Lynn Montagano - Effortless

“Well,” I started, finally finding my voice, “I wanted to see if this job was a good fit for me. For us. For the show.”

“I see.” His blue eyes narrowed slightly. “And if it is?”

“Then I suppose you’ll be stuck with me.” I smiled at the server as she placed our drinks on the table. Grabbing mine, I took a long sip of the raspberry flavored cocktail. The shrewd look Julian still aimed in my direction led me to believe he wasn’t satisfied with my response.

“I’ve had a revolving door of executive producers over the last four years. Creative differences, incompetence, laziness, you name it. You came highly touted not only from your station in America but also from Sam and Robbie. If I’d known they were going to agree to such a short contract I would never have let you in the building.”

This must be the bad side Robbie warned me about. I sank further into the plush cushion, nursing my drink and feeling more than a little bit guilty.

“Wait a second,” I said, snapping out of my funk. “You didn’t know that I’d only signed on for a few months?”

“No.”

“They told me you knew. They said you’d be okay with it.”

“Did they,” he grimaced. “Sneaky bastards.”

“I’m so confused.”

Julian downed his bourbon like a champion and leaned forward. “The two of them have been scheming behind my back for months. They kept Gemma on for much longer than was necessary just to watch me slowly implode. They want me out. There’s some younger, hot shot presenter from London making the rounds. His ratings are astronomical and the fine people at our parent company want to jump on the bandwagon. We’d be used as a satellite location for interviews and such but The Archer Hour would essentially go away.”

The alcoholic fruity goodness of my drink slipped down my throat way too easily. I stared at the bottom of the empty glass, ordering another one through telepathy. I should have known being offered a three month contract in a different country without any pushback was too good to be true. Clearly, I was part of Sam and Robbie’s master plan to watch it die a slow death.

Good thing I didn’t sell my car and kept the apartment in Orlando .

Another cocktail appeared on the table in front of me.

“Looked like you needed a refill.” Julian smiled and squeezed my knee with more affection than was necessary.

“Thanks.” I drank this one a little slower not wanting to give off the impression I was an uber lush. For some reason the drinks in Scotland tasted much better than the ones in Orlando.

“Sorry I laid all that out on you. You’ve been with us a month and I just assumed you were the savior I’d been waiting for. My job has meant everything to me and the thought of it being given to some little tit who’s nothing more than a glorified tabloid reporter pisses me off.”

I felt bad for the guy. I really did. If I’d learned anything from my former night team it was to always stay ten steps ahead of the next generation. That rang especially true for the on-air talent. I could practically hear Cynthia Steele’s strong, melodic voice in my head saying there was always someone younger with no morals waiting in the wings. I was fairly certain she’d been exaggerating about the no morals part but there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere.

“Well, I’m not going to spend my time there going through the motions,” I asserted, taking another sip of my drink. “I’m working my ass off to make sure you have the best produced news magazine show in all of Great Britain. If Sam and Robbie don’t like it, tough shit.”

“Lia Meyers,” Julian said loudly. “You are amazing. If they do end up sacking me, you and I will start our own program.”

I laughed, enjoying the level of passion he exuded for his craft. Grabbing my drink-free hand, he squeezed it.

“We’re going to get on just fine, you and I. And by the way,” he paused, “nice ring. I had a feeling we’d be celebrating an engagement soon enough. If you can melt the notoriously frigid Alastair Holden, you can work magic with my television show.”

Shocked, I stiffened a little. I shouldn’t be surprised though. The ring was like a beacon.

“Not to worry. I won’t pester you to get an interview with him for me right now. I’m a bit of prat but I’m not that callous.”

“And then,” I said, perching on the edge of the desk in Alastair’s home office, “he called himself a prat and ordered another round of drinks.”

Alastair half-smiled, looking up from the computer screen. “Sounds like you two got along quite well.”

“We did. Most television personalities aren’t as horrid as they appear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he responded dryly. “Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you there.”

Swinging my legs around so they draped over the arm of his chair, I grinned. “You’re forgiven, chief. This time.”

He sighed, running a hand along my left calf. I hadn’t changed yet and the fuzziness from all the fruity drinks I’d had suggested that I give him a strip tease in the middle of the room. I would have if he hadn’t been staring so intently at the open file on his desk.

“Hey,” I said, nudging him with my foot, “come to bed. It’s late.” I sensed he was stressed and bothered by his day at work but I knew better than to pry. He’d tell me when he was ready, if he wanted.

Silence spread through the room. I tried to see if I could get a read on what was going on in his head. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Hopping off the desk, I hitched up my dress and straddled him on the chair.

“Amelia.”

The strained way he said my name triggered an immediate response in me. I kissed him desperately, feeling him shudder in my embrace.

“Come with me,” I requested, skimming my lips over his.

I melted when he smiled.

“You like stealing my phrases.”

“What can I say? You’re quotable.”

Squeezing my waist gently, he laughed. The sound of it always filled me with such joy. Leaning his forehead to mine, he closed his eyes. Bit by bit, the protective shield locked into place. I ran my hands down his chest, disheartened to feel him stiffen beneath my touch.

“Sorry, love,” he said flatly. “I have to be in London for the rest of the week. I leave early tomorrow morning. Paxton will be here to make sure you get to and from work safely.”

I swallowed down my disappointment like it was a spoonful of salt. “Why do y—”

“My fucking uncle,” he snapped. “He’s trying to undermine my decisions regarding the music division. He set up an investor meeting behind my back and now I have to go talk everyone off a ledge.”

“What happened?”

Scrubbing his face with both hands he grimaced. “My grandfather is trying to convince me to dissolve the music end of the business and use the extra funds to launch a production company. I told him no and gave him my reasons but fucking Jason keeps,” he paused, scowling. “My uncle and I don’t see eye to eye on this and he’s constantly up my grandfather’s ass about it.”

Not really knowing what to say, I could only play with his hair in the hopes it would calm him down. He never talked about work and I never asked so I knew nothing of the intricacies involved with running a worldwide media empire.

“Well,” I said, “you’re the boss. Jason has to answer to you and your grandfather is retired so he really has no say, right?”

Alastair laughed bitterly. “If only it were that simple.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know—”

“My dad created the music division about a year before the accident,” he interrupted. “I was so young, I had no idea what it was but I do remember him being rather excited about it. He’d play records really loud on the weekends and my sister and I would dance around the living room. I think,” he paused, swallowing hard, “I think this was my dad’s dream. I think maybe he’d started it because he wanted to step out of my grandfather’s shadow. Jason was strictly the business minded one and yessed Samuel to death. My dad was the creative one.”