Perfectly Matched, page 3
“Hey, Payson,” Sam said as his arm feebly rose in a shaky wave.
“Hi, Sam, how are you doing today?” Two years ago, when his wife of fifty-five years and the baker behind their business had died, Payson had made it a habit to buy a bag of pastries from him every day. She’d worried his business would suffer, but fortunately, Sam’s daughter, Amanda, had stepped in, and she was every bit as good—if not better—of a pastry chef.
“Can’t complain. I’m upright and breathing, so there’s that.”
Payson chuckled as she approached the counter. “Well, then, I’d say it’s a good day.”
“What can I get you?” He grabbed a bag and pulled out two sheets of pastry paper.
She lingered as though scrutinizing every item because she knew Sam would take advantage of the time and fill her in on a story or two about his wife.
“Did I ever tell you,” he asked, “about the time Dottie and I…” And off to memory lane he went. Today, Payson was whisked away to a small village in Tuscany on an anniversary vacation he and his wife had taken forty years ago. As she listened, she pointed to several pastries and held up fingers to let him know how many of each so she didn’t interrupt his story. When they meandered to the end of the counter, her mind was already drifting back to the many phone calls she needed to return and scripts yet to be written before the night’s newscast.
Sam seemed to sense this and always timed his stories to coincide. This was their dance, and Payson made it a point to give him the one thing in life he seemed to be needing the most…companionship. Or maybe that was more a reflection of her. She had seen the faraway stare of loneliness cloud his tear-stained eyes more than once, and she knew what that felt like. Sam seemed to spend as much time at the bakery as she did at the station, and maybe that was because both dreaded going home to a recently empty void that was once filled with happiness.
She made a mental note: when things slowed down at work, she would take him out to dinner. Maybe even make it a weekly ritual. It would be good for both of them.
As she left the store and crossed the street back to the station, a gut feeling told her to turn and glance again at the roof. A twinge of hope shot though her as the image of the woman with short black hair, light brown skin, muscular arms, and a gladiator costume reappeared in her mind. “I know you were there,” she whispered as she stared at the vacant roof. As if saying it out loud would bring the mysterious woman back. But after a moment, she lowered her head and sighed. Yeah, she grumbled as she approached the backdoor, she really did need a vacation.
She swiped the badge that hung from a lanyard around her neck and after hearing the familiar beep, entered the building. She was instantly hit with a barrage of sounds and a flurry of activity. She smiled and nodded to several people as she meandered into the open newsroom stuffed with clusters of low-panel cubicles, some vacant, others occupied. She tossed the bag of pastries on her desk and flopped in her chair. She exhaled a long sigh of exhaustion as she fired up her computer. She had been working five solid weeks without a day off, and the stress was beginning to take its toll.
“Hey.” Her best friend Tegan hiked herself on top of the desk and grabbed the bag.
“Have you heard about anything being staged across the street on the roof of Sam’s bakery?” Payson asked as she logged in to her computer.
Tegan pulled out a scone. “What, like a publicity stunt or something?”
“Yeah, something that involves a gorgeous woman and a bow and arrow?”
“No. I haven’t heard of anything, but it sounds sexy. Was she scantily clad?”
“No, she didn’t look like one of the club girls. She was wearing some sort of sexy Roman costume, with sandals that laced up her legs. More like a Caesar’s Palace kind of outfit, but a little different. Her clothing was more authentic-looking, not quite so campy. Oh, and she was really muscular, like she definitely hits the gym.”
“Hmm.” Tegan shrugged. “Sounds intriguing. If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” Payson grabbed a muffin, pulled the top off, and discarded the rest.
“Oh hey,” Tegan mumbled in between chewing, “I was talking to my friend at the Mirage, and I can get us tickets for Saturday night to see—”
Payson shook her head as she interrupted. “I’m working all weekend.”
“Again?”
She nodded.
“You, my friend, need a life,” Tegan said as she brushed a few rogue crumbs off her shirt.
“I have a life,” Payson mumbled.
Tegan waved a scolding finger. “No, you don’t…you have work. And work is not a life.”
“True, but work pays the bills.”
“A lot of things can pay the bills. At least tell me you put in for time off.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“And it was turned down. Jason said that until they can hire another producer, I need to be here.” She glanced at the glass corner office and the overweight balding man leaning back so far in his chair, it looked like it was about to snap. He was taking sips of coffee during what appeared to be a very animated phone call.
“Screw Jason. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Tegan pointed to the brochure of the exclusive, all-woman tropical island retreat that was tacked to Payson’s cubicle wall. “Thought you already put money down.”
“I did. They said they would refund my deposit, but I told them to hold on to it. I still plan on getting there someday.” She choked down the bitter taste of those words. After years of financial struggles, she had finally scraped enough money together to take a vacation. She’d put in for her time off four months ago, and Jason had approved it with the stipulation that Ryan, the weekend news producer, agreed to cover her shift.
He did, so she got online, booked her reservation, and sealed it with a deposit. She was finally going on a much-needed vacation. She had already bought new clothes and visualized days of soaking up the sun, drinking alcohol-laced multi-colored beverages, and maybe even meeting someone special. She was going to get away from the newsworthy horrors of humanity and unplug her life for ten glorious days.
She sighed now as she looked at the brochure of a woman smiling with a tropical drink in hand under a waterfall. She could almost hear the water cascading around her and smell the salt air mixed with her coconut sunscreen.
“Payson!” Jason’s raspy voice raced across the newsroom and jolted her back from paradise. “My office, now.”
Tegan bent and looked her in the eyes. “Honey, I’m saying this as your best friend, you need to get out of this job and get a life before this place completely drains your soul.”
“Too late for that.” Payson gathered her notebook and handed Tegan a piece of paper as she shuffled out of her cubicle. “I need you to check on this. If it pans out, you’ll go live for your first hit at seven after the hour.”
“Someone’s driving a tank down the north end of the strip?” She looked up. “Is this for real?”
“Don’t know, that’s why I want you to make some calls and see if it checks out.”
“Why can’t normal things ever happen in this city?” Tegan grumbled as she grabbed a second scone and hopped off the desk.
“Because this city wouldn’t know what to do with normal,” Payson said over her shoulder as she shyly approached Jason’s office with a light knuckle tap to his open glass door. He was the news director, and he lived and breathed all things news. He was in his office first thing in the morning and didn’t leave until late at night. He was in a perpetual bad mood, and every breathing soul that crossed his path seemed to annoy him. Payson’s shoulders slumped as she saw a reflection of herself twenty years from now if she continued down the same road. “Hey, Jason, you wanted to see me?”
He gestured to two chairs at the opposite end of his desk. Payson slid into one. “I just got off the phone with someone from corporate, and something odd came up. Apparently, they’re sending someone to shadow you for a few days and help you out a bit.”
“Wait, what? I’m getting a temp? I thought you said—”
“I know what I said, and that still stands. No new hires and no temps.” He glared at her over his reading glasses.
“So back up. If there’s no new hires and no temps, then why am I getting help?”
He tore a strip of paper from his notebook and flicked it across his desk. “Because this one’s coming from corporate, so it’s not costing me anything.”
She gently picked up the paper and scanned it. In a scribble that could rival a toddler’s were three barely recognizable words: Corporate. Temp. Payson. She turned the paper over to see if there was more information that would give her a clue as to what this was all about, but there wasn’t. She frowned. While she could use the help, having someone tripping over her was not what she needed. Producing was a fast-paced, stressful job; having someone hover over her shoulder asking a barrage of questions while she was trying to work was going to frustrate the hell out of her. “Why me?”
“Thought you needed help?”
“I do, as in, a seasoned full-time producer with years of knowledge under their belt so I can go on vacation, kind of help.”
He tossed his reading glasses on the desk and wagged a finger at her. “We’re not talking about your vacation again. That topic was already put to bed.”
“I need a break, Jason,” she pleaded as she slumped in her chair.
“You’ll get one…eventually. And don’t get mad at me. Ryan’s the one who left with only a week’s notice.”
She remembered the day Ryan came in and announced that he was jumping ship for a marketing position at one of the casinos. He’d apologized for the bind that would cause her but had said it was an opportunity he just couldn’t pass up. And as he’d rambled on about the new position, she’d watched his lips move without comprehending any of the words because her head was pounding with the reality of the ripple effect his leaving would have on her vacation. “Have you even started the interview process for that position yet?”
“What about the statement, no new hires, don’t you understand?” he snapped.
“I’m burned-out, Jason. We need another producer.”
“And you think I don’t know that?” He grumbled as he leaned over and referenced a folder sitting on his desk. “I have a broken studio camera, our news desk is in desperate need of an upgrade, and the satellite vans need to be wrapped with our new logo. Last week, I sent the proposed budget in for next year, and some bean pusher at corporate wrung it out like a wet rag. The station is hemorrhaging money, and if we don’t get our ad revenue up, there may be another round of layoffs.” He glared at her as he settled back in his chair. “So which of those do you think I should sacrifice so I can hire someone to fill the producer position so you can take your little vacation?”
“That’s not fair,” she bit back.
“Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. “You’ll get your vacation, but for right now, just work with me while I figure out how to move the numbers around. Okay?”
Payson reluctantly nodded as she glanced again at the paper. “Seriously, what’s this temp thing really about?”
“You’re holding everything I know,” he muttered. “They said something about an experimental program they were trying where they send temps out on a rotating basis to some of the stations to help offset some costs. Truthfully, they were a little light on the details, and I didn’t pepper them with questions because frankly, I really don’t give a damn who they send to follow you around, as long as it doesn’t come out of my budget.” He folded his arms. “You and I both know that when it comes to this station, corporate can make some pretty dumbass decisions. They’re a flock of idiots, as far as I’m concerned, and you didn’t hear that from me. Anyway…” He waved dismissively. “That’s the way it is for now, so I’m asking you to just deal with it, okay?”
“What choice do I have?”
“None. Until corporate figures out what to do with this station, things aren’t gonna be pretty around here.”
Last year, their station had been swallowed up in an acquisition by a mega corporation that had their eye on a profitable chain of appliance stores in the western region. The fact that a handful of small TV stations was also in that portfolio seemed to be of little concern to them. Rumors started flying about their new parent company either shutting down or selling off the stations. Broadcast news had been struggling for years, and everyone knew the view on the horizon wasn’t bright. This wasn’t a storm that was going to blow over; this was a reflection of the times, and the advertising dollars that had once netted them millions were being spent elsewhere.
“Why don’t you give the temp to someone else? Jerry in engineering is swamped.”
“Because they specifically said she’s your temp, so congratulations, you get to play babysitter for the next few days. End of discussion.”
“Great.”
“Oh, don’t look so down. There are worse things in the world. Just look at today’s national news.”
True. Compared to what was going on in the world, there were plenty of worse things, but in Payson’s little space on this planet right here and now, this news was definitely not welcoming. “When does the temp start?”
“Immediately.”
“What? They start today? But—”
He held up an interrupting hand. “Again, these are corporate’s marching orders, not mine. So take your complaints to them.” He shooed her out of his office as a call came in. “I need to take this. Mic’s Magic Show reported that they’re missing their tiger. They told the cops that if anyone spots the big cat, don’t harm him because they need him to perform in tonight’s shows.” He lifted his phone but placed his hand over the receiver as he continued in a softer voice. “If there really is a tiger on the loose, I’ll need you to do a cut-in so we can notify the public. Put Tegan on it.”
“I’ve got Tegan on the tank story.”
“Then pull Patty off whatever she’s working on and get her over to the neighborhood around the Luxor. The police seem to be focusing on that area.”
Payson nodded as she shuffled out the door. The possibility of a tiger roaming a Las Vegas neighborhood wasn’t holding her attention near as much as the news of a temp. She wasn’t in the mood to spend the next several days with some lacky from corporate. She slumped in her chair, tossed the notebook on her desk, and stared at a fresh stack of papers that had appeared in her absence. She fanned her fingers through printouts of the day’s national stories about death and destruction. Why can’t everyone just get along? For one freaking day? Couldn’t humanity just play nice so she could take a break from reporting the dark side and write about the nice things happening in the world? She stared again at the brochure of the tropical retreat and sighed.
The police scanner perked up, and she cocked an ear to the chatter. She caught enough of the exchange between officers to understand that a tourist had apparently decided to go for a swim in the Bellagio’s lagoon. Police were being dispatched to the scene, and she knew a crowd would soon gather to witness the spectacle. If she could spare a photog, she’d send one over to grab a few interviews and hopefully get one or two good sound bites. If not, there would be plenty of video from tourists that she could obtain to fill a thirty-second spot in the A-block.
She grabbed another muffin, pulled off the top, and woke her computer. To those visiting the city and tuning into the local news, the stories would probably seem totally bizarre. To Payson, it was just another day in a town that seemed to attract the weird, wacky, and wild. “Viva Las Vegas, baby,” she muttered under her breath. “Viva Las Vegas.”
Chapter Three
I’m going to be a temp? At a news station? I don’t even know what that is.” Hannah sulked as she slouched on the couch in Oriana’s cottage. Most of the residents on the island chose to live in apartment-style dwellings close to town. A few, like Oriana and Hannah, enjoyed the solitude of being on the outskirts and closer to the woods, and their homes were only a five-minute ride apart.
“I consulted with a trusted friend who is well-versed in this culture, and she informed me that the fastest way to place you with your mark—and with the least number of questions—is to have you become a temporary employee. She has already called the television station and informed them that you will be assisting your mark in her business. You need to correct your mistake.” Oriana paced around the room, her irritability obvious. “You, of all my students. Your mark was easy, a clear shot in a parking lot. A parking lot!”
“I got…” Hannah hung her head in both shame and embarrassment as she mumbled. “Distracted.” How could she possibly tell Oriana the real reason? That a woman with eyes the color of Nikita’s ring pierced her heart with one glance?
“Distracted?” Oriana overemphasized the word. “The island’s best archer six years running doesn’t get distracted. Have you learned nothing from me?”
Hannah kept her head down as she searched for the right words to convey her sorrow. But no such words presented themselves, so she silently listened as Oriana ranted. She had never seen her in such an agitated state, and it bothered her to think she was the cause of so much disgruntlement. After a beat, Oriana stopped pacing and let out a long sigh as she stood in front of Hannah. “Since you successfully placed the first arrow in one mark, you must make sure that woman kisses her intended companion. The kiss will transfer enough of the binding spell to seal their destiny.”
“Get them to kiss?” Hannah jerked her head up. “But the attraction will only be one way. Can’t Piper recreate a matching arrow so I can go back and finish what I started?”
