Private Scandals

corner shifted the open briefcase on his lap, then held out his cup. He gave Deanna a quick smile that was heightened by the amusement glittering out of soft brown eyes. “I’m Dr. Pike. Marshall Pike.” He lowered his voice as Deanna topped offhis cup. “Don’t worry, they’re unarmed.”
    Deanna’s eyes lifted to his, held. “They still have teeth and nails,” she murmured.
    She knew who he was, the segment expert, a psychologist who would attempt to cap this particular can of worms before the roll of ending credits. Mid-thirties, she gauged, with the quick expertise of a cop or a reporter. Confident, relaxed, attractive. Conservative, judging by his carefully trimmed blond hair and well-tailored chalk-striped suit. His wing tips were polished to a high gleam, his nails were manicured and his smile was easy.
    “I’ll watch your flank,” he offered, “if you watch mine.”
    She smiled back. “Deal. Mr. and Mrs. Forrester?” Deanna paused as the couple glanced toward her. The woman’s face was set in a resentful scowl, the man’s in miserable embarrassment. “You’ll be on first . . . with Miss Draper.”
    Lori Draper, the last segment of the triangle, beamed with excitement. She looked more like a bouncy cheerleader ready to execute a flashy C jump than a sultry vamp. “Is my outfit okay for TV?”
    Over Mrs. Forrester’s snort, Deanna assured her it was. “I know the basic procedure was explained to all of you in the pre-interview. The Forresters and Miss Draper will go out first—”
    “I don’t want to sit next to her.” Mrs. Forrester’s hiss squeezed through her tightly primmed mouth.
    “That won’t be a problem—”
    “I don’t want Jim sitting next to her, either.”
    Lori Draper rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Shelly, we broke it off months ago. Do you think I’m going to jump him on national TV, or what?”
    “I wouldn’t put anything past you.” Shelly snatched her hand away as her husband tried to pat it. “We’re not sitting next to her,” she said to Deanna. “And Jim’s not going to talk to her, either. Ever.”
    This statement set the match to the smoldering embers in triangle number two. Before Deanna could open her mouth, everyone was talking at once. Accusations and bitternessflew through the room. Deanna glanced toward Marshall Pike and was greeted with that same easy smile and a lift of one elegant shoulder.
    “All right.” Deanna pitched her voice over the din as she stepped into the fray. “I’m sure you all have valid points, and quite a bit to say. Why don’t we save it for the show? All of you agreed to come on this morning to tell your sides of the story, and to look for some possible resolutions. I’m sure we can arrange the seating to suit everyone.”
    She ran briskly through the rest of the instructions, controlling the guests in the same way a kindergarten teacher controls recalcitrant five-year-olds. With determined cheerfulness and a firm hand.
    “Now, Mrs. Forrester—Shelly—Jim, Lori, if you’ll all come with me, we’ll get you settled and miked.”
    Ten minutes later, Deanna stepped back into the green room, grateful that no blood had been spilled. While the remaining triangle sat stonily, staring at the television screen, Marshall was up, perusing a tray of pastries.
    “Nicely done, Ms. Reynolds.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Pike.”
    “Marshall.” He chose a cinnamon danish. “It’s a tricky situation. Though the triangle was technically broken when the affair ended, emotionally, morally, even intellectually, it remains.”
    Damn right, she thought. If anyone she loved cheated on her, it would be he who would be broken—in every way. “I suppose you deal with similar situations in your practice.”
    “Often. I decided to focus on the area after my own divorce.” His smile was sweet and sheepish. “For obvious reasons.” He glanced down at her hands, noting that she wore a single ring, a garnet in an antique gold setting on her right hand. “You’re not in the market for my particular skill?”
    “Not at the moment.” Marshall Pike was enormously attractive, she mused—the charming smile, the long, slender build that had even Deanna, who hit five-ten in her heels, tilt her head up to meet the flattering interest in the deep browneyes. But at this moment she needed to focus the lion’s share of her attention on the sullen group behind him.
    “The program will start right after this commercial.” Deanna gestured toward