which will be paid out unless your pilot is fresher than tomorrow’s headline news.”
An emotion akin to hatred flashed in her eyes. “Perhaps I should put a call through to my lawyer.”
“Perhaps you should.”
Any space separating them seemed to shrink while the awareness simmering in that steamy void began to crackle and smoke. Taryn Quinn whipped up his baser instincts to a point where he could forget she was an employee. In fact, right now he was evaluating her through the crosshairs of a vastly different lens. She pretended to be cool, in control. Would she be so restrained in the bedroom? Instinct said she’d set the sheets on fire.
She was saying, “And if I were to come up with something you hadn’t seen before?”
He gifted her with a slow smile. “Then, Ms. Quinn, I’d be happy to visit it.”
He asked that she get the original and revised proposal to him as soon as she had something that would knock his socks off. But as Cole made his way down the corridor toward his office and Liam Finlay, he berated himself. Normally in these kinds of situations he wasn’t distracted by sex appeal; that was playboy Dex’s vice. But the challenging blue depths of Taryn Quinn’s eyes, the impudent tilt of her slightly upturned nose, the fact he knew in his gut she was hiding something …
Thinking of those flaming sheets, Cole admitted, he was looking forward to prying open her closets.
“What do you think of the Commander?”
Familiarizing herself with her office LCD TV, Taryn glanced up. Roman Lyons had returned with two steaming cups in tow. Remote control in one hand, she accepted the coffee he offered while she grinned at Roman’s nickname for Cole.
“Cole obviously likes to run a tight ship,” she conceded.
“As much as he likes introducing newcomers to his infamous plank.”
“Sounds as if you speak from experience.”
“Cole has his fans—” bringing the cup to his mouth, Roman arched a brow “—as well as his foes.”
“Which side do you fall on?”
“On the ‘keeping my job’ side. To survive in this industry, you need to roll with the punches. But you’ve been around. You’d know all that.” He nodded at the static on the screen and gestured at the control. “This office was vacant for a while. I’ll tweak the settings.”
She handed over the control and watched as he concentrated to tune in channels, including internal feeds. Roman Lyons was good-looking in a saucy Hugh Grant kind of way. Certainly friendly, helpful and with a sense of humor, too. No wonder he rubbed “Trouble” the wrong way.
“Tell me how you came to be at Hunters,” Roman said, as his thumb danced over the remote’s keys.
“I had a long stint at the last network I worked for.” She mentioned the name and recited a few of their shows. “Last year, one of the executive producers asked for ideas for new series. He was interested in a couple of mine but ultimately passed. In the meantime another network approached me.”
“The industry does like to poach.”
“I declined their offer of an interview. I was happy where I was. But management heard about the communication and when information about a new show was leaked, they questioned my loyalty.” Remembering the scene when that EP had dressed her down, she shuddered and blew out a breath. Her direct boss was livid at his protégée’s treatment, but he had a family to feed. She’d insisted he not get involved. “That afternoon, my desk was packed up and I was out on the curb.”
Roman collected a second control off the stand. “TV is not for the faint of heart.”
“I could have filed a suit for unfair dismissal. But I decided to rise above it, take the payout and move on.”
“What happened to the network that wanted to poach you?”
“That position was already filled. But I knew my ideas would fly somewhere else. After wallowing for a couple of weeks, I plucked up the nerve to call here and speak to Guthrie directly.”
As she took a sip from her cup, Roman handed back the first control. “Good for you.”
“Frankly, I almost fell off my chair when he asked me to come in for an interview. I was even more blown away when he gave my show the green light straightaway.” Thoughtful, she ran a thumb over the remote’s keys. “I was on such a high, so convinced I’d do a great job, but after meeting Cole, I have to wonder if that green light is fast turning red.” She set the remote down on the corner of her desk. “Roman, can you set me straight on something? Because I’m a little confused. Which Hunter is in charge here? I know control of the branches of the company was split a few years ago between the three sons, but I assumed Guthrie still pulled all the strings.”
Beneath a flop of dark sandy hair, Roman’s high brow creased. Then he held up a cautionary hand and, although they’d been speaking quietly, he crossed to close the door.
“Word is that after his wife’s death,” Roman said, moving back, “Guthrie lost all heart. No one knows for sure, but if you put it to a vote, most will say he gave up all control.”
“You mean Guthrie has no say? What’s he doing then, hiring me?”
“Guthrie was down for a while but when he married again, he got his wind back. Staff here were chuffed. It was as if he’d got another chance at life and he didn’t intend to waste a minute. The wedding was big, expensive—” he hiked a brow “—and fast.”
Of course Taryn remembered the publicity surrounding that big day, a huge celebrity bash with a bride who had looked thirty years the groom’s junior—which was nobody’s business but their own.
“At my interview, Guthrie seemed genuinely excited and behind my show,” she said.
“Then he must believe in it.”
“While his son’s hand is twitching on the guillotine rope. He told me unless I can come up with an extraordinary twist, I’m out.”
Roman thought for a long moment before giving a mischievous smile. He purposefully set down his empty cup. “Right-o. We need sketch pads. Markers. A plan.”
She blinked and then brightened. “As in you and me ‘we’?”
“Two heads, and all that. What say we come up with a twist that hits Cole right where he bloody well lives? He’ll either love it or …”
“Or he’ll love it.” He had to. Taryn moved to scoop her laptop out from its bag. “Let’s get started.”
Three
When Cole stabbed the loudspeaker key and realized who was on the phone, he flung down his pen and grabbed the hand piece. It was past six—closer to seven. He’d been hanging out for this call all day.
“Brandon, thanks for getting back to me.”
“Just got back into the country.” Brandon
