Causing a Commotion (3 page)

Chapter Two

Colin hated these parties. If Maxwell hadn’t insisted on him being here tonight, no way would he have attended this who’s who of Hollywood.

Not that he would have been able to do what he had planned. His foot hurt too damn much for playing the boys at the youth center in a game of hoops.

Had he not been in such a foul mood, he might have smiled at the memory of the sassy vixen who’d left a black and blue keepsake at the base of his toes when he’d made a remark perhaps he shouldn’t have made about her chose profession. It had been a long time since a woman stirred his interest, much less grabbed hold as the blond bombshell had. She’d been a feisty one that was for sure. Too bad she’d been an actress.

A bad-tempered one.

A sharp-heeled one.

He’d limped for an hour after her parting gesture. His foot still throbbed. Hell, she’d made him throb in places that hadn’t throbbed in a long time.

She’d bewitched him because he hadn’t been able to concentrate for the remainder of the day. Not on anything but the memory of her interested green gaze. An interest he’d returned, whether he’d wanted to or not. Not being the case. Women were trouble with all capital letters. A distraction he didn’t need.

Which is probably how Maxwell browbeat him into agreeing to attend this shindig.

Noting his arrival, his boss came over to where Colin lingered against a wall near the entrance. He had no desire to mingle amongst the other guests. This wasn’t his kind of crowd. He reported the news, not entertainment.

“You’re finally here.”

Colin shook his boss’ outstretched hand. Maxwell might work in an office all day, but his grip was as firm as Colin’s own. “You really didn’t give me much choice.”

“No.”

Colin cast a distasteful glance around the ballroom. Paparazzi and partygoers, famous and wannabes, packed the place. The entire scene made him sick to his stomach. “You going to tell me why I’m here?”

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“What?” Colin didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Maxwell wasn’t the kind of boss to fix him up on blind dates, surely? “Why here? Why not introduce us at the office like normal business?”

“I thought it best if your first meeting was away from the office.”

Bad vibes reverberated. Colin didn’t need journalistic instincts to know he wouldn’t like whatever his boss had brought him here for. “Who? Not a woman.”

“A woman? Why would you ask that?” Maxwell threw his head back in laughter. “Not hardly. The network is replacing your current producer, but not with a woman.”

“What?” He liked his producer. The guy came to work every day to collect his check and that was about all he did. He let Colin do as he wanted with his show. Which was exactly why Colin liked him. Little to no executive interference. The producer was happy. Colin was happy. Why would the network want to mess with a good thing? “Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“Mine.”

Maxwell’s? Shock flittered through him. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because your ratings are an embarrassment.” Maxwell flicked an invisible speck from his suit. “Wolf can’t afford to keep your show as is. We need higher profit margins and your show is one of the ways we’re going to get them.”

His show wasn’t about ratings or profit margins. It was about delivering the truth to the world. Or at least to those who cared to know the truth.

“You think a new producer is going to solve the rating problems?” He didn’t attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Or that the change to his show pissed him off. Sure, he worked for Wolf and ultimately, Maxwell called the shots, but someone should have discussed it with Colin first.

“Co-host?” If he’d been shocked before, the thought of having to share his show with another reporter-gone-talk-show-host floored him. “I don’t have a co-host for you to replace.”

Maxwell shrugged. “A problem soon remedied.”

“I don’t want a co-host.” Only two inches separated his face from Maxwell’s.

“I didn’t ask what you wanted.” Maxwell had a lisp that came out when he was upset or angry. From the shower to his face he guessed Maxwell had reached his limit on both.

He took out the ever-present white handkerchief from his pocket. Colin’s dad carried a handkerchief, and he’d always done the same. Always would. The tradition was one of the few things left of his father, one of the greatest reporters who’d ever told the news. He’d died delivering the truth, setting an example. Colin wouldn’t compromise his ethics. Not for ratings or higher profit margins.

“You really should do something about that.”

Maxwell grinned, not in the least annoyed by Colin’s comment. Or not letting it show if he was. “I am. I’ve hired a new producer for your show. You’ll respect him and do whatever he tells you.”

“If I don’t?”

“The network will sue.” Maxwell didn’t look overly concerned. “And, I’ll turn your show into a Betty Crocker puff piece with you as a daily patsy.”

“You wouldn’t.” Even as he said it, he knew Maxwell would do exactly that if he believed it to the benefit of the network. Maxwell lived for the network.

Which was why he didn’t quite trust his boss not to be at the root of whatever was going on behind the scenes at Wolf. If Maxwell thought it to Wolf’s advantage, he’d screw Colin in a heartbeat.

“Only through reputation, although I’ve briefly met him a few times. His earlier stuff was great, but the past few years he’s only produced crap, including that recent reality television drivel that everyone raves about.”

Maxwell didn’t appear surprised. Probably could name the date and times Colin met the producer. Maxwell was that thorough, that determined to be more successful than his old man ever thought about being. Marrying Maria Rosewood single-handedly swung the odds in his favor.

“He took a reality show to all new rating heights. The man knows his stuff. You should give him a chance.”

“Except for the odd malfunctions,” malfunctions he couldn’t convince himself were accidental, “that keep happening, my show is exactly as I like it right now. Leave it alone.”

“No. I have a board of directors and stockholders to answer to. From this point on, I hold you to the same standards as the rest of the company. Your numbers go up,” Maxwell’s face remained pro-poker player straight, “or else we’ll can the show completely and find a different use for your talents.”

Maxwell’s even tone and dark eyes raised the hair on Colin’s neck.

“You’re talking about destroying what’s left of my career. I won’t report claptrap.”

Maxwell laughed. “You wouldn’t have a choice if you ever wanted to work in television again. Wolf owns you for the next three years.”

Maxwell wasn’t exaggerating. At least, not by much.

Not about having the power to end his career should Wolf put the squeeze on him. Nor about Wolf owning him. At the time he’d signed his lucrative contract, he’d thought he was protecting his up-in-the-air-and-possibly-over career, protecting himself from an uncertain future. If only he’d known he was locking himself into a career prison.

Wolf had the right to tell him when he could eat, sleep, and take a…he gritted his teeth, staring the man square in the eyes and not budging an inch.

Maxwell’s poker face became agitated and the other man sighed. “Come on, Colin. It’s time to move forward with your life and your show. You’re in a rut, and we both know it.”

“You don’t know a thing about my life.” These days Colin wasn’t sure he did either. Once upon a time he’d breathed with a lust for life. Alcohol destroyed that lust. Just as it had for his father. Now, Colin took life one day at a time and walked a straight and narrow line. Life was much safer that way.

“I know it sucks to be you these days.”

“Thanks,” Colin smirked. “My life is just fine as it is. Better than ever,” he lied. “Why don’t you worry about your own life and leave mine alone?”

Maxwell’s forehead furrowed, giving him a menacing appearance. “My life is the stuff dreams are made of. Now, I’m going to introduce your new boss, and you’re going to be nice.”

Maxwell took hold of his arm and practically dragged Colin to where a man with bushy white hair chatted with two women.

As he’d thought on previous occasions, J.P. Scott reminded him of Einstein. On a bad hair day.

Colin felt like a fretful child being made to face a new school teacher. Not a comfortable feeling for a man who once crossed battle lines and faced powerful political adversaries intentionally and fearlessly.

A man who’d faced the bottle and won.

He faced that particular battle every single day of his life. But not without fear. Not without regrets.

“J.P., there’s someone I want you to meet. Colin Crandall.” Maxwell greeted the older man with a good-natured smile that belied the tension he’d just shared with Colin. Acting skills abounded at Wolf. “Although he says your paths have crossed.”

“A time or two.” J.P. agreed, sticking out his hand. “Crandall.”

Colin nodded and shook the producer’s hand. It wasn’t J.P.’s fault he didn’t want or need a new producer. Nonetheless sarcasm bit his words. “Maxwell says you’re my new producer. Reality television finally dying down?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” J.P.’s gaze shifted to Maxwell and silent messages passed. What was Maxwell up to? And why would an old-timer like J.P. Scott get involved with the Colin Crandall show? World news wasn’t J.P.’s style. “But I look forward to doing a long-overdue extreme make-over to your show.”

Colin opened his mouth to put the has-been who was trying to hang on to the glitter too long in his place. Better to serve the bitter truth to the few who would hear than to reach millions with nonsense. Instead, he bit his tongue, reminding himself that perhaps Scott didn’t want this producer job any more than Colin wanted him in the position. Perhaps he wouldn’t be any more hands on than the current producer. After all, Rob Lancaster co-produced
Jane Millionaire
. Scott had to be near retiring age. If nothing else, living in Hollywood for all these years had to have used up at least eight of the old man’s reported nine lives. Nothing was to be gained by antagonizing him.

Maxwell chuckled at J.P.’s comeback, then looked expectantly around the crowded ballroom. “Is she here?”

“She who?” Colin asked. Maxwell was a player despite his chic wife whose father owned a hefty portion of Wolf.

“She’s here.” J.P. beamed like a proud father, making Colin’s nervousness double. “Like I said, she’s perfect for the spot, but she hasn’t agreed.”

“Why not?” Maxwell sounded displeased and this time not because of anything Colin had done.

J.P. shrugged, both men ignoring that Colin listened to their conversation. “She likes to cause a commotion. Things would be too simple if she agreed to begin with. What would be the fun in that?”

“Where is she?” Maxwell searched the room.

J.P. glanced around and smiled when his eyes lit on three men, one of whom Colin recognized from an action film he’d watched on late night HBO last week. One of the men shifted and Colin realized they huddled around a perfectly-shaped blonde. His breath caught. A blonde who flirted outrageously and held all three men captive. His heart quickened, forcing blood through his suddenly alive body. Something feral swirled low in his gut. A blonde who, probably sensing she had more male interest within her greedy grasp, looked up.

No way
.

“Where?” Maxwell asked, still searching the crowd, but Colin knew J.P. referred to the blonde. The Karlton Regal. It’s where she’d told the taxi driver and here she was. He should have known.

“The blonde in the red silky number.” J.P. confirmed Colin’s suspicions. “The one who looks as if she fell straight out of every man’s dream.”

“Where? I don’t see–-her.” Maxwell’s last word came out as a sigh. Maxwell saw. And liked. “Wow, J.P., she’s gorgeous. You sure she’ll work as a co-host? She looks more like Barbie-come-to-life.”

“Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s brilliant despite her liking the world to believe otherwise,” J.P. praised.

Maxwell’s words sank in. Co-host. The sassy, foot-stomping blonde from the taxi was who they wanted to co-host his show. He’d been set up.

“Hell no!”

Several guests turned at his outburst. Colin ignored them. However, ignoring the blonde who’d shifted her sultry green gaze to his was impossible.

Continuing to listen to the men surrounding her, she lowered her eyelids, sweeping her cheeks a bit coyly with the thick lashes framing her eyes. Her lips parted, her full lower lip as ripe as a big, juicy strawberry, pouted in Angelina Jolie fashion. Her eyes were made up more dramatically than this afternoon, highlighted and powdered and whatever else women did to make themselves look mysterious and beautiful. Whatever it was, it worked for the blonde. She looked hot and exotic and like something straight from a fantasy. J.P. was right about that. The smile playing on her lips said she knew it, too.