“Can I just say that the man is fabulous in bed and funny to boot? What sane woman wouldn’t want to keep him around, and tell him so? I took a risk. I was honest. Now it’s up to him. Unless he thinks making love is the answer.”
Jane examined her work with a critical eye. “Eve, not everyone is as forthright as you about their relationships. And it does look kind of bad that he tried to leave town practically as soon as your agreement about the show was in his hand.”
So Jane had heard the rumors, too. “Mitchell Hayes did not romance me to get the show. He really does care about whether I’m happy.” He’d been prepared to fly all night for her. The least she could do was show some faith-unlike some people. “I’m not a teenager. I can tell when a man is sincere. And he is.” The pain she’d seen in his face was proof of that. Wasn’t it? “He couldn’t have made love to me the way he did last night if his feelings weren’t real. We all know that some men communicate through action. For them, it’s not about the words.”
“Eve, Eve,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “You did a show about this only last week. ‘Is What He Says Really What He Means?’ Maybe you should do one called ‘It’s in His Kiss,’ like that song.”
“I think that stripper housewife said it all,” Jane put in. “‘All that’s real during sex is sex. Anything else is gravy.’”
“Ow.” Eve winced. “Easy on the hair.”
“Don’t jerk back like that, then.” Jane loosened her grip on the curling iron. “We don’t want you expecting gravy when all there is is meat. No pun intended.”
“Ha. And here I thought you guys would help me build up the nerve to try to talk with him about it again.”
“I’ll be happier when he comes out of his cave and tells you something honest, with real words,” Jane said. “Until then, I’m reserving judgment.”
“We still need to address this rumor that you two are an item,” Nicole added. “Even if you are, we still have to maintain your privacy. The answering service has had half a dozen calls from that rag-mag Peachtree Free Press, over the last twenty-four hours. Every one of them was for you. I don’t know how they got wind of who you’re dating.”
“The tabs can screw themselves.”
“They usually do, with the crap they print,” Nicole said. “The Free Press is one of the worst, though I must say their cameraman must love you. Your pictures are always great.”
“I never talk to the tabs, and they know it. Okay, Jane. Am I ready?”
“Ready and able. You’ve got half an hour to prep, so make the most of it. And here’s your bug.”
Eve took the wireless transmitter and fitted it in her ear. Because she had a habit of rambling around before the show in an effort to control her adrenaline, Cole had invested in the bug so he could give her the countdown without tying her to her desk. With a final tug at the hem of a new beaded tank, Eve strode down the hall toward the set, where the guys in the control booth would be doing sound and lighting checks before showtime at three.
But underneath it all the question of Mitch nagged and prodded at her. Was she wrong to want resolution? Why wouldn’t he talk about them, even when he was wrapped in her arms, with no one to listen in but the night? Communicating through action seemed to be a male thing. Maybe she needed to do that. But how?
Through the thin false walls of the studio, the noise levels rose as the doors opened and the audience began to file in. Her thoughts spun on as her blood began to pump in anticipation. Deciding to act-to take a risk and reach out for what she wanted-was one thing.
But finding the courage to do it was quite another. Because what if, after she tried again, he got on that plane anyway and left her?
THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE at CWB had agreed to the video link at three-thirty, which worked out perfectly. Eve would still be on the set, mingling with her audience, and she wouldn’t be able to watch his attempt to turn this fiasco around. Mitch would rather have no witnesses, thanks. What he did want was to succeed. To come out with a gift safe in his hand-her show, intact, exactly the way she wanted it.
He glanced at his watch. He had an hour yet. Cole Crawford had given him a brief window of time to put some bells and whistles on the presentation he’d been working on all morning. But Mitch had it all in his head. He’d been living this for weeks, after all.
He was still amazed that Nelson Berg had gotten out of his way and agreed to this. Mitch was the one who had the information at his fingertips. He knew the talent. But primarily, he was the most heavily invested in winning.
With everything up in the air-his job, the show, his future-the only thing he had left to hang on to was Eve’s simple admission of her feelings. As far as he was concerned, that was worth taking a chance on. That was worth figuring out the logistics of time and distance for. He could probably hub out of Atlanta for most of his trips instead of Chicago or Dallas, so he’d be able to see her once or twice a week. Lots of relationships survived on less than that.
“Mr. Hayes!”
Mitch blinked and raised his head. Dylan Moore stood in the doorway, panting.
“I’ve been searching the station for you. Come on-it’s showtime.”
Puzzled, he got up. “I’m not going to be in the audience for Just Between Us. I’m doing a video link in the newsroom.”
Dylan made a rolling movement with his hand. “I know, I know. It’s started and there’s a panel of suits waiting for you.”
“But it’s only two-thirty. I’ve got an hour yet.”
Dylan shook his head. “Not according to them, Mr. Hayes. I don’t know what time zone they’re in, but it’s not eastern.”
“Shit!”
He took the stairs three at a time and skidded into the small studio, which held not much more than a couple of lights, a stationary camera and a desk behind which someone could transmit breaking news or a timely interview. A technician nodded at him and pointed at a monitor, where-thank you, God-Cole Crawford had loaded his presentation.
He only hoped he hadn’t left his carefully thought-out arguments back there at the top of the stairs.
He knew most of the network’s execs by sight. Three men and two women. As he slid into the chair and Nelson introduced him-without editorial comments on his tardiness-he made careful note of each name and position, so he could target his appeal personally. His aptitude for memorizing music came in handy in these kinds of applications.
And then he went to work.
With the right amount of detail, he explained to the people on the big flat-panel screen why Just Between Us worked so well in the regional market. Looking steadily into the camera, he outlined the team approach, and the talents of each of Eve’s production people that gave the show its own distinct flavor.
“Remember what happened with The X-Files when it went to Los Angeles?” he said. “The Vancouver production team had created that unique atmosphere and mood that was almost a third character in the show. When it moved, a vital element seeped away and it changed. And, I might point out, it only lasted a couple more seasons. We don’t want that to happen to Just Between Us.”
The execs looked at each other, and the woman on the left nodded. The others shrugged, and Mitch tapped the keyboard in front of him to move on to the financial projections. As he might have expected, the numbers got more attention than a discussion of production values, but that was okay.
A move to New York was wrong on so many levels that every point he could make only added to the solidity of his case.
At last, he wound up with, “You should know that CBS and SBN have made very lucrative offers to Eve and her team, and she turned them down in favor of CWB simply because the others wanted her to move to New York. Please reconsider this move, ladies and gentlemen. It would not be in the best interests of the show, its personnel, the network…or our viewers.”