I have already had the conversation in my mind and am ready to react calmly and surprise him. I like to keep him guessing. He only thinks I’m always ready to fly off half-cocked. The truth is there is very little I do that has not been considered and planned. So I know that he will tell me Harper is now working camera and that we’re stepping up to the challenge of our competitors. The worst he could tell me is that she’s doing camera on my newscast but I’m betting that she’ll be special assignment and live feed. Otherwise her previous experience would be wasted here in the studio. I figure I’ll just nod my head and smile at him and make a calm retreat. That’ll shock him.
He asks me to close the door and I do, leaning my back against it, crossing my ankles casually. I chose emerald green silk this morning and I know it flatters my vibrant eyes and my golden hair. I know this because I’ve been color typed and wardrobed so often that there is very little in my closet that I chose myself.
"Have a seat, Kelsey," Chambers offers nervously.
I shake my head once. "Feel like standing, thanks."
"All right," he nods but I can tell he’s disappointed. Either I’m less imposing seated or he desperately wants to sit himself, I can’t decide which.
"We’ve had a formatting change."
I nod, meeting his eyes. Odd choice of words, I decide. Not an ‘addition to the staff’ or some such mundane phrase.
"Harper Kingsley has signed with us to head up our special assignments. She’ll be director and camera lead for our field work and our away crews."
I nod again. Sounds like a good opportunity for her. If she didn’t make my skin crawl, I would be happy for her.
Chambers takes a deep breath and suddenly I realize there’s more going on here. I clamp down on the unexpected nervousness in my gut and narrow my eyes at him. "What else?"
"Uh … she requested a full time reporter to round out her team. Someone who would go on locations and do the live feeds."
I don’t like where this conversation is leading and my expression must show it because he starts talking even faster.
"We looked at the staff and knew that we needed someone with a lot of experience and good presence, someone the public already knows and likes. We chose you," he blurted at last.
"You’re taking me off anchor?" I ask slowly.
He nods.
"My contract states-"
"Your contract allows for this shift, Kelsey," he interrupts me. "Believe me, we made sure of that before we even approached you."
I wonder vaguely if he has a mouse in his pocket or if his weight problem has finally taken on a separate identity to warrant the plural pronoun he insists on using. "You’re demoting me?" My voice is low and dangerous.
"No," he says quickly, shaking his head. "This is a great opportunity for you. You get more exposure, more field experience. It will improve station ratings and make you a sure bet for the anchor in New York."
I squint at him, studying the beads of sweat on his forehead. He’s pulling out the Ace now, it’s peeking from his sleeve. He knows that I want that move to New York. He doesn’t have to offer me anything, actually, the contract binds me to this position change without my consent and without padding to make it more comfortable. I know he’s trying to appease me, lessen the impact my move will have on the newsroom. "You make an addendum to my contract saying that I get the anchor when Reeves retires, even if it’s before this contract expires, and I’ll make it easy for you."
He knows exactly what I’m saying. I’ll go because I have to but I can walk in silently and pretend it’s the promotion he claims it to be or I can go screaming and yelling like it’s the demotion I know it is. The choice is up to him. The image of the station could depend on it.
"What if Reeves hangs on another year?"
"Then we renegotiate my contract with the New York anchor still intact and a clause that lets me leave anytime it comes available." It’s a good deal and I know it. It secures me the coveted position I’ve wanted for years and also makes sure I stay on here, my second choice market, until that anchor is available.
Slowly, very slowly, he nods. "I’ll have the attorneys draw it up."
"So I work for Tabloid now?" I ask carefully. His answer to this next question will mean a lot to me.
"Ah, no, not exactly. More like partners. She’s camera crew and live director. You still work for me. Tonight’s your last newscast."
"Grand," I answer shortly and turn to grasp the doorknob in my hand. I’m doing a great job of controlling my temper and we both know it. Silently I ask for permission to leave with a raised eyebrow and he grants it, nodding his head. I decide an early lunch is in order and walk right out the front door.
Her arms are tight around me as we ride up in front of my new station. I pull my Harley-Davidson FLTSF Fat Boy up onto the sidewalk, creating my own parking space. I need to talk to the station manager about getting an assigned one right by the entrance. No way in hell do I leave my baby out in some parking lot. All six hundred and sixty-six pounds of pure white heat need to be readily available to me at all times. And far away from drivers of foreign automobiles who think nothing of crashing their door into my ride.
As I turn off the engine and free my head of the brain bucket, the girl behind me continues exploring my upper body, as she has all during the ride here. I try to remember her name, but it still escapes me as it has all morning. I shrug my mental shoulders. Doesn’t matter really. It’s not like I’m gonna be sending her a Christmas card or anything like that.
I hang the helmet off the handlebars and reach around for hers. As soon as the buffer is removed, she lunges for me again. God, she acts like she’s never been laid before. Not well, at least.
I spin around on the seat, facing her, admiring the full lips and generous breasts that caused me to pick her last night at the bar. I lick my lips and capture hers. She tastes good, like peppermint, and I realize she must have had a breath mint on the drive over. My tongue dives into her mouth again and again, intent on capturing all of that taste for myself.
I feel her moan against my lips and her breathing hitches. I bet I can take her right here, right now and not even have to use my hands. Never one to turn down a challenge, especially one issued by myself, I grasp her hips firmly and pull her toward me. Her knees are splayed wide as they encounter my legs and she is rocking on the seat, desperate for contact. I feel her smaller hands slide over my back, my neck, my hair, as she clutches me, seeking relief.
I reach down and pull both of her legs over mine and tug her forward. She’s straddling me now, moaning as the pressure of my stomach begins to provide some of the relief she’s sought. It’s still not enough to get her off, I realize, so I grasp her ass cheeks and pull her closer still, grinding her against me.
She’s getting close now. We trade long, moist kisses, tongues sliding against each other, matching the rhythm of her body against mine. I can feel her wetness through her cotton pants and against my T-shirt. She’s deliberately rubbing herself against my navel ring, using it to get off. Each time she scrapes against it, nice little tremors go through my body as well. Nothing much, but pleasant nonetheless.
I need to bring this gig to a close and get in to my new job. I also need to have pity on the audience we seem to have attracted. One guy in a suit is practically saluting us with his lower member as he watches, several other men are twitching nervously nearby. There are a few women on the periphery as well, each looking a bit flushed, wondering what this is like. The straight women are enjoying the show, thinking about how their husbands and boyfriends have never made them feel like I’m making this girl feel. And I prove that to them right now.