Falling Star by Diana Dempsey Read Free Book Online Page B

Porsche was gone.
    Miles was gone.
    She stood in the street, looking both ways,
disbelieving. A yellow-eyed cat looked at her warily from a nearby
driveway. Why had Miles come, if all he was going to do was leave?
To sleep with her, to prove he could? Because on some level he
missed her? Why?
    Dazedly, she returned to the house. In an odd
penitential rite, she forced herself to conduct a thorough search,
first of the main floor, then of the rooms upstairs. All to confirm
what she already knew,
    There was no sign of Miles anywhere. Nothing.
Nowhere.
    It wasn't until she was again standing on the
cold tile of the foyer that she realized he had never once asked
how she was. Never asked how she had managed, what was new. Oh,
Natalie, there's a bruise on your neck. Did that happen in the
earthquake?
    She was struggling to take it all in when the
next jolt came. He'd never mentioned her birthday. Her fortieth. He
didn't care. Or, much the same, he simply hadn't remembered.
    *
    Damn. Tony gulped his morning coffee
and stared at the in-house computer message from Ruth Sperry that
scrolled across the top of ms screen. Just what he needed.

    (r-sperry) Got a call from the hospital where
Darryl. Mann died that his family has seen a tape of Kelly's crash
piece and is meeting with a lawyer. I suggest a strategy session
this afternoon and again I urge you to suspend Kelly. I've spoken
with Elaine in Legal about the required grounds and Kelly's
behavior certainly meets the threshold.
     
    Tony jabbed at the DELETE key, then sat back
in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
    No question, Kelly was a wild card. Airing
that video of Darryl Mann all banged up in his mangled car was a
big-time TV-news no-no. The phone banks lit up like goddamn Times
Square after her spot aired. And not getting script approval? That
was downright insubordinate.
    Still . . . Tony wondered. He bet that lots
of the folks at home were secretly fascinated by the video and that
the ones who called in were mostly crazies. He couldn't let his
news department be dictated to by them .
    He'd seen a lot of talent. He trusted his
ability to judge talent. And in his estimation Kelly Devlin had
serious potential. He knew it. What he had to do was get her to
exercise some judgment without losing her edge.
    His direct line rang. He picked it up.
"Scoppio."
    "Tony, it's Willa."
    From Promotions. Boring. "Yeah?" He stared
across his office at his far-left monitor, which he always kept
tuned to CNN, his attention caught by spectacular video of a train
burning.
    "I need you to make the final call on the
photos of Ken and Natalie for the billboard campaign," Willa
said.
    Tony watched the flames lick the silver
chassis. Amtrak crashed again? "What photos?"
    "For the billboard campaign for The KXLA
Primetime News ?"
    "Oh." He forced himself to look away from the
fire video. "Those." He frowned. Did he really want to do a
billboard campaign?
    "We had blowups done of the shots you liked,
remember?" She was sounding irritated now. "But we need to get down
to your one or two favorites if we want the billboards up by the
July book."
    He cleared his throat. Did he want to promote The KXLA Primetime News ? With Ken and Natalie? Now? "Uh, put
a hold on that."
    "What?" Willa sounded stunned. "We've been
gearing up to do this ever since you got here!"
    "I said put a hold on it." He hung up. That
was what he liked about being boss. He could start things. And he
could stop them.
    He returned his attention to the CNN monitor,
on which the train was still burning. Grabby. That was what he
needed. Grabby. Grabby stories. Grabby talent
    His eyes drifted to the middle monitor, which
he kept set to his own Channel 12. On air was Kelly's taped teaser
of her piece for that night's primetime news. Something about
school violence—he didn't know what the hell it was about, but she
had the collar up on her leather jacket and was on a real tight
shot. Tony narrowed his eyes appraisingly and decided,