Private Scandals

  “Very hot.” Dan rose to pour them both a Perrier. “One of those rarities that makes the term ‘actress-model’ a compliment.”

  “Yes, she’s very beautiful, very talented. And very hot right now with her new movie burning up the box office.” Angela’s smile was slow and surprisingly sweet. “It so happens Deanna knows Kate. They summered in Topeka together. And it so happens I know an interesting little secret of Kate’s. A little secret that will make certain she won’t be chatting to her old pal on the air. In fact, I think we’ll just book her ourselves. I’ll take care of this one. Personally.”

  “I just don’t understand it, Finn.” Deanna snuggled down on the couch beside him, resting her head against his chest. “One minute we were making the travel arrangements, the next we get a line from her publicist about unexpected scheduling conflicts.”

  “It happens.” He was more interested in nibbling on her fingers than talking shop.

  “Not like this. We tried to reschedule, gave them an open date, and got the same response. I really wanted her on in November, but I didn’t contact her personally because I didn’t want it to seem like calling in a favor from a friend.” She shook her head, remembering how warm, then how distant Kate had been when they’d seen each other in Angela’s office. “Damn it, we used to be friends.”

  “Friendships are often one of the first casualties of this business. Don’t let it get you down, Kansas.”

  “I’m trying not to. I know we’ll get someone else. I guess I feel snubbed, personally and professionally.” She made an effort to push it out of her mind. Their time was too precious to waste. “This is nice.”

  “What is?”

  “Just sitting here, doing nothing. With you.”

  “I like it myself. Kind of habit-forming.” He stroked a finger over the bracelet she wore. Since his return from Moscow, he hadn’t seen her without it. “Barlow James is in town.”

  “Mmm. I heard. Do you want something to eat?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” She sighed lustily. “Neither do I. I don’t want to move all day. All wonderful Sunday.”

  An absolutely free Sunday for both of them, she mused. And she didn’t want to spoil it by mentioning the latest note she’d found mixed with her viewer mail.

  I know you don’t really love him, Deanna.

  Finn Riley can’t mean as much to you as I will.

  I can wait for you.

  I’ll wait forever.

  Of course, that note had been nothing compared to the one from the Alabamian truck driver who wanted her to see the country from the bed in his sixteen-wheeler. Or the self-ordained minister who claimed to have had a vision of her naked—a sign from God that she, and her checkbook, were meant to join him in his work.

  So it was nothing to worry about. Really, nothing at all.

  “I had a meeting with him yesterday.”

  She blinked. “Who?”

  “Barlow James.” Because he could see she was clicking into her think mode, Finn tugged at her ear. “Keep up, will you?”

  “Sorry. Where’s he sending you now?”

  “I have to leave for Paris in a few days. I thought you might like to fly out there next weekend.”

  “Fly out to Paris?” She turned to look at him. “For the weekend?”

  “You take the Concorde. We eat French food, see French sights and make love in a French hotel. I might even be able to fly back with you.”

  The idea made her sit upright. “I can’t imagine flying off to Paris for a weekend.”

  “You’re a celebrity,” he reminded her. “You’re supposed to do things like that. Don’t you ever read fan magazines?”

  Her eyes were alight with the possibilities. “I’ve never been to Europe.”

  “You’ve got a passport, don’t you?”

  “Sure. I even renewed it recently, a habit from my reporting days, when I nursed the vague hope of copping some exciting foreign assignment.”

  “So, I’ll be your exciting foreign assignment.”

  “If I could clear my schedule . . . I will clear my schedule.” She twisted around to throw her arms around him.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded, tightening his grip when she started to wriggle away.

  “I have to make a list. I have to get a Berlitz tape and a guidebook, and—”

  “Later.” He laughed his way into the kiss. “God, you’re predictable, Kansas. Whatever I toss at you, you make a list.”

  “I’m organized.” She thumped a fist against his chest. “That doesn’t mean I’m predictable.”

  “You can write up six lists later. I haven’t told you about my meeting with Barlow.”

  But she wasn’t listening. She’d need one of those mini video recorders, she decided. Like Cassie had. And a phrase book. “What?” She blinked when Finn tugged on her hair. “The meeting with Barlow,” she said, tucking her mental list aside. “You just said he was sending you to Paris.”

  “That’s not what the meeting was about. It was a continuation of discussions we’ve been having on and off for about a year.”

  “The news magazine.” She grinned. “He won’t give up, will he?”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  “I think it’s—you’re what!” She jerked upright again. “You’re going to do it?”

  He’d expected her to be surprised. Now he was hoping she’d be pleased. “It’s taken us a while to agree on terms and format.”

  “But I didn’t think you were interested at all. You like being able to plug into any story that comes along. Toss your garment bag over your shoulder, pick up your laptop and go.”

  “The paladin of newscasters.” He toyed with her earring. “I’d still do that, to an extent. When something breaks, I’d go, but I’d be covering it for the show. We’d do remotes whenever they were called for, but we’d base here in Chicago.” That had been a sticking point, since Barlow had wanted him in New York. “I’d be able to take a story and explore all the angles instead of fitting it into a three-minute piece on the news. And I’d spend more time here. With you.”

  “I don’t want you to do this for me.” She got to her feet quickly. “I won’t deny that it’s hard for me to say goodbye so often, but—”

  “You’ve never said so.”

  “It wouldn’t have been fair. God, Finn.” She dragged both hands through her hair. “What could I have said? Don’t go. I know there are world-altering events taking place, but I’d rather you stay home with me?”

  He rose as well, brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “It wouldn’t have hurt my ego to hear it.”

  His quiet words shivered through her. “It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. And you changing the thrust of your career because of me won’t be fair either.”

  “I’m not just doing this for you. I’m doing it for myself, too.”

  “You said you didn’t want to put down roots.” She was distressed, because she realized she was near tears. She wouldn’t have been able to explain them to him, or to herself. “I remember that. Finn, we’re professionals, and we both understand the demands of the career. I don’t want to make you feel pressured.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” His impatience was back. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Deanna. Things have changed for me in this past year. It’s not as easy for me to pick up and go. It’s not a snap for me to fall asleep in some hotel halfway around the world. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” she said. “Does that make you happy?”

  “Damn straight it does.” He eased her forward, kissed her softly, gently, until her mouth grew greedy and hot under his. “I want you to miss me. I want it to kill you every time I go away. And I want you to feel as baffled and uncomfortable and as frustrated as I am with this whole mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

  “Well, I do, so that’s just fine for both of us.”

  “Fine and dandy.” He released her. If she wanted to fight with reason, he’d giv
e her plenty of it. Objective words were, after all, his stock-in-trade. “I’ll still have to go. I’ll have more control over where and when, but I’ll have to go. And I want you to suffer whenever I do.”

  “You,” she said precisely, “can go to hell.”

  “Not without you.” He caught her face in his hand, holding tight when she would have jerked away. “Goddamn it, Deanna. I love you.”

  When his hand went limp, she stepped back on shaky legs. Her eyes were huge and fixed on his face. It took her a moment before she could breathe again. Another moment before she could form coherent words. “You’ve never said that before.”

  Her reaction wasn’t precisely what he’d hoped for. Then again, he had to admit that his declaration hadn’t been exactly polished. “I’m saying it now. You have a problem with it?”

  “Do you?”

  “I asked you first.”

  She only shook her head. “I don’t suppose I do. It makes it kind of handy, because I love you too.” She let out a quick, catchy sigh. “I didn’t realize how much I needed the words.”

  “You’re not the only one who has to take things in stages.” He reached out, touched her cheek. “Pretty scary, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She took his wrist, held tight while the first flood of pleasure poured through her. “I don’t mind being scared. In fact, I like it, so if you’d like to tell me again, it’s okay.”

  “I love you.” He scooped her up, making her laugh as they tumbled onto the couch. “You’d better hold on to me,” he warned her, and tugged her sweater over her head. “I’m about to scare you to death.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  In Depth with Finn Riley premiered in January, a mid-season replacement for a disastrous hospital drama. The network had high hopes that a weekly news magazine featuring a recognizable face could drag the time slot out of the ratings basement. Finn had experience and credibility, and most important, he was wildly popular with women, particularly in the coveted eighteen-to-forty category.

  CBC ushered the show onto the air with plenty of hype. Promos were run, ads were designed, theme music was composed. By the time the set, with its three-dimensional world map and sleek glass counter, was constructed, Finn and the three reporters on his team were already hard at work.

  His vision of the project was much simpler than jazzy promotion spots or expensive props. He was, as he told Deanna, doing something he’d always fantasized about. He was coming in as relief pitcher after the seventh-inning stretch. All he had to do was throw strikes.

  With his first program, he managed to strike out the competition with a thirty-percent share. Around water coolers the next morning, Americans chatted about the U.S. chances for Olympic gold, and Finn Riley’s cagey interview with Boris Yeltsin.

  In the spirit of friendly competition, Deanna scheduled a program featuring Rob Winters, a veteran film actor whose directorial debut was winning critical and popular acclaim.

  Charming, handsome and cozily at home in front of the camera, Rob kept both the studio and viewing audiences entertained. His final anecdote, involving the filming of a steamy love scene and an unexpected invasion of sea gulls, closed the show with a roar of laughter.

  “I can’t thank you enough for doing the show.” Deanna clasped his hand warmly after he’d finished signing autographs for lingering members of the audience.

  “I nearly didn’t.” While security ushered the last of the audience from the studio, he studied Deanna carefully. “To be frank, the only reason I agreed to come on was because I was pressured not to.” He flashed his famous grin. “That’s why I have a reputation for being difficult.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Your agent advised you against doing this?”

  “Among others.” Deanna studied him, confused. “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “Of course. Would you like to go upstairs to my office?”

  “Fine. I could use a drink.” His quick smile was back. “You’d last about twenty minutes in Hollywood with eyes like that.” He put a friendly hand on her arm as they walked on set toward the elevator. “If you let enough people see what you’re thinking, you’ll be gobbled up and swallowed whole.”

  Deanna stepped inside the elevator, pushed the button for the sixteenth floor. “And what am I thinking?”

  “That it’s barely ten o’clock in the morning and I’m going to start knocking back doubles.” His grin was as fast and potent as a jigger of whiskey. “You’re thinking I should have stayed at Betty Ford a little longer.”

  “You did tell me during the show that you didn’t drink any longer.”

  “I don’t—alcohol. My newest addiction is Diet Pepsi with a twist of lime. A little embarrassing, but I’m man enough to handle it.”

  “Deanna—” Cassie turned from her workstation. When she saw the man beside Deanna, her eyes popped wide open.

  “Did you need me for something, Cassie?”

  “What?” She blinked, flushed, but didn’t take her eyes off Rob’s face. “No—no, it’s nothing.”

  “Rob, this is Cassie, my secretary and sergeant at arms.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Rob took her limp hand in both of his.

  “I enjoy your work, Mr. Winters. We’re all thrilled you could do the show today.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Cassie, hold my calls, please. I’ll fix you that drink,” she told Rob as she led him into her office.

  The room had changed considerably from the early days. The walls were painted a bold teal, and the carpet had been replaced by oak flooring and geometric rugs. The furniture was streamlined and built for comfort. Gesturing Rob to a chair, she opened a compact refrigerator.

  “I haven’t been up here in four or five years, I guess.” He stretched out his long legs and glanced around. “It’s an improvement.” He looked back at Deanna. “But then, pastel pinks probably aren’t your style.”

  “I suppose not.” She sliced lime and added it to two iced soft drinks. “I’m curious why your agent advised you against doing the show.” Curious wasn’t the word, but she kept her voice mild. “We do our best to make our guests comfortable.”

  “It probably had something to do with a call from New York.” He accepted the glass, waited until Deanna took a seat. “From Angela Perkins.”

  “Angela?” Baffled, she shook her head. “Angela called your agent about your coming on my show?”

  “The day after your people contacted him.” Rob took a long sip. “She said a little bird had told her that I was considering a stop in Chicago.”

  “Sounds like her,” Deanna muttered. “But I don’t know how she could have found out so quickly.”

  “She didn’t say.” Watching Deanna’s face, he rattled the ice in his glass. “And she didn’t bring it up when she spoke to me, either. Two days later. With my agent she used charm, reminding him that she’d booked me on Angela’s when my career was floundering, and that if I agreed to go on with you, she wouldn’t be able to welcome me to New York as she’d hoped to. She wanted me for her next special, and guaranteed that she would use her influence to add weight to my Oscar nomination. Which meant talking the film up in public and in private and contributing to the ad campaign.”

  “Some not-so-subtle bribery.” Her voice tightened with anger held under strict control. “But you’re here.”

  “I might not have been if she’d stayed with bribery. I want that award, Deanna. A lot of people, including me, thought I was washed up when I went into rehab. I had to beg for money to make this film. I made deals and promises, told lies. Whatever it took. Halfway through production, the press was saying that the public was going to stay away in droves because nobody gave a shit about an epic love story. I want that award.”

  He paused, drank again. “I’d just about made up my mind to take my agent’s advice and give you a pass. Then Angela called me. She didn’t use charm, she threatened me. And that was her mistake.”

  Deanna rose to refill his glass. “She threat
ened not to support the film if you came on my show?”

  “She did better than that.” He took out a cigarette, shrugged. “Do you mind? I haven’t kicked this vice yet.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I came here because I was pissed.” He struck a match, blew out