Private Scandals

on the corner of her desk. “Why do you ask?”
    “You’ve been staring at that screen for the past five minutes. I’m used to seeing you move.”
    “I’m thinking.”
    “That doesn’t usually stop you.” Leaning forward, he rubbed his thumb between her eyebrows. “Tension.”
    In defense, she shifted back in her chair to break the contact. “We’re in the middle of the May sweeps. Who isn’t tense?”
    “ Midday ’s holding its own.”
    “It’s doing better than that,” she snapped back. Pride and loyalty welled together. “We’ve got a twenty-eight-percent share. We’re up three full ratings points since the last sweeps.”
    “That’s better. I’d rather see you fired up than unhappy.”
    “I wasn’t unhappy,” she said between her teeth. “I was thinking.”
    “Whatever.” He rose then, and hauled up the garment bag he’d set on the floor.
    “Where are you going?”
    “New York.” In an easy, practiced move, Finn slung the bag over his shoulder. “I’m putting in a few days as substitute host on Wake Up Call. Kirk Brooks’s allergies are acting up.”
    Deanna arched a brow. She knew that CBC’s Wake Up Call was performing poorly, lagging well behind Good Morning America and Today. “You mean the ratings are acting up.”
    Finn shrugged and took one of the candy-coated almonds from the bowl on her desk. “That’s the bottom line. The brass figures the viewers will think somebody who’s been through a few firefights and earthquakes is glamorous.” Disgust crossed his face as he swallowed. “So, I’ll get up early for a few days and wear a tie.”
    “It’s a little more than that. It’s a complicated show. Interviews, breaking stories—”
    “Chitchat.” The phrase was ripe with contempt.
    “There’s nothing wrong with chitchat. It involves the viewer, brings them into the picture. And it opens doors.”
    His lips curved into something between a smile and a sneer. “Right. The next time I interview Qaddafi I’ll be sure to ask how he feels about Madonna’s new video.”
    Intrigued, she tilted her head back to study him. She thought she’d pegged him as the reckless rebel who did precisely as he chose and kept the executives groping for theMaalox. “If you hate it so much, why are you doing it?”
    “I work here,” he said simply, and helped himself to a handful of candy.
    Deanna lowered her eyes, toyed with papers on her desk. So did she, she thought miserably. So did she. “Then it’s a matter of loyalty.”
    “First.” What was going on inside that head of hers? he wondered. It was a pity he didn’t have time to hang around and dig it out. “Then you can expand it. If Wake Up Call goes in the sewer, the revenue suffers. What’s the first place that feels it?”
    “The news department.”
    “Damn right. You’ve got the morning show scraping the bottom of the ratings barrel, and the fact that a couple of fatheaded idiots can’t seem to program a decent Tuesday night, and before you can say Nielsen, we’ve got cutbacks.”
    “Monday and Friday are strong,” she murmured. “And we’ve got Angela’s. ”
    “It’s a little tough knowing that Angela and a handful of sitcoms are saving our ass.” Then he smiled, shrugged. “Screwy business. I don’t suppose you’d kiss me goodbye.”
    “I don’t suppose I would.”
    “But you’ll miss me.” There was enough laughter in his eyes to make her grin back at him.
    “You’re not going off to war, Finn.”
    “Easy for you to say. Stay tuned.” He sauntered off. Deanna watched him walk up to another woman reporter. The woman laughed, then planted an exaggerated kiss on his mouth. As applause erupted, he turned, grinned at Deanna. With a final salute to the newsroom, he swung through the doors.
    Deanna was still chuckling when she returned to her copy. The man might have his flaws, she mused, but at least he could make her laugh.
    And, she admitted, he could make her think.
    Mentally, she pulled out her list. Two columns, neatly typed, specifying her reasons to accept and decline Angela’s offer. There was a hard copy in the top drawer of her desk at home. It was a simple matter to visualize it. With a sigh,she added one word to the “decline” column.
    Loyalty.
    “Miss Reynolds?”
    She blinked and focused. Behind a porcelain pot of lush red hibiscus was a round, cheerful face. It took her a moment to click it in. But when he shoved a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his pug nose, she