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  A camera worker raised his hand and said, “So this new show promises we’ll all get our old positions back?”

  Josh nodded. “If you sign with IBC, you will be guaranteed a similar spot at similar pay, but on a different show.”

  “So it will pretty much be the same, right?”

  “More or less,” he said. Except IBC will be raking in the money.

  A small murmur rippled through the room. The only one who seemed truly horrified was Paige. “But it won’t be the same, guys.” She slammed her hand on the table. “Yeah, you’ll have your same job, more or less, but it won’t be with NYCBC. It will be with this pigheaded company that doesn’t care about you. He’s not doing this because he’s worried you’ll lose your job, guys. He’s doing it because it’s illegal to tear away hundreds of people’s jobs without warning.”

  A few sets of eyes turned to him accusingly and he slapped on a reassuring smile. “Ms. Alexander here doesn’t know my story. In fact, she has no idea who I really am.” He cleared his throat, softening his face as he prepared for the final sell. “I once worked for a small company much like NYCBC. I was the lowest guy on the totem pole, and it made for a turbulent ride sometimes. But my goal was to rise. To the top.

  “I needed to stay employed and work toward my dreams. I know what it’s like to go through changes like this, because I’ve been there…but it’s all part of business. Who knows where you’ll end up?”

  He motioned to himself. “Here I am, in the highest ranks of IBC, which is now one of the largest entertainment providers in the entire nation. Just go with the flow, and protect your greatest asset. Yourself.”

  He winked and smiled, feeling like he could have recited that speech in his sleep. Maybe even while in a coma. “Any more questions?”

  Everyone was silent. Josh smiled again. “Great. Thanks to everyone for coming. With your help, this will be really easy, and I bet no one will notice a single change was made. I’ll need the paperwork back as soon as you can, signing to stay with IBC or signing to amicably disengage.”

  All stood and filed out of the room. Gary lingered behind the others, but Paige remained in her chair, glaring at Josh like a devil doll in the corner. Gary motioned discreetly for her to follow, but she ignored him. Gary finally left the room with a small sigh and what looked like a plea to the heavens.

  Josh piled his materials back into his briefcase and clicked it shut, wondering when she’d speak. It wouldn’t be him. He’d more than happy to make this the most awkward game of chicken she’d ever played.

  Finally, she walked toward him. “I have a question.”

  “Please share.” His eyes slid off the sharp curve of her waist, down her hips, and all the way to the floor, where her well-shaped legs ended in a pair of heels he suspected she might use as a weapon if they stayed alone in this room much longer.

  “Do you have a conscience?”

  The question surprised him, but he managed to keep it from showing. First time anybody had asked him that in what felt like millennia of breaking people’s hearts. “Of course.”

  “I won’t make this easy for you.”

  “I figured as much.”

  She was silent as she stared at him. A shiver ran through his body. Despite her anger, despite the cutting words and fiery obstinacy, he was ridiculously attracted to her. But what sense was that? Was this a new fetish in his life?

  “If you say you can relate so well to us…then why don’t you have any compassion whatsoever?” Her tone was honest and devoid of the usual edge he’d experienced so far.

  He sighed, like explaining to a child for the hundredth time why they couldn’t have any candy. “I have compassion. I’ve just come too far in this business to dole it out to each company—let alone each person—that feels offended when IBC steps in. Business is business, okay? You win some, you lose some. Any other cliché you’d like to hear?”

  She studied the table. “That’s bullshit.”

  “Sorry, Paige. It’s the truth.” The woman might be a bombshell, but she was fighting a losing battle. Her show was dead, and no amount of emotional cajoling could shake his rock-hard corporate foundation. “I’m sure you have tons of work to do, being that you only have a few days left on the show. So, I’ll be seeing you later.” With a smile that made his cheeks hurt, he left the room.

  ****

  As Josh closed the door behind him, Paige imagined a smug wake, reeking of cologne and wealthy man-creams and glowing green like the radioactive ooze of video games.

  But what she didn’t have to imagine was the way those black dress pants caressed his ass on his way out the door.

  She blinked.

  How could she think of tight asses and that ridiculous dimple in her arch nemesis’ cheek when her show was dying? Or the way his green eyes had not only seen her, but completely consumed her when he’d entered the room—as if she were a source of sustenance for him?

  In a way, maybe it was true. He was feeding on her brainchild show and using it to nourish his greedy corporation and hijack her viewership.

  She gulped back a wave of tears and stared at her hands, unblinking, until the tears in her eyes dried and her take-no-shit attitude returned. There was still a chance to make things turn her way. Even though the show was nearing its final breath, there was no room for slacking.

  Paige stormed out of the office and toward the production room. “Raymond, we have to win this battle.”

  Ray turned sharply. “You have that crazy look again.”

  “Do I? Do you think it’s convincing enough?”

  “It’s convincing me to run straight out of this room.”

  “Don’t tell me that what that dickhead Lambert said in there didn’t piss you off.”

  Raymond paused. “I’ll only answer you after you get that crazy look out of your eye.”

  Paige’s anger rose. “What?”

  “You’re getting scarier.”

  “You mean you actually listened to what he had to say?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, what can we actually do? It’s done. They bought the whole company, and our show goes with it. Better to just go with it like he said…”

  They’d all drank the Kool-Aid. She was the only clear-headed one left in the company. “What are you talking about?”

  “Okay, you’re starting to approach me angrily. Listen, Paige—I love this show. I love you, and I love everything about how we have things now. But if this is so far out of our control, don’t you think we could at least give it a shot?”

  “No.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “It won’t be the same. We’ll still have jobs, but not this job.” The idea of not making the familiar commute to work, starting with the friendly wave to the station driver who came to get her every morning at eight a.m., to the alternating frustration and bliss experienced in the midst of rush hour traffic, made her stomach plummet.

  What would life be like without this job? The future was a black abyss, and Josh the firm shove off the cliff. “Everything will be under his jurisdiction,” she continued. “Who knows what we’ll have to do or where we’ll go? We’ll probably be background accessories for whatever hosts he decides to hire. Like the coat rack. We’ll be the coat racks.”

  “Calm down, I really don’t think he’d—”

  “We’ve got to appeal to the public. Josh will have to listen if we have a hundred thousand angry viewers pounding on the doors of IBC.”

  “Not necessarily. We don’t have the sway power of a show like Dateline, or the Today Show. We’re still local, even though we’ve branched. Our viewership is big but unlikely to get too involved.” Raymond’s mouth drooped. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “So are you telling me you’re actually going to sign to stay with these freaks?”

  A strange movement at the corner of the set caught her eye before Raymond could respond. A person stepped out of the shadow, smiling.

  Josh Lambert.

  “Jesus,” she muttered,
cheeks flushing as she snatched her script. “He’s back.” The only thing more annoying than finding him on set was the way her heart rate had doubled. And it wasn’t from the tirade against IBC, either.

  “I just wanted to watch how production goes on set here,” he called out, addressing all the curious sets of eyes on him.

  “Like you give a shit.” Paige snapped.

  Josh glared at her as he walked the length of the set. She couldn’t help but check out the butt of his pants. All animosity aside, Josh Lambert was a visual delight. She had never seen a man more perfectly proportional. Catching him in the periphery caused an instantaneous head jerk and palm sweat.

  His downfall, however, was he was a corporate talking head, and she wanted him to shrivel into nothingness so she could forget he’d ever existed.

  But she couldn’t help but wonder what was under that sleek black suit of his. Chest hair? A lot, or maybe just a little? She could imagine a medium amount. What sort of underwear? And muscles. He probably had muscles given how that suit looked…

  Stop it. You have enough distractions as it is. You don’t need to add Josh Lambert to the list.

  But she had to admit that when it came to eye candy, Josh fit the bill in every way possible. It was something in his face. She didn’t know what—maybe the dimples that flashed during one of his evil grins. At any rate, it seemed as if his face could be used for a scientific study on beauty. Dimple to mouth width to nose slant ratio. Her fingers flexed involuntarily and she swallowed. Mind on the job.

  Yet her pulse refused to resume its normal rate. She forced her eyes to her lap, struggling to still her knee, which bounced nervously. She jerked her head up at the scraping of a nearby chair. Josh had dragged a chair directly in front of Paige’s seat and sat reclined, hands folded behind his head.

  He grinned. “Pretend like I’m not here.”

  Impossible. A smug smile stuck to his face. Not only did she have to be so on her viewers would understand this really was the end, but she had to do it while the Grim Reaper of Daytime Television sat comfortably in front of her, watching the demise of her brainchild and smiling like a jerk. Like a Jerk Lambert.

  “I have a feeling you’re the type of person I wouldn’t have a hard time ignoring,” she said. “So consider your advice taken.”

  The live-air light snapped on. She wasn’t sure what he would have said if it weren’t for being live, but the look of surprise etched on his face was the last thing she saw before she locked eyes with the camera.

  Chapter Two

  Josh left the NYCBC Building that afternoon with a headache and a hard-on. How could one woman inspire two drastically different reactions? He wanted to fuck her and fire her.

  After the show had ended and he’d approached her for conversation, she’d leapt out of her chair and started reading him the riot act. She was dangerous and impulsive.

  Add gorgeous to that list, too. He rubbed his face as he waited for his limo. Her on-screen intelligence and humor made her likeable. Combined with that divine body of hers, Josh doubted his ability to keep her the professional arm’s length away he preferred when working with new talent.

  Though he was pretty sure she’d make it easier for him—there was a snowball’s chance in hell she’d sign to stay with IBC. Even if she did sign and they ended up working together, Paige probably had additional tricks up her sleeve to keep someone like him away. Maybe an invisible force field, like those dog fences, and if Josh touched her, an ear-piercing shriek would sound that only he could hear.

  He hadn’t been lying when he said the workers would all have positions with the new company. The set workers were guaranteed their same position, at mere cents less per hour. Redistributing camera operators was cake—the hosts, however, were the problem. Sure, he could secure them a job…It just won’t be anything they’re going to like.

  If Paige decided to stay, she was easily the biggest problem facing him. Once she found out what he had in store for her…well…he didn’t want to think about it. He’d known the lady for six hours and he was terrified of her.

  IBC had among its ranks two shows prepared to accept Raymond and Paige as new additions—but they weren’t being sent together, and it was nothing like what they did now. The new show set to replace A New York Minute was called Wakin’ Up. While similar to A New York Minute, Paige couldn’t be at the forefront. The host was already secured, and had been for a long time. This meant he’d have to create a spot for her….and satisfying that daytime dynamite was a lost cause. Josh was sure the only thing she’d settle for was her show back or his public humiliation. Or possible hanging. Hell, she might even prefer the latter.

  The truth was, Wakin’ Up was a lame attempt to capitalize on the success of A New York Minute and other shows like it, and IBC demanded full rights, their brand, their viewership, the whole works. They had the money to buy out small gigs like NYCBC, so it wasn’t hard to spot a small company raking in a big audience and shove enough money at them to make them sell. The financier behind this deal had a reason for wanting his host in the spotlight, and the kickback Josh was getting for doing this was too big to refuse.

  He’d seen this trouble coming and probably even more was headed his way—but for what he was set to earn, he’d weather any storm. Paige could talk a bitchy game, but she’d roll over like the rest.

  Based on all the anti-corporate talk from her today, he gave it less than a 1% chance she’d sign the contract. It was probably better that way.

  Because if she did sign, his job would go from unsavory to damn near impossible.

  ****

  “Oh, sweetie, you’re late.”

  Josh forced a smile. “Hi, Bridgette.”

  The dinner was a formality, a way to smooth over the final details with her before things took off with the new gig. Bridgette was the host of Wakin’ Up, a total noob but gorgeous as hell. He’d made the mistake of spending a few nights with her when they first met over a year ago; most of the details were fuzzy, but champagne bottles had come and gone in a blur, and his last solid memory was Bridgette mentioning her favorite shade of white for weddings.

  These days she was an annoying gnat, pestering him with text messages and phone calls far too personal for his taste. But his distance and emotional absence only made her more persistent, a fact that made his insides wrench with disdain. Months. They would be working together for months. If not years.

  “How did your meeting go? Tell me all about it—I have to know. I ordered an appetizer already, if you’re hungry.

  He sat across from her at the table, smiling politely to a waiter. This was his local business meet-up spot and most everyone knew him here. His favorite drink—sparkling water, two limes and a cherry—always arrived without asking. “It went well.”

  Bridgette’s face hardened. “So. How was it?”

  He didn’t need the clarification to know who she referred to. Bridgette despised Paige—intensely—in a way Josh had seen only in the entertainment business. In the same way some carved wooden chess pieces as a hobby, on the west coast people wreaked havoc in the industry, creating warfare, divisions, alliances. Though it was easy enough to see that Bridgette desired Paige’s reputation and experience. Jealousy, in this field, often came out sideways as hatred.

  As the aspiring actress and fame-seeking niece of the highest-ranking partner in the company, Bridgette’s part in the deal had been secure since the initial rumblings. Josh’s job, as stipulated by his confidentiality clause and motivated by his fat paycheck, was to smooth over the shut-down of NYCBC and help launch the new show, all while appeasing Bridgette and molding a good host out of her as she awaited her big break. A big break that was sure to come under Josh’s tutelage.

  It was the perfect set-up. For Josh, because he’d grown tired of the skyscraper-office life and his higher-ups knew it. They wanted to keep him and their money. So what better way to make everyone happy than to put Josh back in front of the camera—his first and origina
l passion—while furthering the boss’ personal agenda?

  It was a godsend for Bridgette, too, because he knew how unlikely this casting would be if she were anyone other than his boss’ favored niece. Bridgette’s uncle was a bloodhound for money—and having a potential Hollywood star in the family meant a lot of things to all involved.

  It wasn’t like Josh could turn down this offer, either. Money was one thing, but the other was that Bridgette’s uncle had given him a hand more than a few times, in both promotions and opportunities. He could never have said no to the man and expected to keep his job at IBC—something that hadn’t been stated but just felt.

  “Paige is a pistol. I guess that’s all I can really say.”

  “I watched her show. She looked stressed.”

  And gorgeous as hell. Sitting in front of her for the taping had been a bad choice, as he was privy to every flex and flinch of her legs as she crossed and re-crossed those sleek thighs for over an hour. Her fiery anti-Lambert stance made any potential fantasies involving Paige a basic no-go, as not even in his mental space would he be able to pretend she didn’t hate him.

  He couldn’t think about it. Not now, not ever. He had a job to do, and so did she. That’s how it needed to stay.

  But he severely doubted his ability to keep his mind on anything but Paige as long as there remained a chance they were going to be working together. He hadn’t received her disengagement paperwork immediately as he’d expected, and he checked his email more obsessively than normal, waiting to see what he’d have to do in regards to Paige and Raymond. What if she chose to stay on? He’d have to send her to the new show—where both he and Bridgette were—and what then?

  Overseeing and hosting a new show was one thing. Wrangling Bridgette and keeping her from falling on her face was another. With Paige’s body hovering within a mile radius at every second of every day, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last out there. They were going to paradise, but he suspected the whole thing would be a bit more like hell for him.