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when you had the chance."
"Words cannot adequately convey my despair," I reply instinctively. Oh, thank God. I am still in there
somewhere. I tuck the necklace inside my shirt, pressing the cool metal against my skin.
"When you started working on the morning show, I felt it was only right to tell my wife about our past."
Shocked, my eyes widen and my lips fall open. Past? What past? There's no past at least not the kind
he's alluding to& the kind with blossoming affection, stolen kisses and late night trysts. I shudder at the
thought of having any of those things with Newton. "But I assured her that there's no longer anything
between us."
"Don't overlook the mutual disdain," I assert.
"She was certainly relieved to hear that you and I were never on the same page at the same time."
He turns around and leans against the counter behind him. I don't know if he's trying to needle me or if
he really believes the bullhockey he's spewing, but I'm determined to regain the upper hand as soon as I
see the smug look on his face. Letting my head fall backward, I laugh exaggeratedly. When I look at him
again, I wipe the corners of my eyes, pretending tears of hilarity are threatening and delighting in his
sudden scowl.
"Newton, I was never in the same book as you."
Before he can respond, Emmett's booming voice fills the room and I twist around in my seat to greet him.
Flopping down in the chair next to mine, he spends a couple of minutes complaining about hosting the
show without me last week. Whether he's doing it to flatter me or to irritate Newton doesn't matter; I'm
amused and grateful either way. Newton reacts as I expect, spending most of the pre-production
meeting barking terse orders about which topics he wants us to cover on the show.
Once we're in the studio, I quickly realize that the rocky morning isn't over yet. My IFB quits working just
before we go on the air, and I rush to get a replacement hooked up before we're live. Flustered, I
struggle through the first few segments, unable to stop the wordy drivel spilling from my lips. During the
next hour, I think I'm finally hitting my stride, but Newton butts in to disagree. He spends an entire break
spouting criticism into my IFB, complaining that my football analysis is dull and unintelligent. In the next
break, he calls my World Series commentary overly emotional. Wishing I had the malfunctioning IFB
again, I nod along, absorbing his critique to keep the peace.
We end the show by conducting a four-minute phone interview with a nationally prominent sportswriter
who's also the author of a newly-released book. Newton's plan is for me to lead the discussion, talking
with him about current sports events for a couple of minutes, and then promoting his book for the
remaining time. However, the guest immediately deviates from the protocol, steering each topic back to
himself. Although Emmett tries to help, he's not any more successful than I am at coaxing the jackwagon
into cooperation. The segment is a complete disaster, and as soon as Newton comes into the lounge for
the post-show meeting, I realize I'll be taking the blame for this, too.
"What the hell was that, Bella?" he rants, slapping a folder on top of the table. "You let the guest
completely derail the conversation!"
"I tried to get him back on track," I insist. "He wouldn't answer the questions I asked."
"It wasn't her fault, Newton. The guy clearly had his own agenda," Emmett interjects, but Newton holds
his palm up, halting Emmett's chivalrous defense.
"In addition to the long-winded replies you let go unchecked, you also allowed almost eight seconds of
dead air to tick by," he reprimands. "Did you forget everything you know about broadcasting while you
were on vacation?"
"Yes, I did. And yet, amazingly, I still know more about it than you," I snap. While Emmett snickers beside
me, I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Newton mimics my gesture, waiting for a real
explanation. With a huff, I try to justify what happened. "I was watching the clock, but he was mid-
sentence when he paused. I would have seemed rude and confrontational if I had interrupted to
disagree with him."
"You're the host. You should have maintained control."
"You're the producer. You should vet the guests more thoroughly," I argue, returning his icy stare. "If I
had known he wouldn't answer questions succinctly, I would have adjusted my strategy before we had
him on-air."
"Your job is to make the necessary adjustments as you go." Well, crap. He's kind of right about that.
Shrugging, I tilt my head slightly, acknowledging that he has a point. Pulling a chair out from the other
side of the table, he sits down and opens the folder. "You'll have a chance to redeem yourself tomorrow.
We just got confirmation that Marcus Matthews will join us for the last hour of the show. In-studio."
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