From the Heart

hand, remained standing and leaned over his desk.
    He noted the high color in her normally pale face, the dark fury in her normally calm eyes. Her hair was mussed from her mad scramble up the steps and she was breathing hard. Thorpe was fascinated. How far, he wondered, could he push before she really let loose? He decided to find out.
    “What story?”
    “You know damn well.” She put her palms down on the desk and leaned over farther. “You did it deliberately.”
    “I do most things deliberately,” he agreed easily. “If you’re talking about the Dell story, Liv,” he continued, sweeping his eyes back to hers, “it wasn’t your story. It was mine. It is mine.”
    “You broke it forty-five minutes before my broadcast.” Her voice was raised in fury, something he had never witnessed before. To his knowledge, Olivia Carmichael never spoke above her carefully modulated pitch. Her anger was usually ice, not fire.
    “So?” He laced his fingers together and watched her over them. “You’ve got a complaint about my timing?”
    “You’ve left me holding nothing.” She held out her copy, then crumpled it and let it drop. “I’ve worked for two weeksputting this together, since Larkin had the heart attack. You killed it in two minutes.”
    “I’m not responsible for protecting your story, Carmichael; you are. Better luck next time.”
    “Oh!” Enraged, Liv struck both fists on the mahogany desk. “You’re contemptible. I poured hours into this story, hundreds of phone calls, miles of legwork. It’s because of you that I have an obstacle course to run in the first place.” Her eyes narrowed, and he noted that a faint New England accent was slipping through. “Do I scare you that much, Thorpe? Are you so insecure about your sanctified piece of turf and the mundane quality of your reporting?”
    “Insecure?” He was up, leaning on the desk until they were nose to nose. “Worrying about you inching onto my ground doesn’t keep me up at night, Carmichael. I don’t concern myself with junior reporters who try to scramble up the ladder three rungs at a time. Come back when you’ve paid your dues.”
    Liv made a low sound of fury. “Don’t talk to me about paying dues, Thorpe. I started paying mine eight years ago.”
    “Eight years ago I was in Lebanon dodging bullets while you were at Harvard dodging football players.”
    “I never dodged football players,” Liv retorted furiously. “And that’s totally irrelevant. You knew this morning; you knew what was going down.”
    “And what if I did?”
    “You knew I’d be spinning my wheels. Don’t you feel any loyalty to the local station?”
    “No.”
    His answer was so matter-of-fact, it threw her for a moment. “You started there.”
    “Would you call WTRL in Jersey and give them your exclusive because you read the weather there?” he countered. “Drop the alma mater routine, Liv; it doesn’t cut it.”
    “You’re despicable.” Her voice had dropped to a dangerous level. “All you had to do was tell me you were going to break the story.”
    “And you’d have politely folded your hands and let me break it first?” She watched the ironical lift of his brow. “You’d have slit my throat to put that story on the air.”
    “Gladly.”
    He laughed then. “You’re honest when you’re mad, Liv—and gorgeous.” He took some papers from his desk and held them out to her. “You’ll need my notes to revise your lead. You’ve less than thirty minutes until air.”
    “I know what time it is.” She ignored the outstretched papers. She had an almost irresistible urge to hurl something through the plate glass window at his back. “We’re going to settle this, Thorpe—if not now, soon. I’m tired of having to crawl over your back for every one of my stories.” She snatched the notes, hating to accept anything from him, but knowing she was boxed in.
    “Fine.” He watched her retrieve her own crumpled copy. “Meet me for drinks tonight.”
    “Not on your life.” She turned and headed for the door.
    “Afraid?”
    The one softly taunting word stopped her. Liv turned and glared at him. “O’Riley’s, eight o’clock.”
    “You’re on.” Thorpe grinned as she slammed the door behind her.
    So, he thought when he settled back in his chair. There is flesh and blood under the silk. He’d begun to have his doubts. It appears I’ve made my first move. He laughed a little as he swiveled to stare out at his view of the