THE FIRST PERSON Brooke ran into when she went inside the station was Jeremy Crockett. He was coming out of the executive lounge, and looked fresh, eager and neatly pressed. His hands were wrapped around a coffee mug. He smiled at her. “Just the lady I want to see,” he said.
“Well, here I am.”
“Milt says you and I are going to be spending some time together while you teach me the ropes of news broadcasting. A lot of my training will be hands-on, so you’ll see me around the station looking over shoulders, yours especially, and asking questions. But for the nuts and bolts, Milt says you’ve offered to tutor me.”
“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I?” She almost choked on the word offer. More like had to agree.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with us working together?”
Watch yourself, Brooke, she thought, masking her true feelings with a smile. Milt made it clear that Jeremy is supposed to assume you volunteered for this assignment. “Of course not. We’ll just have to find time that we can both devote to this endeavor.”
“I have time I can devote today,” Jeremy said. “You name the hour.”
Already he was pressuring her. She hadn’t even entered her office yet. “Mornings are always hectic,” she said. “Some afternoons aren’t much better. We probably should arrange to meet outside of the office. Since we both have to eat, why don’t you meet me at Pickler’s Pub around the corner at twelve thirty and we’ll get started.”
“Sounds good. See you then.” Jeremy scurried off as if he had decisions to make and other employees to badger. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he was secretly heading off to his new office to sharpen pencils. What else would he be doing his first official day on the job? But he was eager, and that was commendable.
By lunchtime, Brooke learned she had been terribly wrong about Jeremy Crockett. As usual, she dove right into her work, selecting stories for the news show, assigning her research team to verify facts and then turning the summary thumbnails over to the writers, who would write and proof the stories and transform them into edge-of-the-seat masterpieces. In practically every department she went to, she saw Jeremy doing exactly what he’d promised to do—he was looking over shoulders and asking questions…when he could get a word in edgewise, in the busy, stressful atmosphere of a crack news team.
Shortly before Brooke was getting ready to head to the pub, Cissy burst into her office. “Go to lunch with me today,” she said. “My treat.”
Cissy asked Brooke to lunch two or three times a week, so the invitation wasn’t unusual. But today, the enthusiasm for a club sandwich was over-the-top. Cissy was almost breathless.
“I can’t,” Brooke said. “I’ve already made arrangements.”
“Break them, okay? I have to talk to you.”
Cissy was nothing if not persistent. “Talk to me now,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I have a few minutes.”
Cissy sat in the chair by Brooke’s desk. “Okay, but I doubt a few minutes is enough time.”
“Cissy, take a deep breath. What’s wrong? You seem upset about something.”
“You remember the football guy who came to the station yesterday?”
Brooke nodded.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what? That he’s going to work here?”
“Work here?” Cissy’s voice rose. “If that’s all you think he’s going to do, then you haven’t heard the whole story. You know how we’ve all been wondering who will take over for Fred?”
Brooke nodded, though she hadn’t been wondering at all. No matter who was chosen to take over the news desk, her work wouldn’t change. At least that’s what she’d thought before Milt gave her an extra duty.
“I’m glad you’re sitting down, Brooke,” Cissy said. “That Crockett guy is supposed to become the face of WJQC. Milt Cramer hired him to take over for Armitage. A jock! What could he possibly know about delivering the news?”
“Well, I guess Milt has the power to do what he wants. He runs the station.”
Cissy huffed. “You’re taking this rather calmly.” She leaned forward. “You knew about this already, didn’t you?”
“I heard yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me? I had to hear from a camera operator! I thought we were friends.”
Brooke wasn’t sure how she would describe her relationship with Cissy, but friend probably wasn’t at the top of the list. Yes, Cissy was close to Brooke’s age of thirty-two, but somehow there seemed to be a decade of maturity between the two women. Whenever Cissy wanted to say something, she was either too excited to get the words out, or, as in the case today, too upset to take a deep breath. In Cissy’s world, everything that happened was either the “best ever” or the “worst possible.”
“I didn’t see a reason to tell you,” Brooke said. “It’s Milt’s place to spread the news to the staff.”
“Do you realize what this means? That guy, that Jeremy, will probably do such a half-baked job that he’ll ruin the station. And he’ll make tons more work for the rest of us who have to cover for his mistakes. We’ll probably have to keep our copy down to two-syllable words so he can pronounce them.”
Brooke folded her hands on her desk. Poor Jeremy. Brooke wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of teaching him but she didn’t think he deserved to fail before trying. “Cissy, your comments are extremely prejudicial. Just because the guy was an athlete does not mean he isn’t capable of doing other things. Besides, yesterday you trailed after him like a puppy.”
“That was before I knew! You’re not seeing the big picture, Brooke. Even if the guy manages to string a few sentences together, he’s ruined the chances for advancement for people at this station who had hopes of taking over for Fred.”
Brooke hadn’t heard of anyone with such lofty dreams. “And who would that be?” she asked. “Jim would never leave the weather map. And Dirk loves doing on-location stories. He’d never want to be stuck in the building.”
Cissy’s breathing became erratic. “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed, Brooke. I’m talking about myself…or you! One of the two of us should have gotten a crack at the opening. I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. You should be on camera.”
“Except for the fact that I don’t want to be,” Brooke said.
“Then I should be. I’m a seasoned professional. I know almost as much about how to deliver the news as you do. And you are the best.”
Sometimes Cissy was a little overzealous with her flattery.
“That’s quite a conclusion to jump to, Cissy, considering I’ve never delivered the news.”
“You would be the best,” Cissy insisted, as if Brooke hadn’t spoken. “I would be great, too. I’ve studied diction and body language.” Cissy’s voice wavered, and her eyes grew misty. Brooke reached for the box of tissues on the corner of her desk.
“I wanted that job, Brooke. I’ve dreamed about it. I’ve prepared for it. It’s not fair that I didn’t get a chance to audition for it. If you had gotten the job, I could have been your first assistant until you retired. If I’d gotten it, you would have been my producer. We would have been a team, the best one ever.” She sniffed loudly. “Now it’s all ruined.”
Cissy was right about one thing. Brooke had never noticed, never even suspected, that the production assistant had the unrealistic goal of becoming a news presenter. Now that she was faced with the situation, Brooke didn’t know what to say. To tell Cissy that she didn’t have the temperament to be on air, not to mention the experience and demeanor, would only upset her more. Brooke handed her a tissue.
“Look, Cissy, I’m sorry your dreams for taking over Fred’s job aren’t going to come true, but that’s what they were—dreams. Even if Milt held auditions, dozens, maybe hundreds of people, would have applied. People with on-air experience and credentials. And there is nothing you or I can do about the decision he made to hire Jeremy. He wants the station to go in another direction. He wants Jeremy, with his background and recognizable face, to make waves.”
“He wants a pretty-boy jock!” Cissy said.
“Yes, he does.” And I’m the one who has to make sure he succeeds. “And again, that’s Milt’s prerogative.”
Cissy sat quietly for a moment while Brooke checked her watch. She was going to be late.
“There is one thing we can hope for,” Cissy said.
“What’s that?”
“We can hope Jeremy fails. And he will, you know. He’ll stumble once too often and Milt will realize what a stupid decision he made. Then I…or you, of course, can move into that spot.”
“Cissy, I’m certainly not going to wish for anyone to fail. And I’m going to assume that Jeremy won’t.” I hope he doesn’t or I could be out on the street…and then I’ll never find Edward.
“You want me to feel like I’m a terrible person, don’t you?” Cissy said. “Like I want bad things to happen to one person so good things happen to me?”
That about summed it up. “Of course not. You aren’t a terrible person, but you’ve got to let this go. We work for Milt Cramer. That’s the way it is. If we don’t like it, we can go somewhere else and find a job. But I’m going to stay right here.” I hope.
Brooke stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ve really got to run. You should take a few minutes and then go out there and load that prompter with the best news we’ve got to offer.”
Cissy gave her a look that almost made Brooke cringe. Where had Pollyanna gone all of a sudden?
* * *
STILL WEARING HER high heels, Brooke dashed from the station and rounded the corner that would take her to Pickler’s. She was already fifteen minutes late, and didn’t want to give WJQC’s newest hire the impression that being late was acceptable. News wasn’t news anymore once everyone had the story. Jeremy should learn that first and foremost.
She had only a few hundred feet to go to the antique stained-glass door to Pickler’s when a boy leading a huge German shepherd approached from the opposite direction. Brooke wasn’t afraid of dogs, but big, tongue-lolling ones who looked like they were trolling for kisses gave her pause. She glanced down at her beige suit and then looked at the dog’s paws. “Hold on to him, kid, okay?”
Apparently the dog thought she was addressing him because he lunged at her, striking her beautiful linen lapels with his front feet. She yelped, jumped away and felt a twinge of real pain when her left foot landed in a sidewalk grate.
“Sorry, lady,” the kid said. “He’s real friendly. He won’t hurt you.”
“Won’t hurt me? He just about broke my leg!”
The boy tightened his grip on the leash and sped away down the street.
Brooke yanked her heel out of the grate and took a couple of steps. The heels weren’t going to work, so she slipped off the left one and tried her best to scrape leaves and who knew what else from the sole. Then, wincing with each step, she very carefully continued to the door.
She entered the pub and stopped abruptly in the doorway. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Her jaw dropped as she viewed the scene playing out in the busy restaurant. There was Jeremy, looking all cool and collected, pen in hand, signing menus for three waitresses who surrounded his table. Brooke couldn’t tell whose smile was the biggest—the ladies fawning over the celebrity star, or the star himself.
He saw her and stood immediately. “My lunch appointment just arrived,” he said. “Excuse me, ladies.”
He hurried to the door, saw her shoe in her hand, and paw prints on her clothes, and asked, “What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. “It’s fine. I might have twisted my ankle, that’s all.”
“Or worse,” he said. “Here, let me help you.”
Before she could argue, he had her arm around his neck and he was supporting her with a strong arm circling her back and his hand on her waist. “Don’t put weight on it,” he said. “Let me get you to a table.”
That was enough to make her feel like a first-class fool. Everyone in the bar was watching. She recognized some of the faces, but refused to respond to the implied questions.
Jeremy settled her at the table and raised her leg to an empty chair between them. “Let me get a look at it,” he said.
“So now you’re a doctor?”
“No, but I’ve seen plenty of ankle problems. It’s one of the most common injuries on the football field. You can’t take a chance. It might be sprained or worse.”
“It’s not sprained,” she insisted. “I twisted it. I’ll walk it off in a few minutes.”
She hoped he didn’t recognize her grimace for what it was—an expression of shooting pain.
“You can never be too sure. An ankle injury, left untreated, can give you problems for the rest of your life.”
“I have no intention of letting this one do any such thing,” she said.
He smiled. “Your intentions are to be admired, Brooke, but your ankle may not feel the same.” He placed his hand on her ankle and pressed an area by the bone.
“Ouch. Don’t do that.”
He moved his thumb to an area close to the first one. “Does that hurt?”
She did everything she could to keep from crying out. Of course it hurt. She twisted it. “No. It’s fine.”
“Better or worse than the first area?”
“Better, I guess.”
“Good. You have obviously sprained it, but I don’t think there is a rupture. You can check with an orthopedist, but I think he’d agree with me. A few days, maybe a couple of weeks, and you’ll be fine.”
“Couple of weeks! I don’t have a couple of weeks.”
“The healing of an injury has its own schedule.”
“Don’t call this an injury!”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he said, “Let’s start the healing process right away.” He stood and called over one of the waitresses. “Can you bring me some ice and a cotton cloth of some kind?”
“Sure, Jeremy.”
She returned with the requested items. Jeremy draped the cloth over Brooke’s ankle. “Never put an ice pack directly on the skin,” he said. “Can cause frostbite, and you don’t want that.” He gently placed the ice over the cloth. “Leave that alone for fifteen minutes, then take it off for fifteen. You’ll need an ankle brace, too.”
She speared him with a stare of disbelief. “There’s no way—”
“Brooke, look at your ankle. It’s already turning black-and-blue, and it’s starting to swell. You can’t pretend this didn’t happen. If you’d rather not have the first lesson, I can take you back to the station.”
“Are you kidding? I’m starving. I’ve been thinking about a Philly cheesesteak all morning. If I have to give you a lesson in order to sink my teeth into one, I’ll do it.”
He smiled again. “Philly cheesesteak, eh? That does sound good. Even in Charleston, I’ll bet the cook can grill up a great one. This is a sports bar, after all.”
She looked around as if seeing Pickler’s for the first time. “Oh, right. All the TV stations mounted to the wall. I never noticed that sporting events were on each one.”
“You never noticed?”
“That’s why all the waitresses were ogling you like you were handing out hundred-dollar bills.” Brooke wanted to bite back the words as soon as she’d said them. She sounded petulant and childish. What did she care if the waitresses were eyeing Jeremy?
“They just recognized me from the Wildcats roster. They’re football fans. I would think they’d have to be to work here.”
“Speaking of work,” Brooke said. Stop with the petty tone, she said to herself. You wouldn’t be acting like this if your ankle didn’t hurt so badly.
“Look, I don’t believe for one second that Milt hired me for my newscasting ability,” Jeremy said. “I understand he wants a recognizable face on the news, and I happened to be the one that answered the call. But you and I both know that to Milt, I’m supposed to be the answer to failing ratings. That’s a lot on my shoulders, so I’ve got tons to learn.”
Brooke adjusted the cold pack on her ankle and settled in her chair. “Then let’s get started. Can you possibly persuade one of the servers to come back over here and take our order?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Brooke couldn’t help wondering what it must be like to deliver a slight nod in someone’s direction and have that person rush to do your bidding. Brooke didn’t believe that she was “gorgeous,” like Cissy proclaimed, but she wasn’t hard to look at, either. She had long blond hair, bright blue eyes and admirable facial features that someone in her mysterious genealogy was responsible for. But no waiter had ever stumbled over his own two feet to answer her call.
“Two Philly cheesesteaks,” Jeremy said. “With fries and iced tea.” He waited for Brooke to nod her agreement, then said, “I’d like to get something straight before we begin.”
* * *
SHE TOOK AN iPad from her purse and powered it on. Then she stopped and looked over at him. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s not a problem exactly.” Except that it was to him. Since he’d met Brooke yesterday, he couldn’t ignore an attitude coming from her. He wondered if Milt had somehow pushed her into helping him. “Are you okay with explaining the workings of WJQC to me?”
“Of course. Why would you ask me that question?”
“I guess you could say I’ve been experiencing this gut instinct, like maybe coddling me through this process isn’t what you’d like to be doing. You’re okay with our arrangement?”
“I just told you I was.”
He released a breath he’d been holding. He had no reason other than that iffy feeling to think she wasn’t telling the truth. Unfortunately, his instincts had failed him too many times. “I hope so.” He smiled. “I’m pinning a lot on this job. I want to succeed. I closed on a house in Hidden Oaks about a year ago and moved my kids in with me. It could be a bit of a problem if you and I aren’t on the same page and I’d have to uproot them again when Milt decides he made a mistake.”
“First of all, Milt rarely admits to making a mistake,” Brooke said.
“He could conclude that I’m a poor study. I guess what I’m saying is I appreciate your taking me on. I promise to be a good student.”
“Great. So tell the kids to leave their suitcases in storage,” she said. “How many Crocketts are there?”
“Just myself, one daughter, one son.” He swallowed. “Their mother died last…” He paused. “Anyway, I managed to secure custody, which was something of a trial since their mother and I never married. The kids lived with their grandparents while I tied up a few loose ends…like retiring from professional football.” Geez, he’d made the last few months sound like a breeze, when the reality was it had been one problem after another. He hoped he was now getting better at this parenting thing.
She set down the iPad and gave him her full attention. “Your kids can’t have a football player for a father?”
“They could, I suppose, but I don’t want them to. Like Milt told you yesterday, my position has been wide receiver on the Carolina Wildcats football team.” He paused again, watching for some sign of recognition in her eyes. “I’m guessing you don’t know what that position is?”
“We’ve established that I don’t know much about football,” she said. “A wide receiver catches the ball when the quarterback throws it, right?”
“He’s supposed to, yeah. But while injuries are a possibility for every guy on the field, the wide receiver seems to get more hits than anyone else. He’s usually standing in an open field waiting for the ball with about three heavy guys from the other side itching to take him down—by any means necessary.”
“So have you ever been seriously injured?”
He chuckled. No one had ever asked him that before. Wildcats fans already knew, and everyone else with any knowledge of the game just assumed. “Two broken ribs, a broken ankle and multiple dislocated shoulders. Nothing too serious, thank goodness.”
“So you’re afraid of more injuries now that you have your children?” she asked.
He almost resented the question. Afraid? He wasn’t comfortable with that word describing himself. But she asked it so guilelessly that he answered with total honesty. “Afraid for myself? No. A football player learns quickly that cowardice doesn’t work. Afraid for my kids to be without a father while he’s recuperating? Yeah, that’s my fear. That’s not fair to them. Besides, I’m thirty-four. Didn’t start my pro career until I was twenty-four because I was finishing my master’s degree. I’ve started to notice my joints beginning to give out. All in all, it’s time to do something else.”
Her eyes widened. “A master’s degree?”
He nodded.
“What in?”
“Business management.”
“Oh.”
She seemed surprised and almost disappointed. What did she think? Milt Cramer had hired a flunk-out to fill this position? There was a lot about this industry he didn’t know, like firsthand experience, but there was some he did.
“So…” He got out his phone, which contained the notes he’d been taking this morning and the initial questions he wanted to ask her. “Since we’ve gotten the uncomfortable stuff out of the way, let’s hit the books.”
She placed long, graceful fingers over the iPad. For a moment, he was fascinated by those hands. Still, he couldn’t help noticing the wince when she adjusted her position on her chair.
“You okay?”
“Sure. Why don’t you ask your first question.”
* * *
FOR BROOKE, FORTY-FIVE minutes passed quickly. She had expected her patience to be tested with every question. She had planned to tolerate Jeremy Crockett as best she could. But she ended up finding him smart, quick to learn and, perhaps best of all, extremely congenial. Maybe he was used to charming everyone he met, but she couldn’t deny that he had charmed her a bit, as well. She resented the heck out of the deal she’d had to make to educate him. She didn’t want to like him. But the reality of him increasing her workload seemed to fade in the light of his enthusiasm to pick her brain.
“We probably should get back to work,” he said. “That’s enough for today. I don’t want to take advantage of you, and you need to rest that ankle.”
The ankle again. She’d almost forgotten about it. But Jeremy hadn’t. He’d checked his watch often and removed and replaced the ice pack. “You’ve seen the hectic nature of the newsroom,” she said. “Resting an ankle is on the list of low priorities. Besides, it’s much better now.”
She tried to stand, sucked in a deep breath and realized that walking back to the station wouldn’t be easy.
“We’ll get you back,” Jeremy said. “You can hang on to me, and I’ll support your weight. Do we pass a drugstore on the way? You need that ankle brace.”
“No, we don’t, but I have an Ace bandage at home. That should do the trick.”
“It will help. Let me take your bag. You don’t need to be carrying extra weight.”
Thankfully, Pickler’s had cleared out and only a few late diners would see her hobbling out the door. And hobble she did. She wouldn’t have made it back to WJQC without Jeremy’s help. He was amazingly solid and strong, supporting her every step until she hardly put any pressure on the ankle. When he deposited her at her desk, she thanked him for helping her.
“My pleasure,” he said. “I can help you with exercises to speed the recovery of that ankle when you’re ready. Like I said, I’ve seen a lot of ankle injuries.”
“I’m sure it will be better by tomorrow,” she said. “It’s Saturday and I won’t be running around the newsroom.”
“Speaking of tomorrow, would you have time to meet with me again? I don’t imagine we’ll have much success working in the building, so I was thinking we could find a quieter place. Would you mind if I came to your place for an hour or so?”
She thought for a moment. His suggestion seemed like a big step away from a business relationship, but she couldn’t argue with his logic. They would accomplish much more in her condo.
“Sure.” She gave her address to him. “If you need directions…”
“I’ll find it. How about one o’clock? Can I bring lunch?”
“You treated today. I think I can whip up a salad if that’s okay.”
“Perfect.”
“Fine. See you then.”
“Stay off that ankle. No dance clubs for you tonight.”
If he only knew. She’d given up the club scene since she’d been paying Gabe. Now she frequented the free venues in Charleston, like the art gallery and historical museum. She’d discovered there was much to admire about these places.
She wanted to resent Jeremy and the intrusion and threat he’d brought into her life. But so far he just seemed like a decent guy, although he was in way over his head with this new position and depending on her to ensure his success. She was well aware that neither of them could fail at this mission. Jeremy had risked everything by quitting football and pursuing this new line of work with his kids dependent upon him. And Brooke could flat-out lose her job.
She hoped he’d learned a lot while getting that master’s degree. Maybe he had. It didn’t hurt to know the basics of business, even in a television studio. She’d gone pretty far with just a bachelor’s degree in English. But she didn’t have a couple of kids to raise.
Not counting his education and charm, Jeremy was still a jock—good at knocking obstacles out of his way and focusing on a ball flying through the air, but maybe not skilled in handling people and getting them to do what he wanted. Would he crack under the pressure of deadlines and technical glitches? Despite his fame, would he fail to relate to an audience hungry for intelligent, concise news delivered by a professional? And would Milt blame her if he did? Probably so.
Brooke loved WJQC. She’d threatened Milt with finding another job, but the truth was, she couldn’t imagine starting over somewhere else after a decade. If turning Jeremy Crockett into the best anchorman in the country would guarantee her job security, then that’s what she would do. As she scanned the messages on her desk, she mentally bid farewell to her weekends.
Maybe she’d made a pact with the devil, but Jeremy wasn’t the devil. Milt was, and he was willing to take advantage of both of them.