Just This Night (18 page)

They turned to look at me, matching guilty expressions on their faces. Mac gave me a sympathetic look. “Beth—”

I waved him off. “Look, it may be all fun and games for you, but this is my life. My career. I have two weeks left to prove to Richard I deserve to be here. And I'm not going to be able to do that chasing after some fucking squirrel on skis!”

My voice broke on the last part, but I didn't care. I'd had enough. Enough of the sabotages, enough of the bullshit assignments. I was better than this. But how would I ever prove it?

I could feel Mac's eyes piercing into me, but I refused to look over at him.

“Whatever,” I spit out. “Just get your gear. I'll meet you out back in ten.”

And with that, I stormed across the newsroom, needing to get away, to be by myself before the tears really started to flow. I could feel the eyes of the others on me, probably thrilled to see me so unwound. Great. They'd all have a field day talking about me once I was gone.

Congratulations, Stephanie,
I thought.
Break Beth's Spirit achievement badge successfully unlocked.

Once I reached the hallway, I leaned against the wall, sucking in a frustrated breath. Why did I even bother? It was just a job. Just a stupid job. And yet, each day, it seemed to be stealing a little bit more of my soul. Maybe my parents were right. Maybe I should have just stayed back home where everything was easy and safe. Stayed a small market reporter, married my boyfriend, popped out a couple kids. Why was I still here, still killing myself, for no good reason? What was my endgame, anyway?

But no. I shook my head. It wasn't for no good reason. It was for my dream. A dream I'd had since I was a little girl. And I wasn't about to give up on that dream just because things had gotten hard. After all, dreams were supposed to be difficult to achieve—if they weren't, then everyone would be able to reach them.

Sure, it would be easier to run back home now, with my tail between my legs. But it wouldn't make me happy. And I would end up spending the rest of my life wondering how things could have turned out if I had had the guts to stay.

Besides, look at the Lemon Grove gas leak thing. I'd made a difference there. A real difference. And if I stayed the course, I could do it again, I was sure of it. I could change laws, expose wrongs, save lives. Which was even more important, in the big picture, than achieving my own dreams.

In short, I would not let them beat me. I would not let them win.

Swiping away my tears, I started back toward the newsroom, ready to find Mac and report the shit out of this water-skiing squirrel assignment. But I stopped just before rounding the corner, hearing familiar voices. It was Richard, talking to Joy Justice.

“Look, this is a once in a lifetime story,” he was saying. “People have been trying to get this guy to talk for weeks now and he's refused all interviews—even with the networks. Now in the last twenty-four hours he's been tweeting all about you, nonstop.”

“Lots of people tweet about me,” Joy replied. “So what?”

“So the guy's clearly a fan!” Richard exclaimed. “If you could just reach out to him, see if he'll meet with you . . .”

“Sorry. I don't feel comfortable.”

“Actually I think you're
too
comfortable,” Richard shot back to my surprise, his voice rising. “Too comfortable in your cushy office. Or on your cushy throne up there on the anchor desk. Do you even remember the last time you left the building to do your own story, instead of reading the crap the writers put in your Teleprompter?”

“Of course I do,” Joy snapped. “You know as well as anyone I worked in the trenches for years to get where I am. I deserve my place up on that cushy throne. And I'm not about to get on my knees and grovel for an interview with some stupid nerd with a Jesus complex.”

“Come on, Joy! This could be a big story for us. Maybe the biggest. And we don't know how long he has before the Feds catch up with him or he flees the country.”

“I said no, Richard. Go find one of your other desperate little minions to interview your scumbags.” She huffed loudly. “
I
have a nail appointment.”

And with that, Joy came charging around the corner, almost slamming straight into me. She looked down at me, raising a suspicious eyebrow, as if she realized I'd been essentially spying on her, then gave me a dirty look and kept walking. Her heels clicked against the tiles as she reached the exit and pushed open the door, disappearing out into the parking lot.

I let out a low whistle. Wow. What had just happened?

“Hey, Beth! How's it going?”

I whirled around to see Richard also coming around the corner. I gave him a nervous smile. “It's . . . fine,” I said. “I was just getting ready to go out on my story.”

“You okay?” he asked, peering at me with greater intensity. I realized my eyes were probably still a little blotchy from earlier and felt my face heat.

“I'm fine. Allergies, you know,” I lied. Then I drew in a breath. “Um, what was that all about, if you don't mind me
asking?” I knew it was none of my business, but I was insanely curious all the same.

“You heard that did you?” Richard gave me a knowing look. “Nothing important. Just Her Majesty refusing yet another story assignment I tried to give her.” He shook his head. “She seems to think she's immune to doing any real work, because of her reputation with viewers. But upstairs they're getting fed up. This is a working newsroom, after all, and we don't have the budget for dead weight.”

I nodded slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. I had always imagined, in the back of my mind, that when someone got up to Joy's level, they were essentially untouchable. But evidently not so much.

Which suddenly gave me an idea.

“What's the story she didn't want to cover?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. Like I was just curious.

Richard's face lit up. “Have you heard of Dante Alvarez?”

“The hacker? The one accused of posting state secrets from the CIA?”

“That's him. Evidently he's just signed a big book deal with Penguin Random House to publish his autobiography. Supposedly he's naming names, too. Everyone's been trying to get an interview with him. Even the national news stations, but he's refused them all. The station who does score the first interview is going to be put on the map.” His eyes glittered with greed. “Anyway, the other day he started live tweeting Joy during one of her broadcasts. Evidently he's hot for her or something.” He snorted. “I thought maybe we could use his little crush to our advantage. But evidently the diva is not amused.”

Now my heart was pounding in my chest. How could Joy turn down an opportunity like this? To score the interview of the century? Why, I would give my right arm to have that—

“Do you want me to try to get it?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Richard laughed. “Beth, maybe you didn't hear me. Everyone's been trying to get this guy locked down. The only person he wants to play ball with is Joy.”

“But I could still try,” I protested, not willing to give up without a fight. “I mean, what could it hurt, just to give him a call? If he says no, well, then we'd just be right back where we started.”

“Come on, Beth. This isn't like interviewing a fire victim . . .”

“Which is why you should give me the assignment,” I argued. “You wanted me on dayside, right? You must have seen something in me to want to make that move. So why not give me a real chance to show you what I can actually do?”

He gave me a thoughtful look. “You really want to try this?”

“I do. I've had enough fluff stories. I'm ready to handle real news.”

“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands, as if in surrender. “It's all yours. I'll take you off the daily rotation, but just for one day. If you can't get the interview in the next twenty-four hours, you go back to whatever it is the producers have you covering and we don't have this conversation again.”

My heart was now beating wildly in my chest. “It's a deal,” I said. “And thank you. Thank you so much. I won't fail you.”

Richard smiled. “Honestly, Beth, I just like the fact that you want to try. It's good to see someone excited about TV news once in a while.” He patted me on the shoulder, maybe a little patronizingly, but I didn't care. “Hell, even if you don't get the interview, you get points from me for trying.”

“I appreciate that. But I'm going to get it. You'll see.”

Of course even as I said the words, I had no idea how I was going to follow through with my claims. I mean, how the heck was little old me going to do what everyone had tried and failed?

But I did know one thing. I'd been waiting for a chance to prove myself and now one had dropped in my lap.

I wasn't about to let it go to waste.

MAC

M
y phone buzzed in my pocket and I set down my e-reader to reach for it. I'd been wasting time in the employee lounge all morning, waiting for Beth to set up some kind of new story. Evidently she'd convinced Richard to take her off the water-skiing squirrel thing, a move that—while tenacious—wasn't exactly going to endear her further with the already hostile producers in the newsroom. Especially after Richard had stormed out and scolded Jessica for “wasting his reporters' time” with such mundane stories.
This is a top market TV newsroom,
he'd raged,
not a vaudeville variety show
. When Jessica had stood her ground, arguing that the squirrel was raising money to help kids with cancer and was therefore newsworthy, Richard had rolled his eyes and told her that if it was so important, she could assign it to Stephanie.

If looks could kill, Beth would have been on the floor at that point.

I sighed. While part of me wanted to be impressed by the fact that Beth had stood up for herself and talked her way into a better story, the other part worried—namely
about the look I'd seen in her eyes. That fierce determination that bordered on defiance—it reminded me far too much of another reporter I'd known. Victoria was willing to do
anything
to get ahead—would have sold her very soul in exchange for airtime. But the more power she got, the more she wanted—the more she needed. And, in the end, it had destroyed us utterly.

A fierce protectiveness washed over me. I couldn't let that happen to Beth.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hey,” I greeted her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yup. We're all set.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. “I'll meet you out back by the truck.”

“Sounds good. I'll be there in a sec.”

I hung up and stuffed the phone back into my pocket, then headed out of the break room and down the hall to the back parking lot exit. Pushing open the door, I stepped out into yet another perfect San Diego day. I was getting to the point where I no longer even noticed the weather—just took it for granted that it would always be mid-seventies and sunny. Back home Boston was getting socked by yet another snowstorm and I would have been out there, on the job, filming the flakes coming down as I froze my ass off.

Yeah, this wasn't such a bad gig after all.

My eyes narrowed as I approached the truck, noticing a lone figure leaning up against the side. For a moment, I literally didn't recognize who it was. It wasn't until I got closer that I realized it was Beth.

Except not the Beth I was used to.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

Gone were her usual filmy skirts, her soft cotton tank tops, the ill-fitting thrift store suits she often wore on air. Instead, she'd slipped into a pair of tight black leather pants and stiletto heels, paired with a tailored red velvet suit jacket over a lacy, low-cut camisole. The effect was so startlingly hot and so startlingly unlike what she normally wore that I suddenly found myself channeling Danny Zuko from
Grease, laying eyes on Sandy after her extreme bad girl makeover.

Her cheeks colored at my question, but she waved me off. “Just something I picked up.”

“And you're going to . . . wear this . . . to our interview?”

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, now sounding a little annoyed. “Why? What's wrong with it?”

Nothing was wrong with it. Except for the fact that I didn't want anyone but me to look at her wearing it.

My eyes involuntarily raked the length of her body, taking it all in. The sleek leather molding around her legs and cupping her ass, emphasizing every curve. The low-cut camisole, showcasing the creamy valley between her two breasts. Hell, here I'd been working overtime to try to forget what those beautiful breasts looked like. And now she was practically putting them out on display.

But not, I realized, for my benefit.

Who the hell were we interviewing, anyway?

Something unpleasant rumbled in my gut. I tried to tell myself it was only that ill-advised breakfast burrito I'd grabbed off the roach coach on the way to work. But something told me it was more than that. That the ache was something more akin to jealousy than indigestion.

But that was ridiculous. We were just friends. She was a free woman who could dress as she liked—I had no hold on her. No right to tell her what to wear in public. Not that I would have done that, even if we were a couple; I was a liberated guy, after all. Besides, there was nothing slutty looking or inappropriate about the ensemble. It was just mind-breakingly hot.

And, by the end of the day, it would probably succeed in killing me.

I realized she was still staring at me. “I just didn't want you to be . . . cold,” I stammered, trying to drag my eyes away from her breasts.

“Cold?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “No. I think I'll be okay.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which only served to push up her cleavage. I had to force myself to turn away.

“Yeah. Right. Of course.” I shook my head, trying to get my mind back on work. “So where are we going, anyway?”

“Chula Vista,” she announced, handing me a piece of paper with an address on it. I looked down at it, surprised at what it was. I looked back up at her.

“Dante Alvarez?” I asked, a little incredulously.

“Yeah, he's this guy who—”

“I know who Dante Alvarez is, Beth,” I interrupted. “I'm just . . . surprised. From what I've been reading, he's refused all interviews. Even from some of the top network brass.”

Something flashed across her face—a look I couldn't identify. Then she shrugged. “Well, he's not going to refuse me,” she declared with an extra helping of bravado, then glared at me, as if daring me to keep arguing with her.

But I wasn't going to take the bait. While I wasn't sure at all about this, I didn't want her to think I doubted her ability as a reporter. “Well, that's awesome,” I declared instead. “Let's do it!”

She nodded and I watched as she turned on a heel, almost tripping in the process, then hobbled over to the truck and pulled open the door. Her pants were so tight she could barely lift her leg up to crawl into the seat.

“Do you need some help?” I asked with a small smile.

“I'm fine,” she retorted, finally managing to wrestle herself into her seat. I forced myself not to laugh as I joined her in the truck, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it. Still, it warmed my heart a little to see the dorky Beth I knew peeking out from beneath her new overly polished persona.

I turned the key and soon we were pulling out of the parking lot, on the way to the interview. As I drove, Beth stared out the window, biting her lower lip, looking nervous. Every five seconds or so she'd glance down at her cell phone and her foot tapped rapidly against the floor mat, seemingly without her noticing it.

I supposed I couldn't blame her. If she really had scored an interview with the infamous Dante Alvarez himself, well, that would be the story of the century. One that would put her on the map, make her career. If she wasn't nervous, she'd be insane.

What I didn't understand was how she'd made it happen. I mean, this morning we were about to interview a freaking squirrel. What had she said to Richard to get him to agree to send her on this story instead? No offense to Beth, but this was the kind of story a lead anchor should be covering, not a newbie just off the morning shift. It didn't make any sense.

I sighed. I just hoped it worked out in the end and she wasn't setting herself up for more disappointment. She seemed so desperate to prove herself these days. I wished she could see that she didn't need to. That she was already amazing and talented and awesome—just as she was.

We arrived at the address on the paper about twenty minutes later, which turned out to be a nondescript warehouse. It was the kind of place you wouldn't want to hang around in at night. Or in the bright light of day, for that matter. In fact, if you were to look up
murder waiting to happen
in the dictionary, it'd probably have a full-color spread.

“Are you sure this is it?” I asked warily.

“Yeah. This is it,” she replied. “He doesn't like to show his face in public much.”

“I can't imagine why, what with the FBI on his ass and all.”

She gave me a wry look, then opened her door and made her way out of the truck. I followed suit, walking around back to get my gear. Before I could pull my camera from its holster, she stopped me.

“Not yet,” she said. “We don't want to scare him off by coming on too strong.”

I frowned. “I thought he already agreed to an interview.”

“Well . . . sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of'?” Something inside of me tensed. What was her game here? And what was she not wanting to tell me about it? I wanted to remind her that we were supposed to be working as a team and that I couldn't help her if she didn't share her plan. But this was not the time or the place to have that discussion.

“Just wait here, okay?” she snapped. “Let me handle this.” She started toward the warehouse with wobbly stiletto steps.

Oh no she didn't.

I ran after her, grabbing her arm to stop her. “No way,” I said. “I am not going to let you just go walk off on your own around here. It could be dangerous.”

“It's fine,” she argued. “It's the middle of the day.”

“I don't care if it's high noon and the rapists and murderers are all busy having tea. You are my partner and you are not leaving my sight.”

She sighed, looking exasperated. “Fine. But when we get there, just let me do the talking, okay? Don't interrupt, no matter what you hear me say.”

I stared at her. What the hell did that mean? “Beth, are you sure you know what you're doing here?”

She waved me off. “It's fine. It's going to be fine. Just leave it to me.”

And with that, she started back down the pothole-strewn street, toward the warehouse entrance. I followed close behind, my gaze darting from left to right, not wanting to miss anything suspicious, not that I was sure what I'd do about it if I found something.

Finally, we reached the warehouse entrance. Beth climbed up the metal front steps and knocked three times. At first, there was no answer. Then . . .

“Who's there?”

I watched as Beth drew in a breath. “Joy Justice. News 9.”

Wait, what?
I stared at Beth, totally shocked. She turned and shot me a death look, telling me on no uncertain terms was I to speak.

“We DMed on Twitter?” she added. “You agreed to meet me.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Well, at least that explained how she scored the interview. Pretty brazen, I had to admit. Also more than a bit deceitful. I didn't know whether to be impressed or disappointed in her.

The door creaked open. To my surprise, it was Dante himself—I couldn't help but recognize him from his mug
shot photos that had been splashed around the Internet. He was flanked by two beefy looking dudes I assumed were his bodyguards who glared at us menacingly, their hands at their waists, ready to draw if necessary.

Dante was pretty beefy himself, I noted, decked out in nothing more than a pair of Ray Bans and basketball shorts. His chest was bare, assumedly to showcase his perfect set of abs and pecs. Not exactly your typical hacker/nerd/geek/hipster stereotype by any stretch of the imagination.

He looked at Beth and frowned. “You're not Joy Justice.”

No shit, Sherlock. I drew in a breath, heart pounding in my chest as I watched Beth meet his eyes with her own, somehow managing to show no fear. “No,” she said. “Joy couldn't make it. But I'm her colleague and I'm here to do the interview in her place.”

Dante slowly dragged his eyes over her body, hovering for a lengthy pause, first at her chest, then at her leather clad hips. The lecherous smile that slid across his face made me want to punch him in the balls. But seeing as I didn't feel much like being pounded into the ground by two pieces of hired meat, I somehow managed to fight the urge.

Instead, I waited, sucking in an uneasy breath as Dante glanced from one bodyguard to the other, seeming to consider Beth's words. Half of me wanted him to just say no. To kick us out, right then and there and have this whole thing be over with. Sure, I wanted Beth to succeed—but I also wanted to live to fight another day. Literally.

“I don't know,” Dante said at last. “I'm not really giving any interviews right now.”

“Then don't think of it as an interview,” Beth replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “Just a nice conversation between two people.”

“A conversation that's being recorded for the entire world to see.” He snorted. “Do you know how many reporters I've turned down? Big time, important reporters?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “And each and every one of them is going to be jealous as hell when they turn on the
nightly news tonight and realized that instead you talked to little old me.”

Dante's eyes danced with amusement. He turned to his bodyguards. “This little girl—she has some real cojones on her!” he said with a laugh. Then he turned back to Beth and shrugged. “Eh, what the hell. Maybe it will stop the rest of the world from yanking on my dick all the time.”

And with that lovely sentiment, he put his arm around Beth's shoulder, leading her back inside. I stood in the doorway for a moment, as my mind tried to work out what had just happened. Dante Alvarez,
the
Dante Alvarez, had agreed to an interview. An interview with us.

I somehow found my feet, running to the car to grab my gear. My heart was still racing in my chest. We were about to shoot the interview of the century and I was not about to screw this up.

When I returned to the warehouse, Dante had his hands on Beth's ass. When I opened my mouth to object, he laughed and assured me he was just patting her down, making sure she wasn't packing any heat. Then he motioned to his bodyguards to give me the same treatment. Let's just say they weren't quite as tender.