step faltered. Not deaf. Nor had she misunderstood. He threw a suspect glance around. Was there a hidden camera or was she purposely ruffling his feathers?
“You must be aware of my position here—CEO as well as Executive Producer—and that’s for every show that comes out of Hunters. I give the nod on budgets, sponsor deals—” his gaze sharpened on her perfect profile “—as well as the overall vision of any given project.”
The peaks of her dark blond brows arched as she met his gaze square on. “Guthrie and I have discussed all that. I’ll be working directly beneath him.”
Cole didn’t hide his smirk. He disliked cruelty in any form but he might enjoy setting sassy Ms. Quinn back, flat on her pretty behind. Whatever Guthrie had said, he hadn’t worked in that kind of hands-on capacity for years.
Or maybe he should look at this collusion from a different angle. What had Taryn Quinn said or done to get this close to his father? And exactly how close was that?
Suddenly a dozen other questions sprang to mind, like where did Taryn hail from? What was her personal background? Did she have a criminal record? Did she know anything about those murder attempts?
Up ahead, London-born Head of Comedy, Roman Lyons, was strolling out of his office, whistling that same Cockney tune that grated on Cole’s nerves like nails down a chalkboard. When Roman first joined Hunters, the two had a disagreement over the direction of a series. Cole had terminated his contract. Guthrie, however, had persuaded Cole to give Lyons another chance. After two years, Cole would concede that Roman did a good job. He’d even stepped in to oversee things a few times when Cole had been called away. But they’d never be best buds.
Now as he and Taryn approached, Lyons issued a casual salute to Cole, but his focus was fixed on Taryn. From the awareness sparkling in Lyons’s dark hooded gaze, anyone might think that he knew her.
“This must be the new girl. Taryn, is it?” Lyons offered a knowing wink as well as his hand. “Word gets around.”
Cole’s jaw jutted. Word hadn’t gotten around to him.
“Thanks for the welcome,” Taryn said as her hand dropped away. “And you are?”
“Name’s Roman Lyons.”
“Looks like we’ll be neighbors, Mr. Lyons. I drew the office next to yours.”
“I was about to grab a cuppa,” Lyons went on. “Can I tempt you?”
Taryn’s face lit. “I’d kill for coffee.”
“Let me guess,” Lyons said. “White, one sugar.”
Cole growled. Oh, give me a break.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” He started off. “I have work to do.”
“With Liam Finlay? I saw him headed toward your office a minute ago.” Roman straightened the knot of his tie as if he were loosening a noose. “He didn’t look happy, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Cole bit back a curse. Liam Finlay wasn’t a man to keep waiting, particularly today. Finlay was CEO for Australia’s most popular football league. Hunter Broadcasting had held the cable broadcast rights to the majority of that league’s games until five years ago, when Guthrie and Finlay had suffered a major falling-out. This year those coveted rights were back up for grabs. Cole had had a hard time getting Finlay to even talk. At this juncture, he couldn’t afford any perceived insults, like letting his guest sit around twiddling his thumbs.
In a near-sincere tone, Taryn said, “Thanks for taking the time, Mr. Hunter. I’m sure I’ll be fine from here.”
A pulse point in Cole’s temple began to throb. He had to get to that meeting. But, dammit, he wasn’t finished with Ms. Quinn just yet.
As Roman sauntered off, Taryn entered her new office, which was decked out with teak furniture and the latest tech equipment, including visual and audio state of the art. But she moved directly to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He imagined he heard her sigh as she drank in the billion-dollar harbor view, complete with iconic coat-hanger bridge and multistory-high Opera House shells.
Letting his gaze rake over the silken fall of her hair and the tantalizing curves concealed beneath that smart blue skirt, Cole leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“You have qualifications other than in television production, Ms. Quinn?”
“I’ve worked in TV since attaining my Arts Business degree.”
“Then you’d have experience—held positions—in other areas within the industry, correct?”
“I started out as a junior production assistant and worked up through the ranks.”
“And my father was—” he scanned her skirt again “—suitably impressed by your credentials?”
When she angled around, her smile was lazy, assured. “As a matter of fact, Guthrie was more than impressed.”
“I make a point of having all my employees’ backgrounds screened, management particularly.”
“Heavens, you must have skeletons jumping out of closets all over the place.”
His mouth hooked up at one side. Cute.
He crossed his arms. “Any skeletons in your closet, Ms. Quinn?”
“We all have secrets, although they’re rarely of interest to anyone else.”
“I have a feeling I’d be interested in yours.”
Those big blue eyes narrowed then she strolled up to him, the deliberate sway in her walk meant to challenge. When she was close enough for the scent of her perfume to tease his nostrils, she stopped and set her hands on her hips. Cole exhaled. Poor Ms. Quinn. Didn’t she know he ate novices like her for breakfast?
“I’ve taken up enough of your time,” she told him. “Don’t keep your guest waiting. I’m sure your father will be along soon.”
He grinned. Damn, he could play with her all day, if only he had the time—which he didn’t. He pushed off the jamb.
“My father might have employed you, but I’m the one in charge of the books, and if your show doesn’t perform, production stops. That is, if I allow it to get off the ground in the first place.”
A shadow darkened her eyes. “My show will not only launch, it will be a new season smash. We’re bringing in A-list guests.”
“Been done.”
“Choosing destinations that are considered rough as well as luxurious.”
“Old.”
“The host I have in mind is the most popular in the country. Voted Australia’s most eligible with a string of hits under his belt.”
Cole’s gaze flicked to her naturally bee-stung lips. “That’s the best you can offer?”
He
