A New York Minute Read online

  Table of Contents

  A New York Minute

  Publication Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Also Read

  Thank You

  A New York Minute

  by

  Ember Leigh

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A New York Minute

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Ember Leigh

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0545-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0546-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Sabrina and Jill, for their most excellent and enduring assistance.

  Chapter One

  An abnormal flurry of movement from the side of the set yanked at Paige’s calm. She didn’t look—couldn’t look when the cameras were rolling—but sensed someone struggling to get her attention despite the Live-Air sign and the quiet trance of the crew.

  She and co-host Raymond had finished introducing the upcoming guest, a winemaker from middle Argentina turned artisan beer brewer in East Village. Once the standard excited smiles and silly quips had been delivered to the cameras, she flicked a smile to her right to catch a glimpse of the sidelines.

  Her manager, Gary, looking plump and a little disheveled as always, paced the side of the set, eyes on her like a laser beam. Stalking her during a live show wasn’t part of his daily managerial routine, and her stomach nosedived at the fact he was here at 12:47 p.m. when he should otherwise be in his office bent over paperwork.

  Paige continued with her segment, her delivery as solid as ever. Together for what felt like millennia, Gary had never once interrupted a live show to talk to her. He, like every other colleague, learned early on that sticking your head into a live taping was like putting your hand into the shark tank when the operator wasn’t looking. This was big. The sweat on his forehead didn’t bode well either.

  In fact, she had a pretty good idea what this was about.

  They segued into the commercial break, and as soon as the Live Air sign flicked off, Paige’s smile fell from her face as she rushed to the sidelines. “Did you hear from the lawyers?” Her words were sharp and fast like knife points. She had less than two minutes to get the scoop before she needed to be back in that chair.

  Gary’s belly jiggled as he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Sweat had stained his collar. “I did. We’ve got a problem.”

  Her stomach knotted further. “What is it?”

  His eyes darted all over her face. “Our negotiations failed. Infinity Broadcasting Corporation bought the company. They’ve offered millions for the time slot and even more for NYCBC as a whole. Our show has been cancelled. Effective next week.

  The news hit Paige in a gust of frigid air that forced itself into her throat, down her esophagus, and through every blood vessel in her body. She teetered, reaching for his arm as her vision closed in. This had to be a mistake. She’d been going to overpriced new age classes for weeks to figure out how to visualize her way out of this exact situation. None of the radiating white lights bursting from her gut and trickling through her limbs had worked. It had been a sham. They’d cancelled her show anyway.

  “What did you say?”

  Gary’s face reflected her disbelief. “I’m so sorry. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Shock and horror hung heavy in the air. The world beyond them slowed to a crawl; cameramen signaled in slow-motion, the clamor and bustle of the set dimmed to a dull roar. She swallowed, tongue meeting dry teeth. “The ratings,” she forced out. “The ratings are…”

  “It doesn’t have to do with viewership.” He squeezed her hand. “IBC bought NYCBC because we’re on the rise, and they want the market. They’re implementing their own programming.”

  A sick wave of emotion shivered through her stomach. “But what…but what about all of us? This is insane, Gary. This can’t happen.”

  Gary sighed. “It’s too far beyond our control.”

  Paige’s eyes shrunk to slits. “I demand to speak with the person in charge of this bullshit.”

  “There’s a meeting tomorrow a.m. You’ll get your chance. All of us will. Some bigwig of IBC is meeting with the cast and crew about the changes.”

  “No, I need to speak with them now.”

  “You need to finish this show. Tomorrow is your chance, but for now, get back on the air. I’m really sorry to break this to you now, but I knew you’d want to know sooner rather than later.” He pointed behind her at the live-air countdown. “Go.”

  The clock read thirty seconds. “I can do a lot in less than a minute, Gare. You know me.”

  “But now’s not the time. We’re gonna fight this tooth and nail, but there’s not a lot we can do here.” Gary pointed at the countdown clock again, and she opened her mouth to say something.

  “Go.” He squeezed her shoulder and walked away.

  Paige spun on her heels, chest constricted with the tumult of unspoken reactions. Her scalp tingled, and her vision went gray.

  “Everything okay?” Raymond murmured as she slumped into her seat. He, as well as the rest of the crew, had heard rumbles about the deal for weeks. They all had decided to continue as normal—or opt for pricey meditation classes—but the pins and needles had been palpable on set as they all awaited news of their fate. Paige wanted to puke.

  “Definitely not,” she spat out. “Gary told me the deal went through. NYCBC has been bought out.”

  Raymond cleared his throat, leaning close to her. The live-air clock continued ticking downward—seven, six, five. She took a shaky breath, repeating composure inside her head, so maybe she’d avoid an on-air breakdown that would become a talking point for the local gossip mags.

  “What the hell are you—?”

  The red light sprang to life, and Raymond snapped his mouth shut and beamed at the camera. The corners of her mouth turned up, a muscle memory linked to the Live-Air sign. Her fingers trembled as the opening music dissipated.

  “Welcome back, fans and viewers and lovers and all of you.” Her throat was tight, but her voice rang out as melodic as ever. She could convince anybody everything was fine, even during the apocalypse. “Before we say hola to the Argentinian brewer, I have a little request for you all.”

  The curiosity of the crew spiked. This was unscripted, and despite the frequent bouts of improv on the show, a request to the audience was rare.

  “We know how much you love our show, but sometimes we want to really feel it.�
�� She cast a playful smile to Raymond and then locked eyes with the camera.

  “We want you to call in, right now—seriously, put down the work report, drop the BLT, hang up with Grandma, whatever it is you’re doing, and call us right now and leave a message about how much you love us. Even if you don’t love us, and just sort of like us—like that awkward first date you had the other night and aren’t sure you’ll call back. Call in and drop us a line. I can’t tell you what this is for yet, but I promise it’s worth it.”

  “Come on, guys,” Raymond added, holding out his hands. “Aside from when she hasn’t had her coffee in the morning, we know we can trust Paige. Do it. Call in.”

  Paige repeated the studio number a few times, along with her request, and then leaned back in her chair, satisfied she’d gotten the boulder rolling. If they wanted to cancel her brainchild, they’d have to deal with the tsunami of protests first.

  Raymond steered the show back toward the artisan beer maker, who he welcomed onto the set to the roar of applause. From the sidelines, a set worker motioned for Paige’s attention.

  “Too many calls,” he hissed. “Tell them to stop.”

  She grinned and discreetly shook her head. She sweetened her smile as she shook hands with the guest, who took a seat in the comically overstuffed red chair between Paige and Raymond.

  Despite the way the rug had not only been pulled out from underneath her but also shredded to pieces and thrown out the window, the fact that she was strong and persuasive enough to get her way bolstered her.

  Paige would find the person responsible for this grave misstep and convince them it was the worst idea they’d ever had.

  When her livelihood and brainchild were at stake, she had no other choice.

  ****

  Joshua Lambert arrived at the NYCBC building wearing a smug smile and a well-fitted suit. He stepped out of the limousine and peered up at the top of the building.

  Piece of cake.

  The sun was bright and still climbing; far more people were bee-lining down the sidewalks than the west coast at a similar hour. As he approached the main doors, his reflection shined back at him: confident, preened, and as goddamn handsome as ever. His image promised youthful vigor and efficiency. His sexy smiles and coy winks promised a lot more.

  Josh entered the immense building, a pleasant waft of sterile lobby air greeting him. A receptionist at the main desk quietly directed him to the appropriate elevator, although he’d said nothing about who he was or where he was going.

  Despite the evident preparation, it didn’t matter how far they bent over for him or whether there was a moist towel waiting in the bathroom for him to wipe his ass. This meeting was a formality. The decision had been made. NYCBC couldn’t say no to the amount IBC had offered them—they’d be ridiculous to do so—and that hefty sum of money had been entirely financed by a deeply interested and technically anonymous IBC investor.

  Something murky was behind it all, but he didn’t care to know more. Bottom line, money was being shoveled at him to pull the plug on A New York Minute and the whole of NYCBC, and he had bags ready to catch the cash raining down on him. Business was business, a fact he’d learned years ago when he put his foot on the first rung of that ladder.

  The elevator dinged at floor thirty, and the doors slid open to reveal a busy yet immaculate reception area. He approached the secretary at the front desk, and her eyes widened as he approached.

  “Mr. Lambert. Hello. Come with me, please.”

  He followed her through a maze of hallways toward a door marked Private. She pushed it open and gestured inside, smiling nervously. Inside, ten pairs of eyes greeted him in silence.

  He entered the room, cheeks already twitching with the strain of keeping his smile. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Josh Lambert. How are we today?”

  The response was mostly mumbles and shifting eyes. He set down his briefcase, the empty seat meant for him positioned at the head spot of a gleaming, rectangular conference room table. “Glad we could—”

  “I’m very pleased you’re here.” A sharp voice cut through the air; a voice that not only unnerved him but also thrilled him. Distinctively throaty yet womanly.

  When his eyes connected with the speaker, his stomach shrunk to a knot. His jaw steeled as he forced his lips into a thin smile. “You must be Paige.” He cleared his throat. “So glad we could meet.”

  Anyone would be nuts not to put that woman in front of a camera. His eyes could barely stay off her body. The regular blonde host he’d glanced at once or twice while flipping channels at home turned out to be a not-so-regular bombshell. How had he ever seen her on TV without doing a double take? Not only was she gorgeous—short yet compact, features piercing enough to draw blood—she wore a look that meant business right now.

  He would know; it was a face he practiced in the mirror in the early stages of his career, when intimidating clients and sealing business deals was of the utmost importance. But that face wouldn’t shake him. He practically invented that face.

  “Too bad I can’t say the same,” she spat, propping her head against two fingertips as she stared him down from the other end of the table.

  Josh eased into his chair. Better to let that comment slide so early in the meeting. He admired the provocation on a technical level, yet wasn’t fond of stoking the fire so quickly. Nobody else had bothered to speak yet—maybe they’d elected Paige to do the whining on behalf of everyone, or maybe they were too afraid of her to speak up.

  “Mr. Lambert, let me just say it was wonderful of you to come.” A stout man approached him, offering his hand. “I’m Gary Rodriguez, Paige’s talent manager. We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us about this, despite what it might seem like.”

  They shook hands. The comment had to be a subtle barb at Paige; a confirmed fact when her face hardened and the room temperature dropped a few degrees. He’d been in her presence less than five minutes, and he suspected she held a strange power over her colleagues. An admirable talent.

  “Thanks, Gary. I want to thank you all for taking the time to attend this meeting.” He opened his briefcase. “I understand that there were some unexpected changes this past week—”

  “Changes that won’t be happening.”

  Her voice sliced through the air like a knife. It gave him chills. He laughed. “Ms. Alexander, this matter is a bit beyond your control. So yes, these changes will be happening.” He’d seen enough entertainment types act in bizarre and sometimes illegal ways after unexpected business changes, so he never underestimated the power of a disgruntled host.

  He glanced at her; her face remained neutral. She was either doing some heavy emotional processing, or imagining the ways in which she might attack him on his way out of the building. Something told him it was probably the latter.

  “I’ve come to offer everyone a settlement. This is our re-distribution plan as we dismantle and eventually restructure the existing framework of NYCBC.” He pulled out some papers and a low grumble spread through the meeting. “The choice is simple. Either work with us or don’t. You’re free to choose. But staying on with IBC has considerable benefits that I’m sure will interest all of you.”

  “Mr. Lambert, my name is Raymond Watkins.” A man a few seats down from him spoke up. “I co-host A New York Minute with Paige, and we’ve already heard what the idea is here.” He paused. “Frankly, no one is interested.”

  Josh had expected this. “Well, please humor me, if you will, and look at these sheets. You might be surprised.” He passed out a sheet to each employee. When he got to Paige, she had her arms crossed and stared obstinately away from him.

  “Here, Paige.” He held it out to her, catching a tantalizing glimpse of the tops of her breasts. They were natural, for sure. After decades in Hollywood, he could tell within seconds. “Just take a look. You might like it.”

  “You couldn’t pay me to be interested.”

  “But IBC has multiple popular, award-winning shows.�
�� His voice echoed hollow inside his head. “Some that are comparable to A New York Minute, I’m sure.”

  “Have you ever seen the show?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “Then you know that A New York Minute is fun, local, and involved and we have an enormous fan base.” She snatched the paper from his hands. “This idea right here—” She ripped the sheets in two. “Would never interest me in a thousand years.”

  He was speechless for a moment. All eyes were on him. “You’re only hurting yourself.” Again his voice rang hollow even to his own ears, something that had been happening more and more lately as he found himself in awkward spots between collapsing companies and this hulking, beast of a corporation.

  He admired Paige’s passion for her show. In fact, the mama-bear mentality toward it was something rare in the game these days. When was the last time he felt that way about his job? When he might be inspired to protect an idea and a passion, as opposed to a pay check?

  Josh wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that way. Besides, it didn’t matter. His pay-out was coming no matter what she thought about the transition. Self-preservation. “This new show will guarantee all your crew members a spot on set, all of your managers a job of equal or lesser standing, and your hosts,” he glanced at Paige, “an opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you took away the greatest opportunity of a lifetime. You have no idea. This show doesn’t even concern you, which is why you can march in here and fling papers around, pretending you care for our jobs. You have no idea how long I worked, how hard I worked, how—”

  “Paige.” Gary shot her a desperate look. “At least listen to him.”

  She looked as though she’d been slapped. “Gary, you know what I’m talking about here. You can’t let him—”

  “Mr. Lambert, I can see what you’re getting at,” Gary interrupted. “I promise you everyone will take a look at this, and we’ll let you know our decisions as soon as possible.”

  Paige sank into her seat, arms crossed and eyes ablaze.

  “Mr. Rodriguez, thank you very much for your help,” he said. “Now, are there any questions?” A tense silence settled, broken only by the shuffling of papers. No matter how many times he scanned the room, whenever he glanced at Paige, she was still watching him.