“Say it.” The rawness in Cord’s voice was as arousing as his kiss. “Admit you feel what I do.”

“This is no more ethical than what Jack did.”

He forced Hunter to meet his hungry gaze. “It damn well is.” Then he kissed her again as though he could will her to agree.

Once he felt her surrender, Cord locked her against him as though she was the only thing that could ease his emotional overload. She’d always known on some level that he was truth in advertising, a passionate man. But first and foremost he’d been the boss’s grandson and to someone like her, he needed to be blocked from the psyche.

Now he’d ruined everything, she thought as he released her lips to score a series of hungry kisses down the left side of her neck. She felt his heartbeat at every pulse point and knew there would be no more hiding from him.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his breath searing her skin.

About the Author

HELEN R. MYERS is a collector of two-and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep—an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA® Award nominee.

It’s News
To Her
Helen R. Myers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Hunter Harding always knew when something was about to go seriously wrong. It would happen within hours, usually minutes, after the thought sprang into her conscious mind that life was going pretty well. This wasn’t something that had evolved from being a journalist; her first experience went back to when she was sixteen, more precisely, on the morning she woke thinking how wonderful it was that her father was coming home that day from his latest assignment and would be there to see her dressed to go to the junior prom.

Her feet had hardly touched the stairs as she danced down to the kitchen—only to find her mother crumpled on the breakfast table, sobbing. Apparently, while Hunter had been in the shower, the phone had rung, the caller the station chief at her father’s TV network in New York. The plane out of Colombia carrying her father, Nolan Harding, was missing and fears were that it had crashed in stormy weather. Days later, the wreckage was found, and they had the confirmation everyone had feared: there were no survivors.

Although they were financially stable, her mother sold their Mahwah, New Jersey, home and moved them back to Hunter’s actual birthplace—San Antonio, Texas—to be near her maternal grandparents, since her father’s parents had died some years before. Even though it was her senior year and she knew no one, Hunter learned to love Texas, made friends easily enough, and despite the hole in her heart, she determinedly moved on for her mother’s and grandparents’ sakes.

Then, just before her college graduation, when those she loved most were scheduled to watch her get her diploma and life was looking bright again, she thought it safe to sigh in appreciation, only to learn that morning that her roommate Danica’s brother, foolishly tied up with unsavory types, had OD’d on drugs and was lying in a hospital in a coma.

This pattern of painful life experiences continued, the most recent the matter of her brief engagement to Denny Brewster. Hunter was still smarting too much from that episode to allow herself to dwell on the details for longer than a second. So when she woke in her San Antonio condominium early on a June morning and stretched with pleasure remembering yesterday’s news that she and her newest co-anchor Greg Benson had almost achieved another week as the number-one-rated news program for the five and ten o’clock slots, the ringing phone automatically sent her body and mind into panic mode. She just knew that she was about to have a another reality check, the question was how traumatic?

Please, no, she thought. What’s it going to take to end this hug-then-gut-punch pattern?

It turned out that the caller was KSIO’s executive producer, Tom Vold, informing her that Senator George Leeds of Texas—caught in a career-breaking scandal only days ago—was advising the press that he planned to make an announcement this morning. Tom was convinced he would be tendering his resignation and wanted her to get to the station pronto to go live when that happened.

Under normal circumstances, such a development could be received as a career-enhancing opportunity, however it threw Hunter into a tailspin. She was due to fly to New Jersey to deliver the commencement speech at the high school she would have graduated from had she stayed on the East Coast. How was she to do the live spot—if the senator actually went through with his resignation—and still make her flight? What was she to tell the school’s administration in New Jersey? “Hang on, I’ll be there. Maybe?” But to ask her boss to get Greg, her relatively new co-anchor, to do the spot would send the message to him and their audience that she didn’t see this as important news. If Tom wanted her to handle this, she needed to go.

Concluding that there would be little time to change tonight, she put on the red silk suit she’d planned to wear for this evening’s event and rushed to work. Rarely fussy in her personal life, she believed in dressing up, not down, whenever possible as well as investing in quality clothing and accessories for her professional image. For example, she rarely wore anything less than fourteen-karat gold on the set. She believed the camera could tell or an abrupt movement would betray its inferior construction. However, when it came to shoes, regardless of price, she approached them all with equal resignation. She always joked to the set crew as she hunted for her discarded footwear that she had undoubtedly been a beach bum or bunny in a previous life.

By the time she arrived at the station, there was word that the senator would, indeed, step down. Luck was with them and they had a whopping forty minutes to formulate a strong package and cull quality guests. When the countdown came, she ably represented the network through his announcement and the guest interviews that followed.

“And that concludes our special report,” she said some twenty-five minutes after the senator read his five-minute prepared speech. “I’m Hunter Harding. Please join us at five for a recap of today’s important developments and at ten o’clock for the latest reactions from the White House, Congress and more. Until then, be well,” she said as her outro, the newsroom jargon for an exit tag.

“We’re off. Clean air as usual, Hunter,” Wade Spangler, her news director, said of the mistake-free segment right after the control room advised that the computer had done a hard out, taken over and slid them into a commercial break. Regular programming for that hour of the morning would also be handled by computers.

“Thanks, Wade and everyone,” Hunter replied, adrenaline still pumping through her system. Pretending that she didn’t have a 220-volt cord buzzing up her spine, she added, “Pizza is on me. Someone check with Joey at the security desk. It should be here by now.”

As cheers of appreciation sounded from the control room as well as the set, Hunter pulled out her earpiece, unclipped her mike and slipped off the battery tucked at the small of her back inside the waistband of her suit in anticipation of the assistant assigned to collect them. At the same time, she slipped back into her high heels. The station would continue with the morning talk show out of New York, so there was no immediate need to rush off, but she did have to remind her bosses that she had a previous commitment for this evening and see about rebooking the flight that she’d missed. Collecting her notes, she gauged who best to speak to that might help move things along for her.

“Has anyone heard yet if our competition went live with the senator’s resignation?” she asked the group in general. She might be feeling under the gun, but it would improve her mood greatly to know that they’d cornered the competition on breaking news.

A familiar voice from the control room announced, “No, ma’am. KAST picked up their mother ship on cable to handle this, and the other two didn’t budge from their regular programming. Congratulations, Flash. You kept us on top of the podium, as usual.”

Letting an apprentice she thought she remembered was named Kaci finish collecting her audio paraphernalia, Hunter signaled a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Fred,” she said to Fred Gant, her producer in the control room. “Tonight, tell your wife she should kiss you once for me.”

Amid hoots and chortles of laughter, Fred drawled, “And she’ll say, ‘After you bathe your stinky dog.’ By the way, you’re wanted upstairs,” he added. “Pappy Yarrow himself requests the pleasure of your company.”

Knowing the nickname was said with deep affection, she only cast a questioning look at the wall of windows at the back of the set, particularly at one balding head amid the sea of impressive and not-so-well-endowed coifs. “Seriously? I’m supposed to be at thirty-thousand feet somewhere over Arkansas right now. Does no one in this entire building remember that?”

“Glass half full, darlin’,” Fred replied. “Maybe he wants you to take his limo to the airport to make up for things.”

Pointing her finger at him, Hunter rose. “He’s kind enough to do exactly that. Tell Kym that I’m on my way.”

Under normal circumstances, she never minded being called to Henry Yarrow’s office when he was in town because Fred was right that she enjoyed a special relationship with the CEO and president of Yarrow Communications, Inc., their parent company. Mr. Henry, as she preferred to call him, had been a mentor to her almost since she began at KSIO as an apprentice while in college. But these days, the successful businessman could get a little long-winded, and time was precious today.

The Yarrow Building was forty stories, not the tallest structure in San Antonio but a glistening addition of glass and granite to the skyline. It housed all of the employees and operations of KSIO, the headquarters of Yarrow Communications, as well as thirty-three other businesses. In this day and age when large corporations were swallowing up smaller and weaker ones by the drove, YCI remained one of the few media businesses solely owned and operated by individuals, not a conglomerate.

Accepting the presence of security cameras as she rode the elevator up, Hunter automatically checked her hair and makeup in the highly polished wall panels. She still looked TV-camera ready: shoulder blade–length, mahogany-brown hair, glossy and neatly swept back behind her ears to allow a glimpse of eighteen-karat gold, lover’s-knot earrings, bangs retaining just the right poof, mascara, liner and eye shadow untouched by emotion, an accidental rub or melted by the hot lights, and her suit was almost wrinkle-free. Despite the pressure of the morning, she looked much better than she had yesterday after the ten o’clock news when there had been declarations of abort in her ear as scheduled interviews didn’t happen and remotes crashed. After most days under the camera, she was usually drooping in her clothing and hunting for the shoes she hated to wear. Granted, she could save herself a little of the stage meltdown if she wore more provocative outfits like the cable anchors were modeling these days, but she didn’t believe that she was there to be eye candy for the crew or the audience.

When the elevator doors opened and she emerged on executive row, she saw that most of the secretaries were already on an early lunch break. Mr. Yarrow’s assistant’s composed face blossomed into a smile of welcome as she approached. When Mr. Yarrow’s longtime secretary, Jean, had been forced to retire due to signs of early Alzheimer’s, Kym Lee had been handpicked from the entire staff. Mr. Yarrow had wanted to hire from within the company for all of the obvious reasons: to encourage excellence, to satisfy employee aspirations for advancement and to build dedication to the company. It also helped that his new assistant was familiar with company policy, much of the staff and corporate affiliates as well as the business in general. When her title was tweaked to assistant to fit the times, there had been a bit of grumbling from her former workmates, but Hunter supported the change because she admired Kym.

The diminutive beauty rose when Hunter drew near. Born of Asian-American parents, she was also dressed conservatively in a magnolia-white suit and exuded the femininity and grace that Hunter admired. She gave her an answering smile.

“Hello, Ms. Harding. Please go in. You’re expected.” Kym stepped to the carved double doors beside her desk, tapped lightly, then opened the right side.

“Thank you, Kym,” Hunter said. She knew there was no use in trying to gauge what was up by Henry’s assistant’s expression. Whatever she might be privileged to know, the young woman was too much the grateful employee to give anything away. Then Hunter saw who else was inside, and she knew she could quit wondering…and start worrying.

Hesitating midstep, her gaze locked with the gaze of the man standing beside Henry Yarrow at the floor-to-ceiling windows. She hadn’t seen him—at least not within old-fashioned, dueling distance—in two years? It would have pleased her immensely to never lay eyes on him again, because if not for him, she would be married by now. Maybe have a child. The heartbreak and humiliation that he’d triggered had taken her months to overcome, the healing doubly difficult since she’d had to keep it all bottled up.

“Go ahead and take your lunch now, Kym,” Henry Yarrow said with a nod and friendly half wave. “Come in, Hunter, dear. Marvelous job just now.”

The TV in the corner by the black leather sofa and tan leather chairs was off, but Hunter didn’t doubt that he had watched her segment. “I appreciate that, sir.” Such praise would ordinarily have thrilled her if not for the presence of Cord Yarrow Rivers. The fact that he was Henry’s grandson did nothing to improve her opinion of him.

Leaning more heavily on the cane than usual, Henry Yarrow’s once-square-shouldered frame seemed to have curved and become burdened overnight by an impossible weight. Henry indicated the far more virile man beside him with a tilt of his head. “Cord, you know.”

Staying focused on his grandfather, Hunter murmured a dutiful, “Mr. Rivers.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Hunter.”

His response held a warmth that hers did not, and Hunter had to struggle not to display any feelings of resentment. He might be Henry Yarrow’s daughter’s only son, Henry’s only grandson, but he had nerve calling her by her first name as though they were well acquainted or even friends. That said, she couldn’t deny that time had been kind to him. What was he—thirtysix or -seven by now? In his light gray silk suit, Italian leather shoes and with his dark brown hair expertly groomed by what she gauged was a six-hundred-dollar haircut, he looked the image of success, which he was. She couldn’t deny him that. Darn the man, she thought with no small bitterness.

“Please have a seat,” Henry said, easing into the chair behind his desk. “I’m afraid my age is catching up with me too quickly to afford the courtesy you deserve.”

“Thank you for the flattery, but ceremony is unnecessary.” Inside, however, Hunter thought, uh-oh. In the last months, especially the last two months, she’d been noticing him growing increasingly frail. Was he that seriously ill and about to announce that they were selling Yarrow Communications? It would be just like his sweet self to insist on preparing her for the possibility of being without a job. “I am sorry to see you looking unwell, sir,” she said as though it was only him in the room. “I hope it’s only temporary.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear. On the other hand, while eighty isn’t much in this day and age, I’ve had a good run, so who am I to have regrets?” He settled back with a groan that he tried to muffle with a handkerchief he’d dug out of a pocket and pressed to his mouth. Recovering, he continued with, “Hunter, I wanted you to be among the first to know that I’m retiring. Cord will be taking over effective immediately. I wanted him present to assure you that your position with us is solid. You more than represent KSIO’s standard of quality, you are our star. Many of our hopes for the future of the corporation start with you.”

It took several seconds for Hunter to breathe normally, let alone accept what she’d just been told. And it got worse. Bad enough to see YCI taken over by total strangers, her future was also being placed in the hands of the man who had wooed her fiancé and co-anchor to Los Angeles at the cost of their relationship. Impossible! With that much cold-blooded maneuvering, she could never trust Cord Rivers to tell her the truth, let alone safeguard her career.

“I don’t know where to begin, sir,” she began, her tongue feeling foreign in her mouth. She was also painfully aware of Cord’s unblinking study; he was all but willing her to look his way, but she couldn’t if she wanted to. As desperation washed over her anew, she focused on the man who’d been an inspiration in her life. “Thank you for the compliment, but I understand what happens when there’s a big change in leadership—all bets are off. More important, I hope you know that I speak for many downstairs when I say that whether we are ordered to or not, we’re not ready to say goodbye to you.”

Henry’s gray but dignified face brightened and his blue-gray eyes—shades lighter than his grandson’s—grew overly bright. “Don’t let it get around, but that’s nicer to hear than a standing ovation at an industry banquet.”

“I’ll take your word for it. All I do know is that it’s true.” Known for her humorous quips to lighten tense or overly serious moments, Hunter leaned forward, all earnestness. “I also hope you know I personally appreciate all you’ve done for me. If I’m a fraction worthy of what you say, it’s only because of your generosity and guidance. Whatever happens, I’ll always remember that.”

As the old man frowned, his stormy eyebrows drew into an intimidating line that resembled a bitter, January cold front barreling down from Dallas and points north. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you have reservations about my decision.”

Reminding herself that her future lay in Cord’s hands if only to supply a letter of recommendation, Hunter dropped her gaze to the edge of Henry Yarrow’s massive mahogany desk. “I’m simply trying to say that your shoes will be difficult to fill.”

“Hunter is being more gracious than I deserve,” Cord said with impeccable timing. “I’m afraid that she still bears some hard feelings from when I moved Denny Brewster to the L.A. station, instead of her, two years ago.”

Both Henry and Hunter started with surprise. Henry recovered and spoke first.

“Do you, my dear? Why didn’t I ever sense that?”

“Because it’s news to me, too,” Hunter replied, sitting so straight her back was in danger of snapping. She slid Cord a look of disapproval for giving his grandfather the wrong information, not just the wrong impression. She would sew her mouth shut herself to avoid hurting the dear gentleman, but she couldn’t listen to this. “I didn’t have Denny’s experience. I had no right to want the job and, frankly, wouldn’t have taken it if it had been offered to me. What upset me was that Mr. Rivers was relocating my fiancé, which ultimately forced the end of our relationship, and apparently occurred with his complete blessing and—from my understanding—his encouragement.”

This time both Henry and Cord reacted as though the overhead sprinklers had suddenly turned on.

“You can’t be serious,” Cord said, sounding more incredulous than annoyed.

With cool reserve, Hunter arched her left eyebrow. “Did you or did you not tell him that his image as a bachelor was a major part of his appeal for the market he would be entering and that to remain ‘unattached,’ as you put it, would result in the fastest gain in ratings?”

“Because that’s how he presented himself to me,” Cord said, folding his arms in front of his chest. “In effect it was the ‘don’t fix what isn’t broken’ speech. There was no coercion or threat.”

“Denny said he was pressured.”

“Then he lied.” Shifting his hands to his hips, Cord turned away, shaking his head in clear frustration. Abruptly turning back, he said, “I didn’t see a ring on his hand—or yours.”

As his gaze settled on the hands she clasped tightly in her lap, Hunter lowered her eyes, too. They remained bare of jewelry, her nails clipped neat and short with only clear polish to enhance them. Her salon stylist complained about them whenever she came in for a haircut, but her argument was that the cameras were on her face, not her manicure.

“Denny’s file stated that he was single,” Cord added. “In all of my talks with staff, no one had a clue of any attachment. Not for either of you.”

Noting Henry’s unhappy countenance, Hunter chose not to participate in this lose-lose debate. If Cord was to be her boss, so be it. But first thing, once she got back from this trip, she would start polishing her resume to put out feelers for job openings at other networks, even north of Alaska or south of Australia—anywhere to get away from him.

“Hunter, a good portion of Denny’s work was to be interviews with some of the most beautiful actresses and entertainers in Hollywood, eventually the world,” Cord offered. “It was good marketing to sell him as available and use his personality and chemistry with the camera to appeal to women viewers.” Resting his palms on the surface of his grandfather’s desk, he leaned toward her, but he spoke almost gently. “After the contract was signed, Denny and I had little to say to each other. As far as I’m concerned, for all of his on-air charisma, he’s an opportunist with a smile. And for the record, he wasn’t in Los Angeles a full week before I saw him cozying up with his new co-anchor. I suspect that if a better offer comes from one of the magazine-formatted news shows, he’ll ditch our L.A. station without a twinge of remorse—along with whatever relationship he’s in at the time. You’re better off without him.”

Swallowing the bitterness building in her throat, Hunter replied quietly, “Perhaps…but we’ll never know, will we?”

As Cord opened his mouth to reply, Henry raised his hand, then directed a disapproving look at his grandson. “That was—well, you know what it was.”

Cord hung his head. “I apologize.”

But when he looked up again, directly at her, he still looked more determined than apologetic, which left Hunter humiliated anew for being all but forced to expose so much in front of his grandfather. In the end, maybe she had been played for a fool by Denny, but that didn’t excuse Cord Rivers. With those enigmatic stares and his Prince-Charming-with-an-edge good looks, he made Denny seem like an amateur.

“All I was trying to point out was that you both hid the fact that you were involved very well,” Cord said, breaking into her thoughts.

At least he didn’t try to lay on any guilt citing corporate policy, because there was none. Hunter had discreetly checked into that before agreeing to go out with Denny. “We didn’t think it would be professional to do otherwise,” Hunter said. Apparently, it was more difficult for her to contain herself than Denny, because after giving her the news about the California offer, he had agreed with Cord’s supposed logic and suggested they take a break on their commitment while he settled in at his new position. The engagement had been so new, they hadn’t even had time to get a ring, so there had been none to return.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, she noticed something she couldn’t remain silent about. Henry looked as unhappy with this conversation as she felt. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your image of me, sir,” she told him.

“Nonsense, my dear. You’re entitled to your personal life. What I am is troubled that you’ve undoubtedly held this in for all of this time. It speaks all the more to your professionalism, but I can’t imagine what you suffered in private. Cord, I want you to sit down with her and fix this. You need a better foundation of trust and cooperation if you intend to communicate well and freely with each other.”

“Of course,” Cord said immediately. “Are you free for lunch, Hunter?”

“No!” Hunter reached for her purse which she’d set beside her chair. “What I mean is that I’ve already missed a flight. I was to do a commencement speech in New Jersey this evening. I thought you might have been told about it. It’s the high school I would have graduated from had I stayed up there,” she said to Henry. “They knew about it downstairs, but this morning’s events obviously caused it to slip their minds. I was about to see about catching another flight.”

Distressed anew, Henry checked his watch and then the clock on his desk. “You’re due to speak tonight? Good heavens, the time. Cord…?”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Cord replied. “Grandfather, if you don’t mind rescheduling our dinner plans, I’ll call the airport and get the jet refueled and ready.”

“I heartily concur. Make it as easy as possible for Hunter to continue doing us proud—and stay close. They’ll obviously have advertised this up there, so don’t let another station have a chance at stealing her away from us.”

Hunter looked from one man to the other, feeling a growing panic. “Excuse me?”

Cord’s blue-gray eyes lit with either satisfaction or amusement—or both. “We’ll get you to your function in the corporate plane.” Before she could react, he stepped away from the desk, pulling out his BlackBerry and keying in a few numbers. “Change of plans, Murray,” he said into the device moments later. “Gas up and get a flight plan to—” he turned to Hunter “—where in Jersey exactly?”

“Mahwah. That’s the northernmost part of Bergen County. But—”

“Mahwah, New Jersey. And tell Lane to arrange for limousine service to the high school. We have to be there by—” Once again, he glanced at Hunter.

“Six was when they were going to have a short reception for staff and special guests. The program starts at seven,” she added with resignation.

Glancing at his watch, Cord said, “ASAP, considering the hour difference and traffic congestion. We’re leaving the building now. Thanks.”

As he disconnected, Hunter launched into her protest. She figured it was more professional than exhibiting an all-out panic attack. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Why not? We’re the cause of you missing your flight and, as you heard my grandfather say, you and I need to talk.”

“Absolutely,” Henry Yarrow said with an encouraging sweep of his hand. “Now you two run along and I’ll finish up one or two things and be on my way myself before Lenore calls and drafts half the building to come after me.”

Seeing that she was trapped, and not willing to upset the man she owed so much to, Hunter rose and sought a calmness she didn’t feel despite her years in the business. “Mr. Henry…I’m afraid I’m stuck with the redundant, but thank you, again. For all you’ve done for me. Please know you’ll be in my prayers and in my heart every day.”

“Would those sweet words by chance come with a hug?”

Hunter rushed to him but was careful as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, dear and wise young friend,” Henry murmured near her ear. Then he kissed her cheek and held her at arm’s length. Looking all business again, he huffed, “They’ll ask you to do the announcement on the air tomorrow. You will be back, won’t you?”

That was his way of saying she was his choice. Her throat grew so raw, she didn’t think she could speak. “Of course,” she rasped.

Henry relaxed. “I’ll be watching from home. Make me immortal. Ah, Hunter…thank you. For all of the pleasure of watching you grow and for your delightful humor.”

“Please stop. You’re scaring me.”

“Nonsense. I’m being the male equivalent of a diva. Truth is, I’m counting on being around to take bows for your long and illustrious career.”

Hunter didn’t see Cord circle the desk, but when she felt him take gentle hold of her elbow, she didn’t resist him directing her to the door. Once outside, she saw that despite Henry’s directive, Kym hadn’t yet left for lunch.

“Would you call downstairs and tell my driver we’re headed that way and need to get to the airport pronto? And do your best to make my grandfather keep to his plan of leaving here as soon as possible. If you run into headwind, call me without hesitation.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Rivers. Have a good flight, sir, Ms. Harding.”

This time on her way down the hall, Hunter was oblivious to any or all curious onlookers who were back at their desks. The shock of Henry Yarrow’s illness-forced retirement and dread over Cord Rivers taking over things—including her personal travel plans—weren’t easily taken in stride. How was she to endure being stuck in a plane with him for hours?

“I’m sorry for the way we had to break this to you,” Cord said. “He wanted to hold off as long as he could.”

“I understand.”

“You’re in shock.”

While he didn’t say the words with any sarcasm or accusation of any kind, Hunter blinked back hot tears as another stab of pain struck her. “He’s been more than boss and mentor to me, he’s been a—a friend.”

“A friend who didn’t know about you and Denny any more than I did.”

But as soon as he was sliced with her scathing look, Cord cleared his throat. “Do you have any luggage you need to retrieve from your office or vehicle?”

As they arrived at the elevators, Hunter watched him punch the nearest down key. “No. I was going to catch the red-eye back, so baggage wasn’t necessary.” Accepting that she was sounding way too hostile, she forced herself to voice her next words with more reason. “Do you really have to come, too? You must have more important things to do. And you have to admit, it’s a little ridiculous to be delegated a babysitter, despite Mr. Henry’s kind references about my value.”

“Showing support to our star journalist is hardly a waste of my time,” Cord replied. “Besides, as Gramps pointed out, this will give us the perfect opportunity to talk.”

Hunter stared at his reflection in the polished brass doors. For all of his striking presence and his new stature, she refused to go to her strategic guillotine without a fight. “At the risk of annoying you to where you buy out my contract, I’m not going to discuss Denny with you.”

He whistled softly. “You are still angry. Were you really that serious about him? I saw live feeds of your news reports only days after he left Texas, and you looked and performed better than ever. There wasn’t the slightest hint that you were suffering an emotional meltdown.”

Hunter seethed. For the better part of a week, she hadn’t been able to eat more than toast without losing it in seconds. She’d been afraid to pass a copy editor her adjustments to a field writer’s report for fear that someone would see how badly her hands were shaking. She had felt totally humiliated and had lost all confidence in her judgment, which for a person trained to analyze was the most bitter of pills. But to Cord Rivers she offered a cold smile and said, “That’s why you pay me what you do, Mr. Rivers.”

“I don’t buy it.” The elevator doors parted and Cord followed Hunter inside. Once they turned to face front again and the doors slid shut, he continued, “All I’m saying is that if we were in love, you wouldn’t be able to hide it, and I know I sure as hell couldn’t.”

Hunter wasn’t prone to blushing, but hearing the undertones of passion in his voice, she felt an unwelcome heat flood her body. She gripped the strap of her leather shoulder bag to keep from yielding to unwanted fidgeting that would give away her physical awareness of him. “Mr. Rivers—”

“Cord.”

She would choke if she tried to call him by his first name. She was already feeling queasy because the elevator was doing its best to beat a record to the first floor. Pressing her free hand to her tummy, she blurted out, “I can’t take this trip with you. If you’ll drop me off at the airport, I’ll see about that alternate flight.”

“Do I frighten you that much?”

“Try annoy.”

“Honesty at last. Thank you. We have a launch point to work from.”

“Better yet, start from the fact that your personal comment just now was inappropriate.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket to slide his hands into his pants’ pockets, Cord shrugged. “Maybe I’m less formal than my grandfather, but then I’m not eighty nor have I ever been the cookie-cutter, politically correct type. The point is that you have issues with me, and that simply can’t be left unaddressed.”

“As long as I get your station good ratings, what do you care what I think about you?”

“Because I have been thinking about you since the day I talked my grandfather into moving Denny to L.A.—longer, if you must know—and it’s time I do something about that.”

Chapter Two

Cord accepted that he might live to regret his honest admission; nevertheless, he was determined to enjoy the moment. The look on Hunter’s lovely face was truly priceless; her deep brown, often cognac-warm eyes went wide, becoming a mirror to a fine mind racing at Mach speed. It wasn’t often that anything or anyone got under Hunter Harding’s skin. When she wasn’t being the consummate professional, she was a prankster often getting the best of the guys in the control room after they’d teased her or played a fast one. This he knew from anecdotes his grandfather had passed on through the years or from staffers themselves. She was always quick with a quip and never lorded her position over the reporters and researchers, or anyone else at the station, which made her well liked. In personality, as well as looks, she could pass for Sandra Bullock’s kid sister.

But he’d been studying her for a long time and knew that beneath that physically delightful shell that won her both male and female fans and earned her a beloved label was a gentle, wounded soul who protected her heart with a samurai’s determination. It troubled him that someone as shallow and self-absorbed as Denny Brewster could have inflicted such hurt on her. Well, no more, he thought. Not if he had anything to do about it. He definitely liked that his compliment was taken exactly the way he’d intended it to be.

As the bell sounded their arrival at the ground floor and the doors parted, he watched as Hunter squared her shoulders, exited and launched into a determined march through the lobby. Quite a feat in that figure-enhancing skirt and killer heels, even with those long legs. While she stood about five-ten in her sexy shoes, he was still inches taller. If he wasn’t so concerned about her slipping on the highly polished, Italian marble floor, he would be grinning with pleasure for the enticing show she was putting on.

“Miss Hunter, Mr. Rivers.” Joey, the security guard, came bustling around the reception desk, all seriousness and authority. “Your car is waiting, sir. Miss Hunter, do you need me to walk you to your vehicle?”

“No need,” Cord replied for her. “She’s coming with me. Our flight probably won’t return until after midnight. Be sure to tell those on the next shift to keep an eye on her vehicle, would you?”

With his low brow furrowed and his lips pursed, Joey nodded. “Absolutely, sir. Have a safe trip.” He held open the first door, then quickly lunged to get the outer door.

As Hunter warmly thanked him, Cord’s attention shifted to the black Cadillac at the curb. The rear door was already open, and his chauffeur stood in attendance.

“Hunter,” Cord said as they drew nearer. “This is Phil Porter, my driver going on four years now. Phil, this is Ms. Harding. That homely guy behind him,” he added, nodding to the handsome blond also dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, “is my executive assistant, Lane Nugent.”

Greetings were exchanged with proper circumspection, and all three of the men waited for Hunter to get settled before climbing in themselves.

As Lane buckled up in the front passenger seat, Cord said to Hunter, “I can’t offer you any refreshments until we get on the jet.”

“I don’t care for anything, anyway, thank you.”

For the first time, Cord wished for the limousine, where he could push the button and close the divide between the front and back seats and even pull drapes. There were things he wanted to say to her, more he wanted to ask, and none of that was possible in this environment. But his grandfather used the limo, as was only right because it provided more security in every way. Cord relied on Phil’s excellent driving for a good part of his safety, and Lane’s expert marksmanship and martial arts skills for the rest. With today’s increased atmosphere for extortion and terrorism, no successful businessman or high-ranking politician could take his or her safety for granted.

“So, tell me about how you got invited to speak up in Jersey,” he said when it was clear that Hunter would remain silent if he let her.

Keeping her eyes forward, she replied politely, “It would have been my alma mater if my father hadn’t died, and we hadn’t moved down to Texas.”

As the Cadillac left the parking lot and merged into service-road traffic, Lane initiated low-key small talk with Phil. Cord knew him well enough to understand he was trying to provide him with what privacy he could.

Cord leaned ever so slightly toward Hunter in order to keep his own voice soft. “What has me curious is how you came to the administration’s attention. You’re barely old enough to have had your ten-year reunion.”

Hunter slid him a brief flattery-will-get-you-nowhere look. “That was two years ago and, since I didn’t graduate there, I didn’t feel I should attend. From what I was told, a former classmate saw some story I did that played on our New York sister network, and she’s active in one way or another in school extracurricular programs. Apparently, she put a bug in someone’s ear, and I was invited.”

“You’re good at promoting everything and everyone but yourself,” Cord said.

Shrugging, Hunter said, “Blame it on my German genes. My Grandmother Bayer used to tell my mother, ‘Selb loben stinkt,’ whenever Mother came from her violin lessons proud of learning a difficult piece.”

“I take it that the translation isn’t complimentary.”

“Self-love stinks.”

“Ha! That explains a good deal.”

“Speaking of compliments, this car is surprisingly low-key.”

“More German genes in play?” Too amused to take offense, Cord replied, “Knowing my grandfather as you do, you must remember he doesn’t approve of us drawing unwanted attention to ourselves. But these are different times, and his safety must come first, so with Lenore’s help, I did get him into the limo. Otherwise, I use this leased vehicle when here. There’s another on each coast, so when we travel, our chauffeurs fly with us. When we travel elsewhere, we rent. It’s proven both more economical and practical working with personnel who know our routines and schedules as well as we do ourselves.”

“I’ve met Stuart, Mr. Henry’s driver,” Hunter said with concern. “He’s some years away from retirement. What will happen to him?”

“He’ll remain at the estate. He lives in the spacious apartment above the four-car garage with his wife, Meg, who works in the house.” There would be many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Devoted to the family, Stuart would make sure both Cord’s grandfather and step-grandmother were well cared for, as would the rest of the staff.

“That’s undoubtedly going to be a great relief for Mr. Henry and Lenore.”

Her sincere concern had Cord venturing another probe. “What about your grandparents? Are they still alive?”

“My paternal grandparents died when I was very young. My maternal grandfather passed away four years ago. My grandmother lives with my mother in Boston.”

“Boston—that’s right, she’s an accomplished musician.”

“You’ve been in my files.”

Her voice held more resignation than resentment, and Cord’s gesture made the observation matter-of-fact. But he wasn’t about to admit that he’d perused her Facebook profile and routinely checked her page on the network’s website. “It’s my job to know who our people are.”

“Then you know she’s a First Violin for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

“That’s impressive. Do you play?”

She glanced at him again with a look that said, okay, we’ll play this silly game of yours. “The piano. Badly.”

But she had the elegant, long-fingered hands for the instrument. “Do you see your mother and your grandmother often?”

“You know my schedule.”

True. KSIO kept her on the air as much as they could and then encouraged special appearances on behalf of the station. “I’m sorry that work keeps you apart so much, but their loss is our gain. I hope they’re proud of you.”

“When they aren’t worrying that I’ll accept an overseas-correspondent job like my father’s.”

Cord felt a jolt himself and he couldn’t quite hide a frown. “Is that an ambition?”

Hunter looked out her window. “Worried about losing your senior anchor?”

“I’d be a fool not to be.” He replied amiably, but a cold lump formed in his stomach as he thought about her on a war-torn front. Since it was way too early to tell her that he had no intention of ever letting her take such risk, he asked instead, “Your mother didn’t remarry?”

“No. My father was…Their relationship was one of those rare ones. After we lost him, my mother redirected her passion toward her music, which probably saved her sanity. Can we change the subject, please? The graduates I’m going to speak to deserve an uplifting speech,” she said. “Lingering on those initial days and weeks after losing my dad isn’t conducive to assuring those kids will get that.”

Cord reached over and gently touched the tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. Again.” He spoke quietly so that the sound was barely a whisper around them, and he kept his contact brief. Then he added in a conversational voice, “Are you speaking from notes tonight or a written-out speech?”

“It’s written. Though I do like to speak extemporaneously for more informal occasions. That tends to relax and engage the audience more.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing you. Or would you be more comfortable if I don’t follow my grandfather’s directive to the word and just have Lane escort you?”

With a mirthless chuckle, Hunter shook her head. “Mr. Rivers, one thing I do understand is that this has ceased to be about what I want. If the school administrators learn that the new CEO of Yarrow Communications is available to attend their ceremony, and I deny them your presence, I’m likely to find my appearance cancelled before I get on the stage.”

Cord almost reached for his tie to ease the knot at his throat. She loathes you, pal—and she’s no ingenue. It’ll take more than charm and chitchat to bring down her walls to the point of being willing to even hear you talk about something other than the weather.

With that realization stinging, Cord was still surprised at how quickly they reached the airport. After a short pause at the security gate, they drove up to YCI’s jet. Cord climbed out immediately, ready to offer his hand to Hunter, but Phil was at the opposite door faster, and had the honor.

Captain Zack Murray stood at the top of the stairs to offer a crisp salute in welcome. Beside him was Steward Chris Duluth. Cord introduced Hunter once again.

“Ms. Harding,” Chris said, nodding down the aisle of the cabin. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

“Sorry to interfere with this afternoon’s golf game, Chris,” Cord said, once she had passed.

“Full disclosure—I’m relieved, sir,” the younger man said good-naturedly. “I’d prefer a morning game instead of melting on the fairway. Captain Murray says we’re good to go as soon as you settle in.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time. No telling how backed up things will be on the Eastern Seaboard.”

Once he headed further into the plane, Cord saw that Hunter had chosen an aisle seat forcing him to either do the obvious—sit by the window beside her—or take the opposite aisle seat. He chose the aisle seat.

“This is belated, but what kind of flier are you?” he asked, fastening his seat belt.

“I promise not to charge the door and try to open it at the first hint of take-off.”

Cord adopted a smile but was sobered by the thought of her never being able to get on a plane without thinking of her father. Such a catastrophe would kill his enjoyment of air travel, too. “If I had to fly commercially more than I do—I’d dislike it myself.” He nodded to the open cockpit door. “They usually leave it open for me but if too much view disturbs you, they can shut it.”

“I won’t be looking.”

As she turned her head away, Cord motioned to Chris to shut the door, which he did quietly. Once that task was done, the steward approached her. “Would something bicarbonate help after we take off?”

Grimacing, Hunter asked, “Am I already turning green? Ginger ale would be great if you have it.”

“We do. One other thing. If you haven’t already, you need to turn off your cell phone and any other electronic devices.”

“Of course.”

As she reached for her BlackBerry, Chris turned to Cord. “Sir, anything for you?”

“Water, thanks.”

Once he was gone, Cord leaned over his armrest. “I’d risk eardrum damage if you’d like to chitchat until we’re in the air.”

“How brave of you. But trust me, it won’t help.”

“It bothers me that you’re determined not to like me anymore.”

Raising her eyebrows, Hunter replied, “You’re assuming conditions were once different. I met you what—a half dozen times prior to Denny’s promotion? Half that since? That’s not the basis on which to draw any reliable conclusion, let alone trust there’s been an improvement.”

Clearing his throat to hide a delighted laugh, Cord relaxed in his seat, determined to change that regardless of her stubbornness. “I’m thirty-eight, no failed marriages or illegitimate children to confirm any serious character flaws—although I’ll be the first to admit I’m far from perfect—but my grandfather and step-grandmother love me enough to give me a key to their residence when I’m in town.”

“Do your parents?”

“They sold their place after my father retired from the University of Texas. They enjoy being gypsies, traveling around the world. Fortunately, they know enough people to always have somewhere to stay. I’m afraid if they had kept their house, I’d be closer to the dust mites than I am to them.”

Although Hunter’s lips twitched, she quickly replied, “It’s none of my business, anyway.”

“Fraud. I’ve just piqued your interest, admit it.”

Reluctantly, she cast him a brief, searching glance. “You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you…and I almost do. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had the happiest family life.”

“Well, I’m a big boy now and it’s all water under the bridge. Getting my bachelor’s, master’s and some good counseling helped. And Henry has been a heck of a good grandfather. It was he who ultimately convinced me that people are who they are and to get on with things.”

Hunter’s doubtful expression said that she didn’t believe him for a second. “Like I said, it’s none of my business.”

Having shared more with her than he had anyone for some time, Cord was a bit startled. “You think I’m hiding something?”

“Everyone hides things or, more accurately, represses them, especially in this business.”

“You’ve done an admirable job staying positive and creating your own niche without a father figure.”

“Oh, believe me, my mother is a strong woman, and I had your grandfather as a part-time surrogate.”

“I will forever bless him every day of his and my life for watching over you,” Cord replied quietly with an intimate look.

“Will you please stop?”

“Stop what?”

“The flirting.”

“I’m afraid you’d better get used to it. It’s a spontaneous reaction where you’re concerned.”

They began taxiing toward the runway, and Captain Murray came over the speaker to make the usual announcements about staying seated and turning off electronic devices. “We’re lucking out and will be third in line for take-off. Stand by.”

Hunter lowered her eyes, and Cord watched her fiddle with her gold watch, check her fingernails and do everything but look outside. If she wore fake lashes, he was completely fooled—they looked that natural—and while her hands were long and elegant, her nails were relatively short and only buffed, not polished. She wore no rings, in fact her jewelry was nominal, yet of high quality. Her whole look was classy and ladylike, nothing overtly sexual, and yet Cord was as powerfully attracted to her as he’d ever been to any woman. Blatant was easy to find on any channel, just as it was on any street. Women were doing themselves a disservice by selling themselves cheap these days. There was nothing easy about Hunter Harding. But how the devil had someone with her principles fallen for a tool like Denny?

“You’re controlling your anxiety quite well,” he said with a new understanding for why she’d chosen an aisle seat. “I suspect that’s another reason—aside from your hectic schedule—why you don’t see your mother and grandmother more often.”

“I’m better than I used to be. Hypnosis helped.”

“You allowed yourself to be hypnotized?”

She bristled slightly. “Only after trying all of the other so-called cures. I didn’t want this to affect my ability to travel for my work if it became necessary.”

“I wasn’t being critical or condescending, I was intrigued that you would or could give up control that way.”

“Just because you and I have some conflict doesn’t mean I have trust issues. Besides, the person who did the hypnotizing is a psychiatrist, the mother of a friend. I trust her as much as I would my own mother.”

At least she was willing to admit she held a grudge. “Then I’m glad it helped. What about your mother, does she share your unease?”

“No. Since she’s done with flying. Simply refuses to get near a plane.”

“What if the orchestra takes a special booking they can’t easily drive to due to time or whatever?”

“She’ll drive herself if there’s time. If not, she relinquishes her position to the second chair violinist. The conductor and management understand the problem and are willing to work with her.”

“What happens at the holidays? Surely she asks you to come up and visit her?”

“And I do when I can.”

“That’s very brave…and generous.” He made a mental note to check her schedule the next time he had a need to fly north in case he could convince her to join him in order to have a quick visit with her loved ones.

They took off a few minutes later, and by then, Hunter had taken out her folder from her bag and was reading through her presentation—or at least pretending to. Cord saw her do some breathing exercises, as well. However, he was certain she was also trying to give him a strong hint to stop giving her the third degree. The problem was he was enjoying himself too much.

“Feel free to read it out loud if you’d like,” he told her.

“I don’t…thank you.”

“You’re not turning shy on me, are you?”

“That’s not the adjective that came to mind.”

Cord smiled at how the ruder she wanted to be, the more polite she became. “I’m going to wear you down, you know. You’re going to end up liking me despite yourself.”

“Good luck.”

“Why, thank you. Want to shake on it?” He extended his hand.

Looking from his hand to him, Hunter released her seat belt. “If you’ll excuse me, I really do need to focus on this speech. I’ll just take a seat in back where I can concentrate.”

It was no surprise to find a limo was waiting for them upon landing. Hunter figured if Cord wanted a helicopter to get them to the school, it would have been waiting on the tarmac, too. They hadn’t spoken for over three hours, yet Cord acted as though it hadn’t been more than two minutes.

“I’ve left directives with Chris to get some decent takeout for the flight home. If memory serves, you don’t like to eat before going on the air, do you?”

Refusing to let him see that he’d managed to surprise her, Hunter murmured, “No.” Inwardly, however, she wondered where he’d learned that tidbit, or rather, who he’d interrogated for information about her? At least this was a full-length limousine, and the window was up between them and the driver—Cord’s regular driver, Phil.

“Phil has taken over for the lease company’s chauffeur, and he’s already familiarized himself with the route.” Cord checked his watch. “Barring mechanical trouble or a traffic crisis, we’ll get you to the school right on schedule.”

About forty minutes later, they pulled into the school’s driveway. Hunter had called to announce when they were only five minutes away, and a small entourage was waiting at the sidewalk to greet them.

“Ms. Harding, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

Hunter smiled and extended her hand to a thin, balding man who’d quickly dabbed his perspiring head and face as she’d stepped from the vehicle. It was as warm here as it was in Texas, but she suspected nerves had a great deal to do with his condition. She gave him an especially warm smile in the hopes of relaxing him. “It’s an honor to be asked to join you.”

“I’m John Updike, unfortunately no relation to the original, but proudly principal of Mahwah High. And this is Denise Whitley, our office manager, and tonight’s amazing program chair.”

“Mr. Updike, Ms. Whitley. I know these events are enormous undertakings and a scheduling challenge.” By the time Hunter shook hands with them, Cord had joined the group. “I’d like you to meet Cord Yarrow Rivers of Yarrow Communications, which owns KSIO. As I explained on the phone earlier, state-breaking news forced me to miss my earlier commercial flight. That’s when Mr. Rivers and his grandfather, Henry Yarrow, insisted on getting me up here on the corporate jet.”

“We’re so grateful. This is a real treat,” John Updike said, vigorously shaking Cord’s hand. “What a coup for us.” He gestured to the building behind him. “We have a private room for you to freshen up, Ms. Harding, and we can take Mr. Rivers to the reception area where our other dignitaries are waiting to get started. I don’t suppose I have to warn you that some members of the press are also present?”

“Including our New York affiliate, I hope,” Cord said.

“Assuredly.”

After that Hunter pretty much lost track of Cord, which wasn’t exactly a disappointment. The man was determined to make himself her chief focus, and she couldn’t deal with him right now. But that didn’t mean his words back at the Yarrow Building didn’t keep preying on her mind.

“I’ve been thinking about you…and it’s time I did something about it.”

“Oh, stop!” she whispered to herself.

“Am I going too fast?” Principal Updike asked, holding up quickly as he led her to the press, who wanted as much time as she could give them.

Hunter glanced over her shoulder. Ms. Whitley had said something about Cord being introduced to the superintendent of schools, the mayor and the school’s department heads and had led him in the opposite direction, but she still felt Cord’s presence as strongly as when he’d stood beside her with his hand at the small of her back. “Sorry, no. I just remembered something I needed to tell Co—Mr. Rivers, but I’ll do that after the interviews. Lead on, Mr. Updike.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was finishing her chat with a second reporter when a pretty redhead her own age who had been lingering in the shadows came up, smiling shyly.

“Hunter?”

“Lisa—it’s you!” She reached for her old classmate and they hugged. “If you’d stepped into the light sooner, that gorgeous hair would have been a dead giveaway. How’ve you been?”

“Fine, but you’re the one. How glamorous you look and what an incredible career you’re building for yourself. I’m so proud. I found you on Facebook, and I’ve been following your blog on the station’s website for some time.”

“Then why didn’t you write?”

The shorter woman shrugged and tugged on her white, cotton blazer that was a half size too small. “I didn’t want to intrude. You’re so busy. Besides, I didn’t want to bring up sad memories. And—” Lisa glanced over her shoulder with increased nervousness “—I married and I was afraid to tell you to who.”

A tall man with wavy, brown hair and deep dimples stepped up beside her. “Hello, Hunter.”

“Mike—you and Lisa? How great is that!” She hugged him, as well. “When did this happen?”

“Six years and two girls ago,” they chimed in unison.

Hunter pressed a hand to her heart. “Pictures?” When Lisa quickly flipped open her cell phone and showed her one of the two of them in Easter finery, Hunter cooed. “Lovely, they got your hair and Mike’s dimples. There is justice in this world.”

Her former classmates looked delighted and relieved with her sincere pleasure for them. “Michelle is our firstborn and Vanessa is the younger one,” Lisa said.

“We made a huge mistake and should have reversed the names,” Mike said.

“Vanessa is a real tomboy,” Lisa said, taking over. “And we sometimes call her Nessa the Messa out of sheer despair, don’t we, honey? We should have named her Michelle and at least being called ‘Mitch’ wouldn’t be too bad, while Michelle is the epitome of what you expect a Vanessa to be—classy, mannered and the last person you’d find wrestling the neighbor’s son on the front lawn.”

It was all Hunter could do to keep up. When she’d last seen them, Mike dreamed of pitching for the New York Mets, and Lisa wanted to open her own decorating shop. Her sixth sense that she’d honed since working in the business told her not to ask how close they’d come to achieving their dreams.

“That sounds like real life to me,” she replied. “‘Make a plan and watch God laugh.’”

Lisa beamed at her husband. “Isn’t this like old times? Remember Hunter always validated a thought with a pertinent quote.”

“In other words, I was Queen Nerd,” Hunter said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“No, you made us feel better about a moment and ourselves. The world was stable if you were there to put things in perspective.” Growing wistful, Lisa touched her sleeve. “What about you? I was hoping you would meet someone as great as your dad and be married, too.”

Against her will, Cord’s face flashed before Hunter, and she vigorously shook her head. “No time.” She added a shrug and perfected her airy tone. “My boss keeps my schedule pretty full.”

“Is he the distinguished guy standing behind you looking like he just stole Manhattan from Donald Trump?”

Hunter didn’t bother turning to check. “That’s the one.” Wondering why he wasn’t still with the other group, she felt that increasingly familiar hand at her waist. She immediately said, “Cord Yarrow Rivers, these are my two dearest friends from school before we moved, Lisa and Mike O’Neal.”

“A pleasure—and it’s Cord,” he said, shaking hands with both of them. “I hate to intrude with anything that puts a smile on Hunter’s face after such a draining day, but Principal Updike says they need to seat her.”

“Oh, dear—do you think you’ll have time to meet afterward, Hunter? We’d hoped to take you both out for a drink or dinner?”

Hunter winced. “I wish, Lis, but we have to get back to Texas tonight. I have another on-air must tomorrow morning.” Hunter quickly dug out a card from her purse. “Here’s my card. Call or email me and let’s see if we can try to hook up again.”

“I’d love to. Just getting to hug you again means more than I can tell you.”

As the ceremonies began, Hunter lost Cord again. She finally spotted him staying close to their sister station’s reporter and camera crew. After that, she went into work mode.

She wasn’t nervous. She’d already experienced too many emergency live shots to easily unravel over something this planned, and when she finally stood amid friendly, but not riotous, applause, she understood the restraint completely. This was the kids’ day, and speeches were a necessary evil to them. Seventy-five percent of them didn’t know her from their state senators, unless they had taken a glimpse inside their programs. More wouldn’t remember a thing she said, especially if she was formal and somber. On the other hand, if she was too lighthearted, the town leaders and school staff would regret having touted her as the school’s current highest achiever. Hoping to strike a happy medium, she listened as Principal Updike introduced her, and then she rose and set her leather binder on the dais.

“Mayor Steel, Principal Updike, Superintendent Bradshaw, esteemed guests and graduating class—it’s been a whirlwind day, but trust me, being here with you is still the high point.”

The students erupted in cheers and whistles. A good start—she could almost hear them thinking—it’s about us.

“A few hours ago, I was in Texas trying to keep career politicians and strategists—some of the top movers and shakers in the state and country—from gobbling up precious air time with their spin, and now I’m here looking at your vibrant, intelligent faces eager to charge toward the rest of your lives. That’s the speed at which the world is spinning.

“But for a twist of fate, I would have once sat in one of those chairs—where are you H’s?” As a few kids whooped and waved, Hunter pointed and smiled. “There you are. You girls are doing way cuter things with your hair than we did ten years ago.”

After another few laughs and one brave male senior calling “Looking hot, Hunter!” she grinned back and suggested, “I promise any of you with a strong science background that the world is your oyster if you can just develop good hair products that can withstand twelveto sixteen-hour days under hot lights and Gulf heat and humidity.”

Then she grew slightly more somber, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, never stop believing in your dreams or challenging yourself. When I lost my father on the eve of the junior prom, I struggled to believe that things would ever be bearable again. Sometimes it was rough, even though I had a great relationship with my mother, and we were fortunate that my father had planned for such a catastrophe, so money wasn’t our top concern. But it is for many.

“The thing is that Mom was hurting, too, and suddenly had her hands full, becoming the sole provider of a teenage daughter who was expecting to get a car, go to college, gain her independence. My mother was so shattered, she was afraid to let me out of her sight even to go to classes. I knew I needed more input, more help than my steady and sturdy grandparents. The church and my new school’s counselors helped. Mentoring is always there if you’ll open the door to the idea and just ask. That’s how I came to KSIO. I wrote Mr. Henry to ask why he didn’t have an internship program, and he called me and said, ‘Come and be our lab experiment.’”

That comment and her comic, openmouthed look of terror won her laughs and more applause.

“Well, that dear man became my next mentor and slowly the world turned right-side up again. In the decade since I left Mahwah, I’ve had the privilege to interview two governors, one president, several Academy Award winners, a Nobel Prize winner and way too many wounded soldiers returning from war. I’m going to guess that I don’t need to tell you which of them impressed and inspired me the most?”

There were more cheers and someone shouted, “Go Army!” Amid cheers someone else shouted, “Oorah, marines!”

The applause and cheers rose to a roar. It was clear that a number of kids were entering the military instead of enrolling in college. Hunter nodded and called back, “God bless and thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen.”

As she drew to a close, she said, “And so, be curious, be open to new ideas and weigh other perspectives with the respect they deserve, but never allow yourself to wake up one morning without remembering the enthusiasm for life you feel today or lose sight of your core values. And for goodness’ sake, never leave home without sun block or hand sanitizer! Congratulations, graduates!”

The stadium thundered with cheers and applause. Principal Updike rejoined her at the podium to take her hand within both of his. “That was refreshing and insightful.”

“Well, a touch of levity makes the medicine go down easier.”

It took another hour before the ceremonies were over and the awards and diplomas distributed. Then it was an hour after that before Cord and Hunter made it as far as the limo.

Once they were on their way back to the airport, Cord pulled at the knot in his tie. “Well done—again. How you managed to keep the excitement level up after having put in the long day you did, I don’t know.”

“Not everyone would agree with you. I saw a couple of yawns down there in the graduate pit,” she drawled, fidgeting in her impulse to slide her shoes off of her aching feet.

“I’m pulling rank—you’re not permitted to nitpick yourself tonight. Besides, not everyone is going to grow up to be a rocket scientist or even a hair stylist.”

She would be foolish not to appreciate the compliment, but Hunter had her own grading level for herself. “Yes, but I was judging myself, not the audience.”

“I would expect you to say nothing less modest.” Up front, Lane called ahead to the plane to let them know they were on their way while Cord checked the small refrigerator. “Thirsty? I know the bar in this thing comes stocked with champagne.”

“Water for now, please. I’m as dry as if I read them the entire Sunday edition of The New York Times. I might take a glass of bubbly on the plane if you meant it about feeding me on the way home.”

Hunter eagerly accepted the cool bottle he handed her. As she drank, she glanced out her window to see how much of her surroundings she remembered. It was dark, and traffic was heavy due to other graduation ceremonies in the area. The many parties were adding to the usual congestion for this outer wing of one of the country’s major metropolitan areas. While Hunter had enjoyed herself, she was glad the day was over. The celebrity part of this business drained her of energy as much as flying chiseled at her nerves. She understood the need for it, but it still left her physically and emotionally depleted.

“Please forgive my informality,” she said abruptly, “but I give up. I have to get these off.” She leaned forward and slipped off her shoes.

Cord murmured his approval. “Thank goodness, you’re human after all. I wondered how you managed over fifteen hours in those things. Fred says most of the time you ditch them the minute you slide into your anchor seat.”

“Fred is going to be told that he talks too much,” Hunter replied. But she said it with affection for her producer.

“All of it is praise. He’s almost as crazy about you as my grandfather is. I’m going to suggest to him that he and Tom discuss a behind-the-scenes segment and show what all is involved for you as you prepare for your programs every day.”

“Isn’t TV littered enough with reality shows?” Hunter asked before taking a long swallow of water.

“Yes, but we’re not talking about junk, sex and gossip.” Cord turned halfway in his seat to face her. “Reporting has taken a black eye over the years, and journalists are often disliked and distrusted as much as politicians and lawyers.”

“So you want me to be a cheerleader for the industry? I’ll beg you to fire me first. A better idea would be to put young people on TV to encourage their peers to vote. It’s pitiful that in this day and age more senior citizens are voting than people under the age of twenty-five.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Cord replied. “Maybe we’ll start doing something with local schools. Be careful, you may have just earned yourself more work.”

Hunter saluted him with her bottle. “Believe me, that kind of assignment would be a treat.”

“Because you’re that civic-minded or you like kids as much as you seem to?”

“Both.”

“Do you plan to have your own someday?”

Well, that didn’t take long, she thought. “There you go, diving into personal information again.”

Undeterred, Cord said, “I’ll take that as an affirmative. You all but cooed over your former schoolmates’ pictures of their children.”

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