been through the past couple of weeks and let them know that you’re on the road to recovery.”
“Wait a minute. You said this was about Tyler Brant. Why would you profile me?” she asked, uneasiness churning her stomach.
“Because he saved your life.” He looked at her as if he were telling her the sky was blue.
“I don’t want to be the subject of any show,” she stated firmly.
“Why not? You said you were upset with the inaccuracy of many of the reports on the plane crash. This would be a way to set the record straight.” He gestured toward the piles of mail in her dining room. “Just look at all those cards and letters. The viewers are worried about you. If we did a segment where we covered the crash, your hospitalization, your recuperation—”
“Stop right there,” she interrupted him, holding up both hands in protest. “You’re not thinking about bringing a crew here?”
“All we’d need are a couple of shots of you at home. We have plenty of video from the crash site. If we interviewed a few doctors and nurses at the hospital, then close with you in the newsroom, staying abreast of what’s going on, we can show the public that you’re still very much a part of the news team.”
Kristen could hardly believe what she was hearing. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. Why would I joke about your work?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Keith, you can’t honestly think I’d want to be the subject of such a program?”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want my personal life broadcast to the world, that’s why,” she protested. “And I can’t believe you could be so insensitive as to even suggest such a thing.”
He looked like a little boy who had been told he couldn’t play baseball until after his homework was done. “It’s a news story, not an exposé,” he reminded her.
“It’s an invasion of my privacy. Do you know how many times I’ve had reporters banging on my door since it happened?”
“Because your story is news. You were heroically rescued from a plane crash that killed eight other people. You survived, Kristen. You’ve worked in this business long enough to know that your situation is exactly what interests the public.”
She knew what he said was true. And at one time she would have understood exactly why he was suggesting she be the subject of the in-depth segment. As a journalist, she was familiar with the attitude members of her profession had about the stories they were covering. After all, she herself had often stuck a microphone into the faces of grieving relatives, crime victims—people who wanted to be left alone. Now she was on the other side herself. And she didn’t like it.
“I’m not allowing anyone to come here and film my private life,” she said firmly.
“All right. You don’t need to have the camera crew come here. We’ll skip the personal angle and shoot it from a career perspective.”
“You won’t shoot it at all,” she assured him. “I mean it. I will not be the subject of any features—for you or anyone else.”
“You could have complete control over the content. Heck, you could even do the final edit,” he proposed reluctantly.
“No.”
“Will you at least think about it?”
“No.”
If there was one thing Keith was used to getting it was his own way. When he stiffened his shoulders and tightened his mouth, it was obvious that he wasn’t pleased with her refusal. Kristen discovered his handsome features weren’t so handsome when he pouted. Actually, he looked quite ugly. Funny how she’d never noticed it before.
“Obviously, this crash has affected you emotionally. Why don’t I give you time to think about it and call you later?” he suggested, rising to his feet, his hands automatically smoothing the wrinkles in his creased pants.
Kristen realized that his bringing the flowers and mail had simply been an excuse for him to come over and talk business. He hadn’t come out of concern for her but because he wanted to do the feature segment and he needed her cooperation. Not only was she disappointed in him but in the Channel 12 news team, too. They didn’t want her; they wanted her story. It was a sobering thought.
“I’m not going to change my mind, Keith,” she told him.
His expression hardened. “Now what kind of attitude is that?”
She took a deep breath in an attempt to control the emotions swirling inside her, but it didn’t help. “It’s the attitude I have, and if you weren’t so worried about how my absence is affecting your ratings you could take a moment to support me rather than try to put me through more stress.” He looked startled by her outburst.
“Maybe you should mention these emotional periods you’re having to your doctor. He could probably recommend some medication—”
“I don’t need any more medication,” she snapped. “What I need is a fiancé who understands what I’ve been through.”
“I’m trying to understand, but you won’t leave this apartment.” He sighed. “Look, would you at least think about allowing the makeup artist to come for a visit? I’m emceeing the celebrity auction for the Children’s Hospital next Saturday and I want you to be with me.”
But only if you can cover your scars. He hadn’t said the words aloud, but she knew what he was thinking. “I can’t go.”
“You won’t even consider it?”
“I don’t have the energy.”
“You might feel differently by Saturday.”
Kristen knew she wouldn’t. Come Saturday, her cheek would still be swollen and bruised. The doctor had said four to six weeks. It had only been three. But she knew that—even if her face had been fine—she wasn’t ready to face the outside world.
“Don’t count on that happening,” she said firmly.
He shook his head. “If you come with me to the door, I’ll get those other two bags of mail for you.”
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he honestly think it was easy for her to hobble around after him? If she used her crutches at all, it would be to beat him over the head, not to walk to the door so that he could hand her a couple bags of mail.
“Forget the damn mail,” she barked at him.
He didn’t say another word but quietly left. Without even kissing her forehead.
Strangely, Kristen was not disappointed.
CHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T THINK this is a good idea.”
“Just do it. Please.” Kristen sat in her usual position on the sofa with her leg propped up on the ottoman.
