Inglath Cooper - John Riley's Girl

Olivia froze, and then her heart took off in an out-of-control gallop. Any semblance of poise she might have gained in her years as a professional broadcaster completely deserted her. She stood in front of him as vulnerable as if she was seventeen again and head over heels in love.

To say he looked good would have been an understatement.

“Olivia.”

Olivia. Not Liv as she had once been to him. The greeting was arctic cold, his whole demeanor one of stiff politeness.

“Hello, John.”

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing here?”

People were staring. She felt their curious gazes and heard the whispers. She willed her voice toward something close to indifference when she said, “The same thing as everyone else in our class.”

“Everyone else is welcome here.”

Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved a good reunion story. I like to believe that certain people really are meant to be together, and that even when life throws them some pretty hefty obstacles, they still find their way back to each other. Such is John and Olivia’s story.

There are a lot of ways to define success in the careers we’ve chosen. For me, it’s the letter I receive from a reader who thought about my story long enough after closing the book to write and tell me so. With so many outlets to turn to for entertainment in our increasingly high-tech world, I think we readers share a special understanding of what it is to open a book and spend a few hours engrossed in the lives of characters we grow to love. I really hope you’ll enjoy following John and Olivia to their fifteen-year high school reunion and meeting their old friends Cleeve and Lori.

I would love to hear from you! My e-mail address is inglathc@aol.com, or write to me at P.O. Box 973, Rocky Mount, VA 24151.

All best,

Inglath

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my Lori. Who would have thought, all those years ago,

we would still be best friends?

And for Mac. Again, for believing.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

The Invitation

“AND THAT’S YOUR update for this Friday evening, May 23. I’m Olivia Ashford sitting in for Robert Marshall.”

Olivia held her smile, a smile reflecting cool assurance that she was there to report the truth and nothing but. The cameraman directly in front of her signaled they were off the air and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Good job, Olivia,” he said.

A chorus of agreement from the rest of the crew followed the compliment.

“Robert better get back from that island soon, or he might not have a job waiting for him!” Mandy Overstreet was a young assistant producer whose smile held the same wattage as her red hair. Unlike Olivia’s, it did not reflect the polish of practice so much as spontaneity. But then she was still in the early throes of infatuation with broadcasting. Olivia had been, too, early on. Before she’d learned that expendable was a word that loomed on her career horizon with a billboard that read: Mess Up and There’s Always Someone to Replace You.

“Thanks, everybody. You guys make it easy.” Olivia unhooked her microphone and got up from behind the desk.

“Nicely done.” Michael O’Roarke stood a few feet from the anchor platform, his arms folded across his chest, his blue gaze warm.

“Thanks.” Olivia unbuttoned her suit jacket and loosened the collar of her blouse.

They wound their way through a maze of desks to the long corridor that led to Olivia’s office. “Hey, we like you up there in the top spot,” Art, a senior writer for the evening news, boomed out in a Boston baritone.

“Thanks, Art. Your words, though.”

He grinned. “You make ’em sound good.”

Inside Olivia’s office, Michael closed the door behind them. Olivia had intended to change the formal mahogany furniture in which someone else had dressed the room, but she had never gotten around to moving it to the top of the to-do list. And so she’d left it, feeling the ill fit of it, as if she were borrowing someone else’s clothes. Sometimes, her whole life felt like that, as if it didn’t really belong to her.

“It’s yours, you know. That job is yours.” Michael sliced a hand through the air, a smile cracking his face wide open.

“Isn’t that jumping the gun a bit?” Olivia laughed, raising an eyebrow. “This was my first night sitting in for him.”

“But Robert’s going to retire. Everyone knows it. You’ve been on the morning show for almost three years. And I’m sorry, but people are going to like your beautiful blue-eyed self in a spot where they’re used to seeing a stiff.”

“Michael—”

“I know. You don’t like to talk about things before they happen. But I don’t think you can jinx this one. It’s just about as sure a thing as sure gets.”

“There’s nothing sure or predictable in this business,” Olivia disagreed, even though it was clear she was at least being considered for the position. Who would have thought the nearly destitute young girl who’d answered an ad in a newspaper for the job of receptionist would ever end up here?

It had been a long climb.

Michael tilted his head in reluctant agreement. “Granted. But I think it’s going to be yours if you want it.”

Olivia rubbed the back of her neck where tension had unfolded and now blanketed her shoulders with clamplike intensity.

“Here, let me.” Michael stepped forward to knead the knotted muscles, his touch efficient. “Wow, you are tense.”

“You should do this for a living.”

“Michael O’Roarke. Personal masseur,” he teased.

“You’d miss the power lunches.”

“Ouch. But yeah, probably so.”

As the morning show’s executive producer, Michael had hired Olivia three years ago as a fill-in anchor. She’d eventually become full-time. The two of them had tried a route other than friendship in the beginning. But a week skiing in Aspen had given them both a reality check. Seven straight days together had etched a convincing enough picture of why permanent wasn’t in the cards for them.

It had taken them both a good six months to admit it wasn’t going to work. But miraculously, they’d survived as friends. Good friends, really. And that was something she didn’t take for granted.

Before Michael, she’d kept her life bare of serious relationships. There had been a couple of forays toward something more than casual dating, but there was always a reason to nip it in the bud. The guys were too assertive, too passive, too tall, too short, too aloof, too needy. Too something.

From this, she had developed a reputation for being career-driven in each of the stations where she’d worked. She’d heard the labels attached to her name by some of the men whose interest she had not indulged: ice princess, Miss North Pole. None of them exactly original, and there had been a few that didn’t get anywhere near that flattering. But the reputation suited Olivia. As did being alone. At least until recently.

Recently, the void in her life seemed to yawn wider with every achievement and every year that went by. She had once thought success, like ordinary old spackle, would fill the holes, heal any residual wounds and declare to the world that she was a person who had something to offer. But sometimes, mostly at night, she would wonder: Am I going to be alone for the rest of my life? Is that what I want? Isn’t there anything more than this?