Private Scandals

her looks, he decided. And those eyes. They were warm now, and filled with lively interest as her guest hyped a one-woman art show scheduled for that evening.
    At that moment, Finn didn’t give a damn about art. But he was interested, very interested in Deanna. The way she leaned forward, just a little, to add a sense of intimacy to the interview. Not once did he catch her looking at her notes and scrambling for the next question.
    Even when they broke, Deanna continued to give her guest her attention. As a result, the artist left the studio with her ego fully pumped. Deanna slipped back behind the news desk with Roger for the close.
    “She’s good, isn’t she?”
    Finn glanced behind him. Simon Grimsley was standing just inside the studio doors. He was a thin-shouldered man, with a long, narrow face set in perpetual lines of worry and doubt. Even when he smiled, as he did now, there was a look in his eyes that spoke of inescapable doom. He was losing his hair, though Finn knew him to be on the shy side of thirty. He was dressed, as always, in a dark suit and snugly knotted tie. And, as always, the attire accented his bony frame.
    “How’s it going, Simon?”
    “Don’t ask.” Simon rolled his dark, pessimistic eyes. “Angela’s in one of her moods today. Big time.”
    “That’s not exactly a breaking story, Simon.”
    “Don’t I know it.” He lowered his voice as the red light blinked on. “Threw a paperweight at me,” he whispered. “Baccarat. Lucky she doesn’t have much of an arm.”
    “Maybe she could get a job with the Cubs.”
    Simon gave what passed for a chuckle, then guiltily stifled it. “She’s under a lot of pressure.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “It isn’t easy staying number one.” Simon let out a sigh of relief when the “on the air” sign blinked off. Live television kept him in a constant state of turmoil. “Deanna.” He signaled to her and nearly hooked his foot in a coil of cable in his hurry to catch up. “Nice show. Really nice.”
    “Thanks.” She looked from him to Finn, then back. “How’d this morning’s taping go?”
    “It went.” He grimaced. “Angela asked me to get this message to you.” He offered a pale pink envelope. “It seemed important.”
    “Okay.” She resisted the urge to bury the note in her pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll get back to her.”
    “Well, I’d better get upstairs. Come by this afternoon’s taping if you get a chance.”
    “I will.”
    Finn watched the door swing shut behind Simon. “I’ll never understand how anyone so nervous and depressed can deal with the characters Angela’s books.”
    “He’s organized. I don’t know anyone better at sorting things out than Simon.”
    “That wasn’t a criticism,” Finn said as he matched her stride out of the studio. “It was a comment.”
    “You seem to be full of comments today.” Out of habit, she turned into the dressing room to redo her makeup.
    “Then I’ve got another one. Your interview with the artist—Myra, was it?—was solid.”
    Pleasure snuck through her guard. “Thanks. It was an interesting subject.”
    “It didn’t have to be. You kept her grounded when she started to run on about technique and symbolism. You kept it light and friendly.”
    “I prefer light and friendly.” Her eyes met his in the mirror and sizzled. “I’ll leave Gorbachev and Hussein to you.”
    “I appreciate it.” He shook his head as she freshened her lipstick. “You’re touchy. The observation was meant as a compliment.”
    He was right, she thought. She was being touchy. “Do you know what I think, Finn?” She smoothed back her hair and turned. “I think there’s too much energy in this room. Conflicting energy.”
    He had felt electricity since the moment he’d scooped her against him on a rainy runway. “And how does all that conflicting energy make you feel?”
    “Crowded.” She smiled, in direct response to the amusement in his eyes. “I suppose that’s why it always seems you’re in my way.”
    “I guess I’d better move aside then, and give you some room.”
    “Why don’t you?” She picked up the pink envelope she’d set on the counter, but before she could open it, Finn took her hand.
    “Question. How do you justify your job as a reporter forCBC with your job with Angela?”
    “I don’t have a job with Angela. I work the news.” In quick, competent moves, she ran a brush through her hair and tied it back. “I occasionally do favors for