Читать книгу Risky Business of Love - Yahrah St. John - Страница 6

“You’re on in five.” Cameraman Lance Johnson pointed the lens on Ciara Miller, general assignment reporter for Philadelphia’s WTCF-FOX Channel Twenty-Nine News.

“Wait a sec,” Ciara replied, smoothing down her shoulder-length hair with one hand while holding the microphone in the other. She was about to speak when the roar of ambulance sirens screamed in the background. Once they were no longer within earshot, she turned away from the devastating murder-suicide scene in front of her on a balmy afternoon in early July.

Lance smiled as he looked through the lens. Ciara was breathtaking. He was captivated by her smooth bronze skin, brilliant hazel eyes, full lips and defiant chin. Ciara had a way of seducing the camera with her delicately carved features and exotically high cheekbones. The honey-blond hair surrounding her oval-shaped face only added to her allure. The new hair color was daring but not too bold as to offend viewers. She’d said she wanted to make a statement, and that she had. Ciara was always the epitome of fashion and today was no exception. She was wearing killer-red Prada pumps, a slim black skirt and a vibrant red silk blouse.

He’d known Ciara for the last five years since they’d both begun working at WTCF fresh out of college. Barely making minimum wage, they’d been paired together and had instantly developed a rapport. Their long hours and grunt work had paid off as they’d steadily moved their way up the newsroom ladder. Ciara was now a staff reporter and Lance an assistant photographer, but Ciara had bigger dreams and he knew she would achieve them; the girl had tenacity.

Lance gave her a thumbs-up signal, lifted the camera on his shoulder and directed it her way. Poised and ready for battle, Ciara gave the on-screen intro to her package for the second block of the five o’clock news.

“The scene here today turned deadly for a young wife and mother,” Ciara said as the camera focused in on the Spanish-style home that now served as a crime scene. “Hector Rodriguez accused his wife of infidelity and then turned the gun on her and then himself late yesterday evening. Witnesses say that Mrs. Rodriguez came home yesterday to discover her husband enraged after she was late coming home from work. Neighbors say they heard loud voices before hearing gunshots. Authorities indicate that Hector Rodriguez trashed the home in a jealous rage before shooting himself and his wife. Detectives indicate that a full investigation will take place. This is Ciara Miller reporting for WTCF-FOX News.” Ciara smiled into the camera.

“How was I?” she asked, batting her long curly eyelashes at her best friend and coworker. She absolutely adored Lance. He knew her inside and out. She could always be real with him. It was a shame he was so darn smart and good-looking, and with that athletic physique she could eat him up with a spoon. “Unh, unh, unh, unh,” Ciara murmured, shaking her head. But she couldn’t go there, they’d decided a long time ago that they’d rather have a platonic relationship than ruin a great friendship.

“Beautiful as always,” Lance replied, turning off the camera and closing the lens cover. “And you know that.” He set the camera inside the open OB truck that he used to send live feeds back to the newsroom.

“Yeah, I do,” Ciara said grinning, “but a little praise never hurt.” She watched the medical examiner’s van drive away as the police secured the perimeter of the crime scene.

Lance wrapped the cord around his arm and walked it back to the truck. “Since when do you need to be told you’re fabulous? You know you’ve got what it takes.”

“Have you told that to Shannon recently?” Ciara asked. “Because she won’t give me a break. She keeps sending me out for lightweight entertainment stories. Today was the first time I’ve gotten to report breaking news.”

Ciara had tried for months to convince WTCF’s new television director, Shannon Wright, that she was more than a pretty face, to no avail. Had Shannon even looked at her résumé?

She’d been at the top of her class at Johns Hopkins and had obtained a master’s degree in journalism at Columbia University. She’d worked at Columbia’s television station, the Columbia Daily Spectator and the yearbook. She was a member of the National Association of Black Journalists and had worked at the station for over five years. She’d started out as a production assistant before moving on to become a general assignment reporter.

Ciara excelled at pushing herself. So what if that interfered with her cultivating lasting personal relationships; she was willing to make the sacrifice to get to the top of the heap. Her looks wouldn’t last forever. Talent was the key.

“You’ll have your day,” Lance said. “You just have to be patient.”

“As you well know, patience is not one of my virtues,” Ciara replied.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Lance laughed, opening the passenger side. “You’d better get in. I’ve got to get back and edit the footage.”

Ciara hopped up in the van and buckled her seat belt while he closed the door. Lance may have thought that was the end of it, but Ciara had other ideas.

“Now is not the right time for me to announce my candidacy,” Jonathan Butler said to his father, Congressman Charles Butler, and Reid Hamilton, his father’s chief of staff and personal adviser. They were in his father’s office strategizing on Jonathan’s campaign while his father paced the floor reciting the speech he was going to give to the press the following day. “I should let you step down first. I don’t want to appear overly zealous.”

Charles smiled as he watched his son. Admiration shone through in his oval-shaped brown eyes at his son’s stately presence. Six foot three with massive shoulders, his son towered over other men, including him. He carried himself with the same dignity and grace that Charles had conveyed during his twenty-five-year tenure serving the good people of Philadelphia. He had a bright future ahead of him and had done the right thing starting off in law before becoming an alderman. Charles was sure that Jonathan would be as capable a leader as he was. It was just a shame that he had to step down because of a heart condition.

“Why not announce it at your father’s retirement press conference tomorrow? It would be a prime opportunity with maximum coverage,” Reid replied.

“I agree with Reid,” his father said. “Capitol Hill has been rumoring for months that you’ll take over my seat. Why not end all the speculation?” Charles was sure the press would be eager to meet his handsome, dark-haired son.

“How would it appear to the public if I announced my candidacy directly after your speech? It would show a complete lack of respect for what a wonderful congressman you’ve been. The public would see me as a capitalist.”

“There will never be a right time,” Charles Butler returned.

“That may be true, Dad, but now is definitely not it. I haven’t even hired a campaign manager or a media consultant.” He’d done some preliminary legwork by getting an office, but there was still more to be done.

Jonathan saw the shocked expression on Reid’s face. Reid must have assumed that because he served as his father’s campaign manager that he was the logical choice for Jonathan. Jonathan, however, had other ideas. He appreciated Reid’s input thus far, but he wanted someone he knew and trusted leading his campaign, and his best friend, Zach Powers, was just that man.

Jonathan intended to speak with Zach over lunch. Zach had just finished a successful campaign with Governor Green and Jonathan was sure Zach could do the same for him.

“I’m sorry, Reid.” Jonathan folded his arms across his chest. “I meant to speak with you. I hope there are no hard feelings?” Jonathan extended his right hand.

“No, not at all.” Reid returned the handshake and faked a smile.

His father spoke up on Reid’s behalf. “Jonathan…”

“It’s okay, Charles,” Reid interrupted him. “If Jonathan wants to hire his own right hand, leave him be.”

“No, it’s not fair,” Charles Butler huffed. “You’re practically a member of this family. Jonathan, why would you even think of going with a stranger?”

“Dad, I’ve made my choice and I don’t intend on arguing about this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few items to attend to.” Jonathan grabbed his overcoat and leather briefcase sitting on the floor and headed out the door.

Once the door closed, Charles faced his best friend and closest adviser. “Don’t worry, Reid. I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t bother,” Reid said. “If your son feels he can find a better man to lead his team then by all means let him.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Charles patted Reid’s back and walked back to his desk.

“No problem,” Reid said and grabbed the folder of notes he’d previously prepared on Jonathan’s campaign and walked to the door. “I’ll leave you to your speech.” Reid closed the door behind himself.

Livid, he stalked back to his office and shut the door. He slammed the file on his maple desk and plopped down in his swivel chair.

How dare that two-bit snot disrespect him in such a manner? After everything he had done for the Butler family, after all the hours he’d spent, the personal sacrifices he’d made and Jonathan dared hire another manager? Who did he think had helped Charles get elected? Reid was responsible for Charles Butler’s successful twenty-five-year run in Congress every bit as much as the man himself.

Reid knew the ins and outs of politics more than most. He’d had over thirty years in the business. He’d run all of Charles Butler’s campaigns and won every single one of them. Jonathan had no idea what it took to win an election. What he needed was to be taught a lesson—he couldn’t mess with a real man. Reid would show him that he would not be tossed away like the gum on the bottom of his preppy-boy shoe.

Oh yes, Reid mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Jonathan Butler was in for a rude awakening.

Ciara and Lance returned to the station with a few hours to spare to put the entire piece together for the five o’clock news.

They rushed down the hall, parting ways at the studio control complex and newsroom. The studio was bustling as the stage crew prepared for the evening’s newscast. WTCF-FOX Channel Twenty-Nine was one of the smaller television stations in Philadelphia and that was fine with Ciara. Opportunities were always more plentiful at a local station.

Ciara walked over to her desk and turned on her computer while listening to the police and fire department scanners for breaking stories. She was organizing her notes when her boss, WTCF’s television news director Shannon Wright, stopped by her desk.

Tall and frail with dull, lifeless red hair and brown eyes, Shannon wasn’t much to look at and could use a serious makeover, but when it came to the station, Shannon was the top dog and Ciara was stuck with her.

“So, how’d it go? Did you have any trouble?”

Ciara turned around and stared at Shannon. What did Shannon think—that she was a newbie? She was capable of putting a package together.

“Yes, Shannon, I have it all together,” Ciara replied, placing her notes back in the folder.

“Were you able to get an interview with a member of the family?”

“No, I’m sorry. They weren’t giving any interviews.”

An annoyed look crossed Shannon’s pale face. “Did you try, Ciara?”

“Of course I did, Shannon,” Ciara said exasperatedly. “No one else got interviews either. The grandparents arrived and spirited the children away before the press could ask any questions.”

Shannon nodded. “What’s your angle then?” Shannon sat beside Ciara’s desk.

“How abuse can happen in a small neighborhood and no one knows anything about it. Thought maybe I could explore further and do a piece about women’s shelters.”

Shannon smiled. “Sounds preachy, Miller.” She stood and folded her arms across her chest. “As reporters, we’re supposed to report the news, not make broad assumptions.”

“I know that, Shannon, I just thought we could make this story more human and not focus solely on the victims.”

“You’re too soft, Miller,” Shannon lectured. “You’ve got to toughen up or you won’t last long in this business.”

Shannon swiftly walked away, leaving Ciara feeling completely defeated. Why did she insist on riding her so hard? From day one she’d taken an instant disliking to Ciara and she couldn’t figure out why.

Ciara took a deep breath and calmed herself. It would not be to her advantage to get on Shannon’s bad side. Without her approval, a reporter’s packages might never see the light of day. Somehow she had to convince Shannon that she was a valuable part of the WTCF family. She had to believe that one day soon Shannon would realize what a gem she had.

After Shannon had left, Ciara walked down the hall to the studio control complex, hoping to review Lance’s footage for the day, when she received a call on her cell.

Opening her flip phone, Ciara answered, “Hello?”

“Baby girl, is that you?” Diamond Miller asked from the other end.

Ciara rolled her eyes heavenward. “Who else would be answering my phone?” she replied sharply.

“No need to get snippy, Ciara,” Diamond replied.

“Sorry,” Ciara apologized halfheartedly. “What can I do for you, Diamond?” She called her mother by her first name because Diamond refused to be thought of as the mother of a twenty-eight-year-old daughter.

“Well, uh…” Diamond paused as she flipped open her baguette purse and pulled out a box of slim cigarettes. “I was hoping you might be able to spare a little cash.” She smiled at the bartender as he pushed a free cocktail in front of her. Diamond gave him her best head toss and wink. He beamed. Works every time, she thought. She returned her attention to her only daughter. “I’m a little short on cash. C’mon, help your mama out.”

Ciara sighed. “I just lent you money last month, Diamond. Really, this borrowing has got to stop. I’m not made of money, you know.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Diamond laid it on thick. “It’s just that I had a bad night at poker with the girls.”

Ciara doubted that was the real reason. Since she’d been a child, Diamond had been terrible with money. Ciara supposed that it was because even at forty-five her mother still looked like a goddess. Nary a wrinkle could be found on her smooth brown skin, and dancing had kept her fit. But what could Ciara expect from a former Las Vegas showgirl?

“Diamond, I don’t know if I can swing it. I’ll have to check my finances and get back with you.”

“Promise me it’ll be soon.”

“I promise,” Ciara said, closing the phone. What had she ever done to deserve a mother like Diamond?

Jonathan was in the middle of reviewing a case he was consulting on with a colleague when his father walked into his office at City Hall later that afternoon.

“Jonathan,” Charles Butler began. “We need to talk.” He closed the door behind him and came toward Jonathan’s large cherrywood desk.

“I suppose you’ve come to plead Reid’s case,” Jonathan stated, putting the confidential file in his desk drawer.

“Of course,” his father replied. “Reid has been a big part of this family for years. He deserves your respect.”

“He’s been part of your life, Dad,” Jonathan replied. “Not mine.”

“Because of Reid, I never lost an election. I am retiring undefeated.”

“Bully for you,” Jonathan returned, “but that doesn’t change my feelings on the subject. I have never cared for Reid and I most certainly don’t want him running my campaign.”

“I understand,” Charles sighed. “To each his own, but you understand I had to try.”

“And your opinion is duly noted.” Jonathan stood. “But I’m my own man, Dad. And I decide who I want to run my campaign.”

“Fine, but at least throw him a bone.” His father would not let up. “Let Reid be your adviser. You know, make suggestions on the campaign.”

“That’s what I have Zach for,” Jonathan replied.

“I know. But do this for me.”

“All right, Dad,” Jonathan conceded. “Just as long as Reid and you understand that I run the show.” The days of Charles Butler running the show were over.

And to prove it, he met up with his best friend, Zach Powers, for dinner later that evening at the Prime Rib in Center City.

Jonathan had known Zach since boarding school, where they’d been roommates and had played lacrosse together. Even when they’d gone their separate ways in college, they’d still remained friends. Jonathan trusted Zach to have his back.

Jonathan smiled as Zach approached the table. Elegantly dressed in a tailored Gucci suit and Italian leather loafers, Zach was a major player and he knew it.

“It’s good to see you, Zach,” Jonathan said as his best friend joined him.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are we here? Why all the secrecy?” Zach asked, taking a seat opposite Jonathan.

“C’mon. You know the press as well as I do. If they smelled a story, it would be front-page news,” Jonathan replied. He paused when the waiter came over and filled the water glasses.

“I wanted to ask you in person to be my campaign manager.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard correctly. I want the best and brightest on my team. And that’s you.”

Jonathan had seen what Zach had done for Governor Green and Mayor Floyd. Both had been new to the political arena and had been facing tough competition from the incumbents, but Zach had adeptly convinced the public to vote for them. Zach was a skilled campaign manager and Jonathan intended to capitalize on his success, and it just so happened that he was finally available.

“You don’t have to lay it on so thick, Johnny boy. I’m your friend, so you know I’ll be there to support you. Whatever you need, I’m your man.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan shook Zach’s hand. “I knew I could depend on you.” He turned around to give the waiter his dinner selection of rack of lamb.

“What I don’t understand though, is why not Reid Hamilton?” Zach inquired. “He’s been your father’s right-hand man for years.” He stopped and gave the waiter his menu. “I’ll have the roast prime rib.”

“Reid may be the right man for my father, but he most certainly is not the right man for me,” Jonathan stated.

“Is there some sort of bad blood between the two of you?” Zach inquired, sipping on his mineral water.

Jonathan shook his head. On the surface, Reid was slick and smooth. Jonathan didn’t know if it was his smugness or the way he always seemed to know it all, but something about Reid rubbed him the wrong way. Call it intuition if you will, but he’d never liked the man.

“No, I simply don’t trust him.”

“Well don’t be afraid to speak your mind,” Zach replied. “Though I’m flattered by your faith in me, but are you sure you’re ready to go out into the minefield that is the political arena? You know there’s nothing but lions and bobcats.”

“I’m well aware of all the players,” Jonathan said confidently, “and I’m ready to play the game.”

“Are you sure?” Zach asked. “I thought you were having fun in the city council.”

“I was,” Jonathan replied, “but I’m ready for something new. Something bigger.”

“And are you ready for all the ladies that are about to fall into your lap? As a single congressman, every socialite on Capitol Hill is going to want to snag you.”

“The socialites you speak of are all interchangeable. I haven’t found a unique one out of the bunch.” He’d spent his life enjoying the fairer sex. It was no secret that he loved women, but none had ever sustained his attention for long.

“Maybe you’re expecting too much,” Zach offered.

“I want the total package. Attractive. Intelligent. Articulate. A sophisticated woman with a body made for sex.”

“You sure don’t want a lot,” Zach chuckled.

“I know, I know. It’s a tall order. Do you think such a woman exists?”

“Ah, you never know,” Zach said. “Mrs. Right could be right around the corner.”