Nora Roberts - Private scandals

"Coming up on Midday, the story of a woman who opens her home and heart to Chicago's underprivileged children. Also the latest sports report with Les Ryder, and the forecast for the weekend with Dan Block. Join us at noon."

The minute the red light blinked out, Deanna unhooked her mike and scrambled up from the news desk. She had copy to finish and a phone interview scheduled, and she needed to review her notes for the upcoming "Deanna's Corner." In the two weeks since she had pinch-hit for Lew, she'd put in more than a hundred hours on the job without breaking stride.

She whipped through the studio doors and was halfway down the hall toward the newsroom when Angela stopped her.

"Honey, you only have two speeds. Stop and go."

Deanna paused only because Angela blocked the way.

"Right now it's go. I'm swamped." "I've never known you not to get everything done, and at exactly the proper time." To keep her in place, Angela laid a hand on her arm. "And this will only take a minute."

Deanna struggled with impatience. "You can have two, if we talk on the move."

"Fine." Angela turned and matched her stride to Deanna's. "I've got a business lunch in an hour, so I'm a little strapped myself. I need a tiny favor."

"All right." With her mind already on her work, Deanna swung into the newsroom and headed for her desk. Her papers were stacked according to priority: the precise notes to be transcribed and expanded into copy, the list of questions for the phoner and her cards for "Deanna's Corner." She turned on her machine and typed her password while she waited for Angela to explain.

Angela took her time. She hadn't been in the newsroom for months, she mused, possibly longer, since her offices and studio were in what CBC employees called "the Tower," a slim white spear that shot up from the building. It was a not-so-subtle way to separate the national and non-news programs from the local ones.

"I'm giving a little party tomorrow night. Finn Riley's due back from London this evening, and I thought I'd give a little welcome-home thing for him."

"Mmm-hmm." Deanna was already working on her lead.

"He's been gone so long this time, and after that nasty business in Panama before he went back to his London post, I thought he deserved some R and R."

Deanna wasn't sure a small, bloody war should be called "that nasty business," but she nodded.

"Since it's all so impulsive, I really need some help putting everything together. The caterers, the flowers, the music–

and of course, the party itself. Making sure everything runs smoothly. My secretary just can't handle it all, and I really want it to be perfect. If you could give me a couple of hours later today — and tomorrow, of course."

Deanna battled back the sense of resentment, and obligation. "Angela, I'd love to help you out, but I'm booked."

Angela's persuasive smile never altered, but her eyes chilled. "You're not scheduled for Saturday."

"No, not here — though I am on call. But I have plans." Deanna began to tap a finger on her notes. "A date."

"I see." Angela's hand went to her pearls, where her fingers rubbed one smooth, glowing sphere. "Rumor has it that you've been seeing a lot of Dr. Marshall Pike."

The evening news might run on facts and verified information, but Deanna understood that newsrooms and television studios ran on gossip. "We've been out a few times in the last couple of weeks."

"Well, I wouldn't want to interfere — and I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Dee." To add intimacy to the statement, Angela rested a hip on Deanna's desk. "Do you really think he's your type?"

Torn between manners and her own schedule, Deanna chose manners. "I don't really have one. A type, I mean."

"Of course you do." With a light laugh, Angela tilted her head. "Young, well built, the outdoorsy type. Athletic," she continued. "You need someone who can keep up with the vicious pace you set for yourself. And a good intellect, naturally, but not overly cerebral. You need someone who can make his point in quick, fifteen-second bites."

She really didn't have time for any of this. Deanna picked up one of her sharpened pencils and ran it through her fingers. "That makes me sound sort of shallow."

"Not at all." Angela's eyes widened in protest even as she chuckled. "Darling, I only want the very best for you. I'd hate to see a passing interest interfere with the momentum of your career, and as for Marshall… He's a bit slick, isn't he?"

Temper glinted in Deanna's eyes, and was quickly suppressed. "I don't know what you mean. I enjoy his company."

"Of course you do." Angela patted Deanna's shoulder. "What young woman wouldn't? An older man, experienced, smooth. But to let him interfere with your work—"

"He's not interfering with anything. We've gone out a few times in the last couple of weeks, that's all. I'm sorry, Angela, but I really have to get back on schedule here." "Sorry," she said coolly. "I thought we were friends. I didn't think a little constructive advice would offend you."

"It hasn't." Deanna fought back a sigh. "But I'm on deadline. Listen, if I can squeeze out some time later today, I'll do what I can to help you with the party."

As if a switch had been thrown, the icy stare melted into the warmest of smiles. "You're a jewel. Tell you what, just to prove there's no hard feelings, you bring Marshall tomorrow night."

"Angela—"

"Now, I won't take no for an answer." She slid off the desk. "And if you could get there just an hour or two early, I'd be so grateful. No one organizes like you, Dee. We'll talk about all of this later."

Deanna leaned back in her chair when Angela strolled away. She felt as though she'd been steamrolled with velvet.

With a shake of her head, she looked down at her notes, her fingers poised over her keyboard. Frowning, she relaxed them again. Angela was wrong, she thought. Marshall wasn't interfering with her work. Being interested in someone didn't have to clash with ambition.

She enjoyed going out with him. She liked his mind — the way he could open it to see both sides of a situation. And the way he laughed when she dug in on an opinion and refused to budge.

She appreciated the fact that he was letting the physical end of their relationship develop slowly, at her pace. Though she had to admit it was becoming tempting to speed things up. It had been a long time since she'd felt safe enough, and strong enough, with a man to invite intimacy.

Once she did, Deanna thought, she would have to tell him everything.

She shook the memory away quickly, before it could dig its claws into her heart. She knew from experience it was best to cross one bridge at a time, then to prepare to span the next.

The first bridge was to analyze her relationship with Marshall, if there was a relationship, and to decide where she wanted it to go.

A glance at the clock made her moan.

She would have to cross that personal bridge on her own time. Setting her fingers on the keyboard, she got to work. Angela's staff privately called her suite of offices "the citadel." She reigned like a feudal lord from her French provincial desk, handing out commands and meting out reward and punishment in equal measures. Anyone who remained on staff after a six-month probationary period was loyal and diligent and kept his or her complaints private.

She was, admittedly, exacting, impatient with excuses and demanding of certain personal luxuries. She had, after all, earned such requirements.

Angela stepped into the outer office, where her executive secretary was busily handling details for Monday's taping. There were other offices — producers, researchers, assistants — down the quiet hallway. Angela had long since left the boisterous bustle of newsrooms behind. She had used reporting not merely as a stepping-stone, but as a catapult for her ambitions. There was only one thing she wanted, and she had wanted it for as long as she could remember: to be the center of attention.