With no time to process what had just happened, she thought she’d make a complete hash of the show, but instead, she found herself drawn right into the topic: the chemistry of love. Nicole had produced a researcher from the local university, and the man was only too happy to explain his life’s work to her. And in view of the last half hour, it was illuminating.
“It’s a well-known fact that job loss is one of the greatest contributors to male depression,” the guy said. “But what we’ve discovered is that rejection-which is what losing a job really is, right?-causes the production of testosterone in a man’s body to drop. That’s what leads to depression, withdrawal and loss of self-esteem.”
“So what can he do to come out of it?” Eve leaned in to ask. Was this a sign from heaven, or what? Bless Nicole. She was getting a raise for this.
“Well, he can go down to the gym and shoot some baskets,” the researcher said, “or he can make love to his wife.”
“Hear that, ladies?” Eve asked the audience. “If any of you have unemployed partners out there, your duty to his testosterone is clear.”
The audience cracked up, and she finished with her monologue, feeling as though a lightbulb had gone off in her head. She couldn’t do anything about Mitch’s decision to end it with CWB, but by God, she could help him through what had to be the most stressful afternoon of his life.
Boy, could she help. He’d already said he had plans for her desk, hadn’t he?
She sprinted up the stairs and arrived in her office breathing fast with anticipation. Would he be there? He had to be. He couldn’t have gone off to his cave at a moment like this, not when she had the cure for what ailed him-
“Eve?”
He turned from the window when she burst in. “Oh, thank God. I was convinced you’d be on that plane.”
“I should be. I need to start networking. Putting out feelers. Talking to people. You know the drill.”
He sounded so distant. But she wouldn’t let him get away with it. Not with your testosterone levels circling the drain. Have I got a cure for you. The marvels of modern-and very ancient-chemistry.
“I have a better idea.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed up against his back. “Seems to me you made some rash promises about my desk. Want me to lock the door?”
He chuckled and turned, and his arms went around her. This was more like it. “Believe me when I say I’d like nothing better-if I can take a rain check. You understand, don’t you? I’m shell-shocked right now. My brain is zooming at top speed-only it’s going in circles.”
“Mine is, too,” she said against the soft wool of his suit jacket. “But you’re in the middle. I meant what I said down there in the studio, Mitch. About-” Do it. Dive right in, like he did. “-about loving you. I want to make sure that, at least, is clear between us.”
He drew back to look into her eyes. “How can you love an unemployed failure? A woman like you-beautiful, the one everyone wants? The self-made woman who pulled herself up from tragedy to be a celebrity? Trust me, Eve, you have a whole world of choices out there. You don’t need to settle for what’s at hand.”
Loss of self-esteem. She was going to have to invite that researcher back. The man was a gold mine.
“You’ve been reading too many headlines. A woman would be crazy not to grab a guy who would sacrifice himself and his career to protect her happiness. And believe me, I ain’t crazy.”
Gently, he set her away from him, and a chill prickled over her skin. Withdrawal.
“I need some time alone. We both do. I think it would be best if-”
A muffled sound from behind her closed office door made them both turn. “No! I absolutely forbid it,” Dylan said outside.
“She’s got to know,” a female voice said. “Better I tell her than she gets blindsided in the hall or worse, during town hall tomorrow.”
“Girl, you ain’t goin’ in there and showin’ her that. What kind of a friend are you?”
Whatever it was must be serious if it made Dylan revert to what he called “informal speech.”
“Dylan?” Eve called. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” A torrent of hissed whispering ensued, and something thumped against the wood.
Eve crossed the room and jerked the door open. Nicole practically fell into her office, Dylan right behind. Each of them hung onto a side of a rag-mag that Eve recognized as the Peachtree Free Press.
Nicole gave a final yank and ripped the tabloid out of Dylan’s hands. Flushed with triumph, she glared at him, then turned to Eve.
“Some people might think it’s better to keep you in the dark, but I thought you’d want to see this,” she said.
“What?” Eve took the paper.
And then everything seemed to fall away as time ground to a halt.
TV MILLIONAIRE’S SECRET REVEALED
EVE BEST IS TYCOON’S DAUGHTER
Eve Best, the darling of daytime talk shows, Atlanta’s go-to girl for everything the city wants to know about sex and relationships, has been hiding a relationship of her own. No, not the handsome executive arm candy from CWB recently seen squiring her about town. This relationship goes deeper into the dark secrets of her past.
A recent investigation has revealed that Eve, supposed daughter of the late Gibson Best, who died tragically in a car accident in 1990, is not Gibson’s daughter at all. Rather, she is the illegitimate child of tycoon Roy Best, Gibson’s brother, who married socialite and Atlanta Ballet Theatre director Anne Delancey in 1985.
A close family friend, who declined to be named, has known the ugly truth for years and only recently was prevailed on to bring it to light. “I’m no gossip, mind,” says the source, “but those boys confided in me right up until they went away to college. I’ve kept my mouth closed for nearly thirty years, but that poor girl deserves to know that her father did not die in that crash. Her real father, that is.”
All Atlanta knows that, as a member of the old-money set, Best used her social connections and obligations to pull some golden strings, propelling her from the obscure position of junior weathergirl to that of Atlanta’s most popular TV star. But how far will she go now that it’s known she’s not entitled to the Best name in quite the way she thought?
According to our source, Loreen Calvert Best became pregnant by Roy Best just before he went away to Yale. Gibson went to school, too, but before he left, he married the deserted Loreen in a secret ceremony attended only by our source as witness. When Roy came home, he went into business, trading on the Best name to attain a fortune in the electronics and then the real estate markets. He married Anne Delancey in what was then billed as the Wedding of the Year, and two other children followed immediately.
Repeated calls to Eve Best at CATL-TV have gone unanswered. Roy Best has refused comment.
The investigative staff at Peachtree Free Press challenge Eve Best to come out of hiding and tell her viewers the real story. After all, why should she put the blinding spotlight on the secrets of others on live television when she’s so unwilling to bring her own to the light of day?
Eve looked up, and Dylan flinched. She could only imagine what her face must look like. Nicole reached out a tentative hand and laid it on Eve’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Nobody could be fine after reading something like this.”
Mitch took the paper from her and scanned the article. “It’s a bucket of lies, Eve. They’re just trying to sell more of their lousy rag.”
“You’ve never heard this rumor before?” Nicole asked.
“Never.” But the word rang hollow. Because it would explain that photo. And Adele Pierce-so obviously the paper’s so-called source-who had said Uncle Roy needed to clean up his mess. And Aunt Anne at dinner, behaving so strangely. What had she said? Something about the truth.
“I have to talk to my uncle,” Eve blurted. “Today. This minute.”