Nora Roberts - Private scandals

"No problem. You can fax it back to me at home. I'll give you a copy."

"All right. Angela—" The only way to handle this was straightforwardly. "I'm here to talk to you about your offer."

"I was hoping you were." Relaxed, satisfied, Angela slipped off her shoes and reached for a cigarette. "I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to the move to New York, Deanna. That's where the pulse of this business is, you know." She snapped on her lighter, took a quick drag. "That's where the power is. I've already got my agent looking for an apartment."

Her eyes lost their calculating edge and turned dreamy. Inside she was still the girl from Arkansas who wanted to be a princess. "I want something with a view, lots of windows and light, lots of room. A place where I can feel at home, where I can entertain. If I find the right place, we may even shoot some of the specials there. The viewing audience likes to get a peek at our personal lives."

She smiled as she tapped her cigarette. The soft look in her eyes sharpened. "We're going places, Dee. Women have finally gained a solid foothold in broadcasting, and we're going right to the top. You and me." She reached over and gave Deanna's hand a quick squeeze. "You know, your brains, your creativity are only part of the reason I want you with me." Her voice was persuasive and ringing with sincerity. "I can trust you, Dee. I can relax around you. I don't have to tell you what that means to me."

Deanna closed her eyes a moment while guilt churned in her stomach.

"I don't think there's ever been another woman I've felt so close to," Angela concluded.

"Angela, I want—"

"You're going to be more than my executive producer; you're going to be my right hand. In fact, I should have my agent looking for a place for you, too. Nearby," she murmured, envisioning the late-night girl talks she'd never been permitted during her youth. "It's going to be wonderful, for both of us."

"Angela, slow down." With a half laugh, Deanna held up a hand. "I think I understand how much this deal with Starmedia means to you, and I'm thrilled for you. You've been wonderful to me, your help, your friendship, and I wish you all the success in the world." Leaning over, Deanna took Angela's hand. "But I can't take the job."

The gleam in Angela's eyes dimmed. Her mouth tightened. The unexpected rejection nearly stopped her breath. "Are you certain you understand just what I'm offering you?" "Oh yes, I do. I do," she repeated, squeezing Angela's hand between both of hers before she got up to pace. "And believe me, I've thought about this carefully. I've had a hard time thinking of anything else." She turned back, gesturing with her hands. "And I just can't do it."

Very slowly, Angela straightened in her chair. She crossed her legs. The simple gesture eradicated all the softness. "Why?"

"A lot of reasons. First, I have a contract."

With a sound caught between disgust and amusement, Angela waved it aside. "You've been around long enough to know how easily that's dealt with."

"That may be, but when I signed I gave my word."

Taking another contemplative drag, Angela narrowed her eyes. "Are you that naive?"

Deanna understood it was meant as an insult. But she merely lifted a shoulder. "There are other factors. Even knowing you don't plan to take Lew, I'd feel guilty stepping into his shoes — particularly since I don't have his experience. I'm not a producer, Angela. And though it's awfully tempting to forget that and jump at the offer — the money, the position, the power. Christ, New York." She blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. She hadn't fully understood how much she wanted all those things until they had been within reach and she'd had to let them go. "And the chance to work with you. Really work with you, that isn't easy for me to turn my back on."

"But you are." Angela's tone was cool. "That's precisely what you're doing."

"It's just not for me. Other factors just got in the way, no matter how hard I tried to reposition them. My ambitions run in front of the camera. And I'm happy in Chicago. My job, my home, friends are here."

Angela tapped out the cigarette in quick, short bursts, like machine-gun fire. "And Marshall? Did he factor into this decision?"

Deanna thought of the pot of red hibiscus on her desk. "Somewhat. I do have feelings for him. I'd like to give them a chance."

"I have to tell you, you're making a mistake. You're letting details and personal feelings cloud your professional judgment."

"I don't think so." Deanna crossed the room to sit again, leaned forward. It was a tricky business, she thought, turning down an offer without seeming ungrateful. Particularly when the offer had taken on all the connotations of a favor to a friend. "I've looked at this from every angle. That's what I do — occasionally what I overdo. Your offer wasn't easy to turn down, and I don't do it lightly. I'll always be grateful and incredibly flattered that you had enough faith in me to ask."

"So you're going to sit back and read copy?" Now it was Angela who rose. Fury was bubbling so hot within her she could feel it searing under her skin. She'd offered the girl a feast, and she was settling for crumbs. Where was the gratitude? Where was the fucking loyalty? "Your choice," she said coolly as she sat behind her desk. "Why don't you take a few more days — the weekend, while I'm away — in case you have any second thoughts." She shook her head to cut off any comment from Deanna. "We'll talk again Monday," Angela said in dismissal. "Between tapings. Pencil it in for, oh…" Her mind was working frantically as she flipped through her appointment book. "Eleven-fifteen." Her smile was warm, friendly again when she glanced up. "If you're of the same mind then, I won't give you an argument. Fair enough?"

"All right." It seemed more gracious, and certainly easier to agree. "I'll see you Monday, then. Have a nice trip."

"I will." Deliberately she waited until Deanna was at the door. "Oh, Dee." She smiled and held up a manila envelope. "My speech?"

"Right." Deanna crossed the room again, to take the package.

"Try to get it back to me before nine. I need my beauty sleep."

Angela waited until the door closed before she folded her hands on the desk. Her fingers turned bone-white with the pressure. She took a long moment, staring at the closed door, breathing shallowly. It wouldn't do to rage, she told herself. No, not this time. For Deanna she had to be cool and calm and concise to review the facts.

She'd offered Deanna a position of power, her own unqualified friendship, her trust. And she preferred to read the news at noon because she had a contract, a lease on an apartment and a man. Could she actually be that artless? Angela wondered. That guileless? That stupid?

She relaxed her hands, forced herself to lean back in her chair and even her breathing. Whatever the answer, Deanna would learn that no one ever turned Angela down.

Calmer now, Angela opened a drawer and took out Marshall's file. The look on her face wasn't hard, nor was it glittery with anger. Her lips trembled into a pout, a child's expression on being denied. Deanna wasn't going to go with her to New York, she mused. And she was going to be very, very sorry.

Deanna had taken one step into the outer office when her guilty mood vanished into a flood of surprised pleasure.

"Kate. Kate Lowell."

The leggy, doe-eyed woman turned, brushing her glorious mane of flaming hair aside. Her face — the ivory complexion, the delicate bones, the melting eyes and generous mouth — was as stunning as it was famous. The quick, flashing smile was automatic. She was, first and last, an actress.

"Hello."

"Those braces sure as hell did the job." Now Deanna laughed. "Kate, it's Dee. Deanna Reynolds."