Buch lesen: «Losing Control»

“Maybe we shouldn’t worry about words.”

He felt her quiver, almost heard her questioning her own resolve. But she didn’t bawl him out. Didn’t move away.

Rather, still looking ahead, she lifted her chin and said, “I think we should go back.”

“Anything you want.” His lips brushed a line up to her lobe. Anything at all.

Gently he turned her head until they were gazing into each other’s eyes, noses touching. She quivered, but not from the cold.

“Would it surprise you to know,” he said, “that I’ve always wanted to make love on a beach under a full moon with a batch of turtles ready to hatch?”

A smile touched her eyes. “What a coincidence.”

He twirled his nose around hers, stole a featherlight kiss from one side of her mouth.

“Cole, when I said something might happen, I didn’t mean this.”

His hand on her arm, he brought her closer.

“I did.”

Dear Reader,

When my editor asked if I’d like to submit for my very own series, I jumped at the chance! I love linked books and knew precisely what the stories should offer.

Foremost passion and unforgettable characters. Then a fast-paced plot along with a good dollop of drama—the kind of intensity that revolves around dark secrets, big family and glamorous settings.

Roll that all together and you have THE HUNTER PACT, a series based upon a billion dollar media conglomerate, Hunter Enterprises, and the warring siblings who run it. This first installment—Losing Control—is eldest brother Cole’s story.

The word leader was created for Cole Hunter, along with tags like loner, workaholic, defender and even misunderstood. When a sassy nothing-new-to-offer producer is employed without Cole’s knowledge, he chooses responsibility over instant attraction. There’s enough on his plate, including tracking down his father’s would-be assassin.

But Taryn Quinn knows what she wants and won’t quit till she gets it. Much depends on her success in launching her project with Hunter’s. She’s prepared to do anything to achieve her goal … and I do mean anything.

I hope you enjoy Losing Control!

Robyn

Stay up to date here: www.robyngrady.com

Follow Robyn on Twitter @robyngrady

About the Author

ROBYN GRADY was first published with Mills & Boon in 2007. Her books have since featured regularly on bestseller lists and at award ceremonies, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Booksellers’ Best Award, CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Award and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year Award.

Robyn lives on Queensland’s beautiful Sunshine Coast with her real-life hero husband and three daughters. When she can be dragged away from tapping out her next story, Robyn visits the theater, the beach and the mall (a lot!). To keep fit, she jogs (and shops) and dances with her youngest to Hannah Montana.

Robyn believes writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers. So drop by www.robyngrady.com and pass on your thoughts!

Losing Control

Robyn Grady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the friends I made during my own days working in the media. Never a dull moment!

With thanks to my editor, Shana Smith, for her

support and work on this book and

THE HUNTER PACT series.

One

Eyes shot up and all conversation ceased as Cole Hunter burst in and let loose a growl. Cole wouldn’t apologize. He abhorred being kept in the dark, particularly when the deception concerned the man he respected most in the world.

Once, Cole’s father had been a corporate powerhouse, a leader to be admired and, frequently, feared. More recently, however, Guthrie Hunter had softened. The responsibility of running Hunter Enterprises had fallen largely upon Cole’s shoulders. The eldest of four, he was the person family leaned upon in a crisis, whether the drama unfolded here in Sydney or at one of the other Hunter offices located in Los Angeles and New York City.

Cole didn’t want to think about that ongoing drama in Seattle.

His father’s personal receptionist flew to her feet. With a look, Cole set her back in her seat then strode toward colossal doors that displayed the flourishing Hunter Enterprises emblem. How the hell could he keep things well oiled and on track if he wasn’t informed? Dammit, he couldn’t fix what he didn’t know.

Cole broke through the doors. Turning to close them again, his gaze brushed over the three openmouthed guests waiting in the reception area, one being a woman with wide summer-blue eyes and flaxen hair that fell like tumbles of silk on either side of her curious face. His raging pulse skipped several beats before thumping back to life. Work in television production meant beautiful ladies day in and day out, but true star quality was one in a million and this woman had it in spades. She must be auditioning for a show, Cole surmised. A special project if Guthrie Hunter planned to conduct the interview himself.

Something else he knew zip about.

His jaw tight, Cole slammed the doors shut. Swinging around, he faced the polished hardwood desk, which had prefaced that wall of glittering awards for as long as Cole could remember. Unperturbed, a silver-haired man sat in a high-backed leather chair, receiver pressed to an ear. Cole’s sources said three hours had passed since a second attempt had been made on his father’s life. Guthrie had probably wondered what had kept his firstborn so long.

Stopping dead center of the enormous office suite, Cole set his fists on his hips. Despite broiling frustration, he kept his tone low and clear.

“Whoever’s responsible won’t see light outside of a prison cell before both poles have melted.” When his throat uncharacteristically thickened, Cole’s hands fell to his sides. “For God’s sake, Dad, shots were fired. This guy’s not about to stop.”

Guthrie muttered a few parting words into the mouthpiece then set the receiver in its cradle. Surveying his son, he tipped his clean-shaven chin a notch higher.

“I have this under control.”

“Like you had it under control a month ago when your car was run off the road?”

“The authorities concluded that was an accident.”

Cole looked heavenward. God, give me strength. “The license plates belonged to a stolen vehicle.”

“Doesn’t mean the accident was an attempt on my life.”

“I’ll tell you what it does mean. Bodyguards until this is sorted. And I don’t want to hear any argument.”

When Cole went too far and shook his finger, Guthrie’s smooth expression fell. Sixty-two-year-old palms pressed upon the desk and Guthrie pushed to his feet with the agility and posture of a man thirty years younger. Cole’s jacketed shoulders rolled back. There wasn’t a man alive who could intimidate him, although, even now, with an ax to grind, his father came close.

“You’ll be happy to know I have organized a bodyguard,” Guthrie said. “He’s a private detective, as well.”

Absorbing his father’s words, Cole willed away the red haze rimming his vision. His temper dropped a degree and then two. Flexing his fingers at his sides, he blew out that pent-up breath.

“What were you thinking, keeping this from me?”

“Son, I’ve only just got in.” Rounding the desk, the older man crossed over and set a bracing hand high on Cole’s jacketed arm. “You have enough to worry about. Like I said … everything’s under control.”

Cole winced. Guthrie was kidding himself.

Four years ago, when his father was recovering from bypass surgery and Cole had turned thirty, the family empire had been sectioned up and each son designated an equal portion to manage. Here in Sydney, Cole manned the Australian television cable and free-air interests. When he wasn’t chasing skirt, Dex, the middle son, looked after the motion picture end of business in L.A. The overindulged, overachiever and youngest of the Hunter boys from Guthrie’s first marriage, Wynn took care of the print media slice of the company from New York. Cole’s remaining full-blood sibling Teagan was off doing her own thing in Washington State.

Initially Cole had bristled at the idea of Daddy’s Girl shunning her responsibilities and refusing to step up to help run the business. Hunter Enterprises had provided well for them all, Teagan’s childhood operations and college designer gowns included … although, to be fair, with the top three jobs filled, her role would need to be a subordinate one. But given the time he spent watching and worrying over his brothers’ business and personal decisions, Cole had to be grateful that the Hunter wild child had opted out. God knows he had enough to deal with.

Of course Cole still loved his brothers and sister. Nothing could ever change that. They’d shared a wonderful mother, a talented Georgian beauty who had beamed whenever she’d told a new acquaintance that both he and Wynn had been born in Atlanta. With only two years separating each, the Hunter children had grown up tight. But, thanks to gossip magazines and the Net, all the world knew about the rifts, which made the running of such a vast enterprise under separate helms even more of a challenge. Through Dex’s overindulgence and Wynn’s overzealousness, Hunter’s reputation had taken some blows recently. For everyone’s sake, Cole was determined to assume genuine leadership over every quadrant of Hunter Enterprises, or die trying.

Guthrie wanted his children to mend their fences, get along and continue to build together. With their father married a second time to a calculating woman, playing happy families—keeping it all together—was nigh on impossible.

Winding away from his father, Cole moved to an early-spring view of commuter ferries crisscrossing Sydney Harbour’s vast blanket of blue.

“I’d be happier speaking to Brandon Powell about organizing full-time protection,” he said.

“I know you and Brandon have been friends for years, and his security firm is one of the best. It’s not that I didn’t consider it … But, frankly, I need someone who’s clear on who’s paying the bill.”

Cole pivoted around. “If you’re suggesting Brandon would ever act unprofessionally—”

“I’m saying you’d be at him to divulge every detail of my every move, including what transpires beneath the sanctity of my family’s roof, and that is not an option. I know you don’t approve of Eloise, but—” Guthrie’s furrowed brow eased and, weary of that particular fight, he exhaled. “Son, my wife makes me happy.”

“As happy as my mother used to make you?”

“As happy as one day I hope you will be with someone you truly care for.”

Cole refused to acknowledge the sheen in his father’s eyes or the uncomfortable restriction in his own chest. Instead, he headed back to those massive double doors. Lust and love were two different states. A man his father’s age should know better. His eldest son certainly did.

As if to highlight the point, the first thing to catch Cole’s eye as he strode back into his father’s reception lounge was that blonde and her star quality coaxing him into her long-legged, lush-lipped orbit. What red-blooded male would pass on the chance to bring those amazing curves close, to sample the soft press of that body and sweet scent of her skin? But that urge was sexual, only lust.

One day, Cole hoped to find the right woman. Someone he’d be proud to call the mother of his children. Someone he would respect and receive respect from in return. His stepmother didn’t know the meaning of that word. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Eloise was behind those bullets for hire. Despite his father’s edict just now, he had no qualms about finding out if Brandon Powell thought the same.

When his father’s voice broke into his thoughts, Cole blinked his attention away from Ms. Summer-Blue Eyes. Standing to Cole’s left, Guthrie was studying him, salt-and-pepper brows hitched at a quizzical—or was that approving?—angle.

“I see you’ve met our new producer, Taryn Quinn.”

Cole did a double take. Producer? As in behind the cameras as opposed to in front of them?

Again he examined the woman whose glittering gaze was pinned directly on him. Feeling his blood swell, Cole cleared his throat. Producer, talent … either way, it made no difference. If his father hadn’t discussed this before now, anything other than a cursory introduction would have to wait. He had a meeting to attend, important documents to sort.

Cole muttered, “Good meeting you, Ms. Quinn,” then prepared to shove off. But she’d already eased to her stiletto-heeled feet, and as she extended a slender hand, the light in her eyes seemed to intensify tenfold. Dazzling. Inviting. Cole couldn’t deny he felt the warmth of that smile to his bones.

“You must be Cole,” she said as, reaching out, his fingers curled around and held hers. A current—subtle yet electric—sizzled up his arm and, despite his ill humor, Cole found a small smile of his own.

Well, guess he could spare a moment or two.

“So, you’re a producer, Ms. Quinn?” he asked.

“For a show I approved last week,” his father interjected as Ms. Quinn’s hand fell away. “Haven’t had a chance to speak with you about it yet.”

Cole asked, “What kind of show?”

“A holiday getaway program,” Taryn Quinn said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught Guthrie fiddling with his platinum watchband the way he did whenever he felt uncomfortable. And rightly so. The last holiday series Hunter Broadcasting had piloted died a quick and deserved death. In these tough economic times, if viewers were to swallow yet another “best destinations” show, the promise would need to deliver fresh sparks week after week.

And what about the exorbitant budgets? Sponsors could pull down costs but, since the global financial crisis, any collaboration was a squeeze. Despite her obvious allure, if the decision had been his, Cole would’ve given Ms. Quinn’s idea the thumbs-down before she’d cleared the gate.

Another mess he’d need to clean up.

From behind her desk, Guthrie’s receptionist interrupted.

“Mr. Hunter, you asked to know if Rod Walker from Hallowed Productions called.”

Thoughtful, Guthrie stroked his chin before heading back toward his office. He paused beneath the lintel of that massive doorway.

“Taryn, I’ll drop by and touch base soon. In the meantime …” His focus swung back to his son. “Cole, I’ve allocated Ms. Quinn the office next to Roman Lyons. Do me a favor.”

Cole thrust both fists into his trouser pockets. He guessed the favor. No way would he raise his hand.

“I have a meeting—”

“First, see that Taryn’s settled.” Guthrie’s light expression held while his voice lowered to a steely tone Cole knew well. “Your meeting will wait.”

Taryn nodded her thanks to Guthrie Hunter then turned to his Hollywood-attractive son. Her jaw tightened even as her heart beat a thousand miles a minute. How women must melt at Cole Hunter’s feet. How they must dream of his smile.

“Your father’s a considerate man,” she said as Guthrie’s towering doors clicked shut, “but if you’re busy, please don’t let me keep you.”

When she resumed her seat, crossed her legs and reached for a magazine, rather than run with the offer, Cole Hunter remained rooted to the spot, and for so long Taryn began to wonder whether he’d expected a curtsy before heading out.

Her gaze crept up from the fashion section.

In that rich graveled voice that made her stomach muscles flutter, he explained, “I can’t put this meeting back.”

“Oh, I understand.”

She sent a quick smile he didn’t return. Rather, the crease between the dark slashes of his brows deepened. “My father shouldn’t be long. Rod Walker’s a busy man, too.”

Taryn nodded affably, recrossed her legs, and the magazine took her attention again. But as she flipped to the gossip pages, she was aware of the younger Mr. Hunter checking his wristwatch then shaking his jacket sleeve back down.

“My guest’s flying back to Melbourne at midday,” he went on. “We don’t have much time.”

Glancing back up, she cocked her head and blinked. “Then you’d best hurry.”

Cole Hunter wasn’t hard to work out. Foremost, he was get-out-of-my-way ambitious, which she understood. Nothing compared with the buzz of landing on top, achieving a true sense of financial and personal security. She’d grown up with an aunt. One of Vi’s favorite sayings was, At every turn, in every way, invest in yourself, which meant achieving a good education, grabbing regular exercise, staying loyal to friends and, wherever possible, dodging “trouble.” Which brought Taryn to Cole Hunter’s second quality.

Clearly, he was an intensely sexual being and, for whatever reason, she had piqued his interest. The testosterone pumping through his veins, darkening those ocean-green eyes to a storm, was as tangible as the breadth of his chest or square set of his jaw. The man exuded a masculine energy that stroked Taryn’s skin and stirred a delicious aching heat low in her belly.

Understanding these things about Cole Hunter was the reason for her reservation now. She didn’t care who he was, what he thought of himself, how many women he’d bedded, with how much skill or how little effort. Certainly she wouldn’t be rude, but Guthrie Hunter had hired her and no matter how knee-knockingly sexy, if the son was ambivalent, hell, she’d survive.

As she held her honest-you-can-leave look, Cole shifted his weight and those incredible eyes narrowed as if he were now seeing her in a somewhat different light.

“Actually,” he finally said, “that office next to Roman’s is on my way.” When she opened her mouth to decline, he overrode her. “I insist.”

He extended and continued to offer his hand until, knowing she was cornered, Taryn accepted. As expected, the same fiery trail that had flown up her arm the first time they’d touched sparked again—not that she let any hint of the rush dent her poise. She made certain her eyes didn’t widen, that her breath didn’t hitch. And yet the satisfied grin smoldering in Cole’s eyes said that he knew what she felt because he felt it, too.

As they moved toward the building’s main thoroughfare side by side, she imagined Aunt Vi holding up her hands in warning and shaking her head. Taryn agreed. Cole Hunter was one of those “trouble” spots. Hotheaded, superior, radiating sex appeal like a supernova gave off light and heat.

Thank God they wouldn’t be working together.

Two

“Guthrie would’ve mentioned we’ll be working together.”

When his statement received no reply, Cole wasn’t entirely surprised. Taryn Quinn was attractive and charming. She was also aloof. Mysterious. As they walked together down the eastern wing of the Hunter Broadcasting building, Cole admitted he was intrigued, as his father knew he would be.

Rod Walker’s call was an excuse Guthrie had pounced upon to bring his son and new producer together, despite the fact that Cole was, one, hard-pressed for time and, two, obviously opposed to investing in Ms. Quinn’s proposal. Money was too darn tight and Guthrie knew it. But when she’d seemed so indifferent toward him—sitting there demurely with those shapely legs crossed, engrossed in that glossy magazine—blast it, he’d been intrigued all the more. Against better judgment, he’d decided to escort Taryn to her office and see if he couldn’t prick that haughty shell.

So far, no good.

Passing an interested group of employees, and still awaiting a response, Cole risked a glance. Taryn was staring at him as if he’d announced science had proven that the moon was indeed made of green cheese. Perhaps she was hard of hearing.

He spoke louder. “I said as long as you’re with Hunter Broadcasting, you’ll be working under me.”

“I’m sorry.” Shrugging back slender shoulders draped in an elegant black jacket, she looked dead ahead. “But you’re wrong.”

Cole’s step faltered. Not deaf. Nor had she misunderstood. He threw a suspect glance around. Was there a hidden camera or was she purposely ruffling his feathers?

“You must be aware of my position here—CEO as well as Executive Producer—and that’s for every show that comes out of Hunters. I give the nod on budgets, sponsor deals—” his gaze sharpened on her perfect profile “—as well as the overall vision of any given project.”

The peaks of her dark blond brows arched as she met his gaze square on. “Guthrie and I have discussed all that. I’ll be working directly beneath him.”

Cole didn’t hide his smirk. He disliked cruelty in any form but he might enjoy setting sassy Ms. Quinn back, flat on her pretty behind. Whatever Guthrie had said, he hadn’t worked in that kind of hands-on capacity for years.

Or maybe he should look at this collusion from a different angle. What had Taryn Quinn said or done to get this close to his father? And exactly how close was that?

Suddenly a dozen other questions sprang to mind, like where did Taryn hail from? What was her personal background? Did she have a criminal record? Did she know anything about those murder attempts?

Up ahead, London-born Head of Comedy, Roman Lyons, was strolling out of his office, whistling that same Cockney tune that grated on Cole’s nerves like nails down a chalkboard. When Roman first joined Hunters, the two had a disagreement over the direction of a series. Cole had terminated his contract. Guthrie, however, had persuaded Cole to give Lyons another chance. After two years, Cole would concede that Roman did a good job. He’d even stepped in to oversee things a few times when Cole had been called away. But they’d never be best buds.

Now as he and Taryn approached, Lyons issued a casual salute to Cole, but his focus was fixed on Taryn. From the awareness sparkling in Lyons’s dark hooded gaze, anyone might think that he knew her.

“This must be the new girl. Taryn, is it?” Lyons offered a knowing wink as well as his hand. “Word gets around.”

Cole’s jaw jutted. Word hadn’t gotten around to him.

“Thanks for the welcome,” Taryn said as her hand dropped away. “And you are?”

“Name’s Roman Lyons.”

“Looks like we’ll be neighbors, Mr. Lyons. I drew the office next to yours.”

“I was about to grab a cuppa,” Lyons went on. “Can I tempt you?”

Taryn’s face lit. “I’d kill for coffee.”

“Let me guess,” Lyons said. “White, one sugar.”

Cole growled. Oh, give me a break.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He started off. “I have work to do.”

“With Liam Finlay? I saw him headed toward your office a minute ago.” Roman straightened the knot of his tie as if he were loosening a noose. “He didn’t look happy, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Cole bit back a curse. Liam Finlay wasn’t a man to keep waiting, particularly today. Finlay was CEO for Australia’s most popular football league. Hunter Broadcasting had held the cable broadcast rights to the majority of that league’s games until five years ago, when Guthrie and Finlay had suffered a major falling-out. This year those coveted rights were back up for grabs. Cole had had a hard time getting Finlay to even talk. At this juncture, he couldn’t afford any perceived insults, like letting his guest sit around twiddling his thumbs.

In a near-sincere tone, Taryn said, “Thanks for taking the time, Mr. Hunter. I’m sure I’ll be fine from here.”

A pulse point in Cole’s temple began to throb. He had to get to that meeting. But, dammit, he wasn’t finished with Ms. Quinn just yet.

As Roman sauntered off, Taryn entered her new office, which was decked out with teak furniture and the latest tech equipment, including visual and audio state of the art. But she moved directly to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He imagined he heard her sigh as she drank in the billion-dollar harbor view, complete with iconic coat-hanger bridge and multistory-high Opera House shells.

Letting his gaze rake over the silken fall of her hair and the tantalizing curves concealed beneath that smart blue skirt, Cole leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.

“You have qualifications other than in television production, Ms. Quinn?”

“I’ve worked in TV since attaining my Arts Business degree.”

“Then you’d have experience—held positions—in other areas within the industry, correct?”

“I started out as a junior production assistant and worked up through the ranks.”

“And my father was—” he scanned her skirt again “—suitably impressed by your credentials?”

When she angled around, her smile was lazy, assured. “As a matter of fact, Guthrie was more than impressed.”

“I make a point of having all my employees’ backgrounds screened, management particularly.”

“Heavens, you must have skeletons jumping out of closets all over the place.”

His mouth hooked up at one side. Cute.

He crossed his arms. “Any skeletons in your closet, Ms. Quinn?”

“We all have secrets, although they’re rarely of interest to anyone else.”

“I have a feeling I’d be interested in yours.”

Those big blue eyes narrowed then she strolled up to him, the deliberate sway in her walk meant to challenge. When she was close enough for the scent of her perfume to tease his nostrils, she stopped and set her hands on her hips. Cole exhaled. Poor Ms. Quinn. Didn’t she know he ate novices like her for breakfast?

“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she told him. “Don’t keep your guest waiting. I’m sure your father will be along soon.”

He grinned. Damn, he could play with her all day, if only he had the time—which he didn’t. He pushed off the jamb.

“My father might have employed you, but I’m the one in charge of the books, and if your show doesn’t perform, production stops. That is, if I allow it to get off the ground in the first place.”

A shadow darkened her eyes. “My show will not only launch, it will be a new season smash. We’re bringing in A-list guests.”

“Been done.”

“Choosing destinations that are considered rough as well as luxurious.”

“Old.”

“The host I have in mind is the most popular in the country. Voted Australia’s most eligible with a string of hits under his belt.”

Cole’s gaze flicked to her naturally bee-stung lips. “That’s the best you can offer?”

He imagined her quiver, as if a bolt of red-tipped annoyance had zapped straight up her spine. “I have a signed copy of the approved proposal as well as a contract setting my salary.”

“A contract which will be paid out unless your pilot is fresher than tomorrow’s headline news.”

An emotion akin to hatred flashed in her eyes. “Perhaps I should put a call through to my lawyer.”

“Perhaps you should.”

Any space separating them seemed to shrink while the awareness simmering in that steamy void began to crackle and smoke. Taryn Quinn whipped up his baser instincts to a point where he could forget she was an employee. In fact, right now he was evaluating her through the crosshairs of a vastly different lens. She pretended to be cool, in control. Would she be so restrained in the bedroom? Instinct said she’d set the sheets on fire.

She was saying, “And if I were to come up with something you hadn’t seen before?”

He gifted her with a slow smile. “Then, Ms. Quinn, I’d be happy to visit it.”

He asked that she get the original and revised proposal to him as soon as she had something that would knock his socks off. But as Cole made his way down the corridor toward his office and Liam Finlay, he berated himself. Normally in these kinds of situations he wasn’t distracted by sex appeal; that was playboy Dex’s vice. But the challenging blue depths of Taryn Quinn’s eyes, the impudent tilt of her slightly upturned nose, the fact he knew in his gut she was hiding something …

Thinking of those flaming sheets, Cole admitted, he was looking forward to prying open her closets.

“What do you think of the Commander?”

Familiarizing herself with her office LCD TV, Taryn glanced up. Roman Lyons had returned with two steaming cups in tow. Remote control in one hand, she accepted the coffee he offered while she grinned at Roman’s nickname for Cole.

“Cole obviously likes to run a tight ship,” she conceded.

“As much as he likes introducing newcomers to his infamous plank.”

“Sounds as if you speak from experience.”

“Cole has his fans—” bringing the cup to his mouth, Roman arched a brow “—as well as his foes.”

“Which side do you fall on?”

“On the ‘keeping my job’ side. To survive in this industry, you need to roll with the punches. But you’ve been around. You’d know all that.” He nodded at the static on the screen and gestured at the control. “This office was vacant for a while. I’ll tweak the settings.”

She handed over the control and watched as he concentrated to tune in channels, including internal feeds. Roman Lyons was good-looking in a saucy Hugh Grant kind of way. Certainly friendly, helpful and with a sense of humor, too. No wonder he rubbed “Trouble” the wrong way.

“Tell me how you came to be at Hunters,” Roman said, as his thumb danced over the remote’s keys.

“I had a long stint at the last network I worked for.” She mentioned the name and recited a few of their shows. “Last year, one of the executive producers asked for ideas for new series. He was interested in a couple of mine but ultimately passed. In the meantime another network approached me.”

“The industry does like to poach.”

“I declined their offer of an interview. I was happy where I was. But management heard about the communication and when information about a new show was leaked, they questioned my loyalty.” Remembering the scene when that EP had dressed her down, she shuddered and blew out a breath. Her direct boss was livid at his protégée’s treatment, but he had a family to feed. She’d insisted he not get involved. “That afternoon, my desk was packed up and I was out on the curb.”