course. But…
She’d been off for weeks. Off her game. Off her…something.
It had all started the previous Thanksgiving, when one of her contestants had brought her four-year-old with Down syndrome to the set. He’d been such a happy little guy…bringing something…more…when he’d stumbled up on stage, brushed off his hands and announced that he was fine.
Then, in the very next segment of shows, there’d been the contestant who’d been searching for the son she’d given up for adoption. The drive compelling her, it had topped everything…
Her mother and Stan had broken up.
But she’d helped birth a calf. Bringing an animal into the world. It had felt so great…
“Of course I’m not keeping it,” she said aloud when she noticed her assistant staring at her.
Dressed in her usual flamboyant leggings and short, blousy top, Angela bent to the box and came up with the black kitten.
“Cats are the one pet you can leave alone at home for long periods,” Angela said.
Natasha was pretty sure she’d found a home for the last kitten.
“She’s cute.” Angela’s smile as she lifted the little black girl to her face confirmed Natasha’s suspicions.
Her assistant, who, like her, lived alone, didn’t usually show the softer side that Natasha knew lay carefully protected deep inside her.
But…
“I’m taking her,” Natasha blurted.
She’d find another cat for her assistant. Buy it for her.
Standing, she approached the woman and kitten, reaching out to give the tiny head a pet. She could buy herself another cat, too.
But this one…she’d rescued it. Kind of like helping to birth a calf…
Grinning, Angela handed the kitten over. “I had that one figured out when I came in the door,” Angela said. “I just had to nudge you enough to get you up to speed.”
Angela knew her well.
Maybe too well.
* * *
“…AND THERE’S THE meeting with the studio executives this afternoon at four in the upstairs conference room.” Still holding the kitten—Natasha had decided she was maybe going to name her Ellie after the mother of the calf she’d helped birth—Angela sat in the chair across from Natasha’s desk, going over the day’s schedule with her.
Her tablet on her lap, Angela had also discussed various technical issues from the weekend, the previous day’s interview she’d had with a new janitorial service that would charge half the amount to travel to the ranch with them, and a conversation she’d overheard between cohosts of a studio-owned relationship advice call-in show—Love Moments. They’d been arguing, and the future of the show, according to Angela, didn’t look good.
“By the way.” Angela looked up from her tablet at Natasha. “How’d your dinner with Chandler Grey go the other night?”
“Fine.” She described the new restaurant they’d been to. Indian cuisine. “You know how much I love saffron,” she said.
“I meant Chandler, not the food.” Angela’s droll tone left Natasha in no doubt of her assistant’s intolerance for obvious subterfuge.
“Fine,” she said again, shrugging. Maybe Lily instead of Ellie. Though raven-black, the little girl looked like a Lily to her. “He just wanted to hear how the first week went, busing everyone, the taping, since it’s the first we’ve been out of the studio. If you remember, he was really encouraging when we first told him we were taking a show on the road.”
“He could have learned all about it with a phone call.”
“I guess. I think he was going to offer some of the studio’s equipment if we needed anything more. They do remote filming all the time.”
“Again, a phone call could have done that.”
“He’s not into me, Angela.”
“Of course he is.”
“He was circumspect in every way.”
“Did he walk you to your car?”
“We walked to our cars together. He didn’t so much as brush a hand against mine. And said good-night as he was walking away.”
Frowning, Angela cocked her head. “He’s into you. I just think you should know that.”
Angela wasn’t teasing now. So…maybe there was some truth to her stage manager’s assessment. Angela’s quick mind, her ability to assess situations in seconds, was part of what made her invaluable to the show.
But whether she was right or not was irrelevant as far as Natasha’s feelings were concerned.
Because one thing was quite clear to her.
She most definitely was not into Chandler Grey.
Separated or not.
* * *
BY THE TIME he’d put his kids on the school bus Tuesday morning, Spencer was ready to ban the name Natasha from the ranch. It would be against the law to speak it. To write it. Even to think it.
He was coming up with a punishment for the kids in the event that they broke this law—ranging from no cookies for a week to having to make a list of every animal name on the farm, and then move on to people if necessary—when he realized that he was, perhaps, overreacting.
Still, the tension the name wrought within him was real. And for a valid reason.
His kids had talked of nothing but the television producer since she’d invaded their premises—their home—for dinner the previous Friday night.
It wasn’t good for them to get too attached. Because while she’d be spending a good bit of time on the ranch over the next five weeks—ample time for the children to begin to rely on her in their lives—she was going to be completely gone after that.
Natasha Stevens was a city girl. He’d seen his children through one city-girl abandonment, luckily with reasonable success. He wasn’t taking that chance again.
“Woof!” Heading up the drive on his way to meet Bryant in the cow barn—he had another pregnant cow ready to go—he turned, looking at the back door of the house—the sliding glass door that led to the deck. And inside to the crate pushed up to the window by Justin just before he left for school.
Because the day before, when left alone for hours, the dog inside had managed to get her snout through the kennel bars and chew a hole in the drywall.
Daisy Wolf stood inside the crate, tail wagging, big brown eyes pleading.
The half-Lab, half-shepherd mix would be a great watchdog. Soon. An outdoor dog. Soon. For now, she was a twelve-pound puppy who, Tabitha insisted, wanted to be part of the family.
Making a slight detour, he let the dog out of her kennel, tied a rope to the collar around her neck and introduced her to her first day of work on the ranch.
* * *
NATASHA MADE HER way up to the executive conference room just in time for the meeting to begin. Unlike most of the shows filmed in the studio, Family Secrets was independently owned and run. By her. Other than her contract stipulations with the studio, she didn’t answer to anyone.
And felt a bit out of place, like a distant relative at a family dinner, for these monthly meetings. She was there to be kept apprised of all legal and practical activities as some of them pertained to her space.
And she was there to be kept apprised of the studio’s overall numbers and operations, as the success of the station had much to do with the success of her show.
She was a rare bird. Kind of like one of the studio executives, except that she had ownership in only one show.
Taking her usual seat, she was surprised when all conversation immediately ceased. All eyes turned to her.
Of the five other business executives there, one being fifty-year-old Chandler Grey, only one was female. Shelley Hale, a very young thirty, had recently inherited her seat on the board after the death of her father in a boating accident.
Natasha, in a black skirt and matching jacket, was the most professionally dressed among them. All four men looked as though they’d just stepped off the golf course.
Chandler Grey, seated across from her, smiled, folded his hands on the conference table and leaned forward. “Before we get into this month’s regular meeting, we have something to discuss with you, Natasha.”
A sick feeling crept from her toes to her forehead. There was no reason for it. She wasn’t up for contract renewal. Her show continually held the station’s highest rating spot.
She should be filled with anticipation…
And felt like she was in a medical consultation with a team of doctors who had her life in their hands.
“We’re merging with Travel America,” he said, as though telling her what they’d ordered in for lunch. She was familiar with the station, of course. Anyone who watched cable television would have been. Its format was very different from their current one. Instead of live shows, reality TV and cooking, they produced travel documentaries. All day. Every day.
“They’ve got a strong niche market, as do we, and also appear to have reached the top of their growth potential. Our last quarter’s numbers indicate that we may have, as well. The merger is designed to cross-pollinate viewership to escalate growth potential for both of us.”
Great. Fine. Possibly a sound business decision for both stations. But where did it leave Family Secrets?
“We’re going to be merging programming styles and content.” Bob Parker, the station’s CEO, took over from Chandler. As if in slow motion, Natasha’s gaze turned to Bob. In his mid-to late fifties, Bob had been the one she’d first pitched to, back when she’d been a host on a popular cooking show network and wanted to be her own boss.
He’d always been kind to her. Professionally decent.
Was that about to change?
Her mind spun, not out of control, but with options. Family Secrets was a proven success. Someone else would pick her up. Her previous network had offered more than once. But she’d have to give up her autonomy, give up some creative control.
Her stomach knotted.
“We’ll be keeping some of our best-performing shows, with changes to help them fit into the new programming style,” he continued, and she nodded. Told herself to hang on.
“Unfortunately, others that don’t fit will have to go.”
These others were owned by the station, but loved by those who starred in, hosted, wrote and produced them. Did they know, already, what she was about to be told?
“I feel certain that many of them will be picked up by other networks or independent stations…” Chandler Grey said.
Surely this wasn’t her kiss-off. Her contract ended in December, but they could buy her out.
She might lose the faith of some viewers. Or just plain lose them if they didn’t know to follow her elsewhere. She’d have to hire a PR firm. Mid-October audition shows were already scheduled across the United States. This year’s Thanksgiving Day show contest was already open, and recipe entries were flooding in more than ever before after the previous year’s huge success. The show was filmed live right there in the Palm Desert studio. Costs to change any of that could become prohibitive very quickly…
“The deal with Travel America was signed on Friday,” Bob continued.
So Chandler had known during their Saturday dinner…
And never let on.
So much for having the hots for her…
“But because of your unique position of owning the rights to your show, we waited to make an announcement until we could speak with you personally.”
Did the board know that Chandler Grey had taken her to dinner? Had it been at their behest?
Thank God she’d retained the rights to her show. The risk—and financial commitment—had been greater. But the show was hers. These guys could cancel it from their network, but they didn’t control its existence. Or its destiny.
One thing was for certain. She was not going to lose her show. Names started to line up in her mind’s eye. Heavy hitters she would call as she looked for a new home that would allow her full ownership. They’d all require a move—most to LA.
An inconvenience, but not a problem.
This was all potential inconvenience. Perhaps major inconvenience. It wasn’t life-threatening. The main thing was, the show stood in a firmly secure position within the industry. As long as that remained the case, she was good.
Bob Parker pierced her with his gaze. “The bottom line here is that we—” he glanced at the other board members around the table, all of whom were watching her and nodding “—want you to join us…”
He went on to explain how her show would fit the new format with only one change. She’d be required to film at least three of her four segments a year on location. The draw of her show’s ratings was what had helped entice Travel America. The board was willing to help offset the cost of travel so that Natasha would not be out revenue due to their change. On the other end, she stood to gain increased revenue with the potential new viewers.
Natasha heard it all. Cataloged it all. She made mental notes to share with Angela and, later, her mother.
She listened. Straight-faced. Giving away nothing.
And through it all, one thing kept running through her mind, over and over, more loudly than anything else.
They wanted her to join them. She and her show still had a home.