McGuire slammed the phone down and leaned across his massive mahogany desk, causing Chloe to audibly exhale.
“Tell me why you couldn’t make the meeting?” he asked, almost gently for him.
For an instant, to her amazement, she considered telling him about her visit to her mother. What was the matter with her? “I was held up in traffic, Chief. They’ve decided at long last to do something about Lang Street.”
His sensual mouth so clear cut, compressed. “Our meeting was set for 8:30 sharp. Road works commenced at 9:00 a.m. I heard it on early morning radio.”
He would. “I’m sorry. I apologise.” Even to her own ears she sounded sincere. “I know it’s my job to attend. I fully intended to but I couldn’t make it through the traffic.” Heck, usually she threw down the gauntlet.
“Why can’t you talk to me, Chloe?” He leaned back in the leather armchair, powerful body languid, two seeing eyes trained on her.
She got some kind of a mad rush just hearing him speak her Christian name. She flushed. “There’s nothing to talk about, Chief. Outside work.”
“We’ll settle for that. You have a lot of potential, Cavanagh.” He could see she was more comfortable with the surname, the odd, sweet, prickly little creature. “How long is it now since you joined BTQ8?”
“Of course you know. Four years. I came straight from University to cadet reporter. Clive taught me everything I know.”
“I know he took you under his wing.” Why not? She must have looked like a cherub. “Clive in his heyday as anchorman never had your flair. People are starting to get riveted to your on-camera reporting. That was a good piece you did on the Fairfield tragedy. I got a phone call from upstairs. Sir Llew was very pleased with the way you handled it.”
“Maybe, but I hate covering tragedies,” Chloe said.
“We all do but it’s our job. The public appetite for news is voracious. What sets you apart from many others is your compassion.”
Chloe looked down at the hands locked in her lap. “I didn’t feel too compassionate staging a wait outside his house. I felt more like a vulture.”
“That’s understandable but we all know about real life. A prominent politician about to be investigated for corruption. Not even his widow guessed he was going to commit suicide. I marvel she could talk at all.”
“Only to me,” Chloe said, shaking her head sadly. “Only to Chloe Cavanagh. I don’t know why.”
“I do,” he said briefly. “You have a special knack for communicating with grieving souls.”
Why not? Chloe thought. I have a troubled soul myself.
“The only problem is, you’re putting yourself too much in the front line.” His voice switched suddenly, rasped.
“But this is a tough industry, Chief. No need to tell you that. I’m after the best story for the channel.”
He continued to appraise her as though seeking to see through to her soul. “You’re not taking enough care and you know it. I know for a fact Rob has concerns.”
She was utterly taken aback. “Did he speak to you?”
“Most people outside of you, do.” He smiled, a little tightly. “He’s entitled. He’s your sidekick, your photographer. He’s very protective of you, like your mate Mike. But that was a very expensive camera that got wrecked. It’s not your job to beard international con men in their den. You can leave that to our top investigative reporter.”
“But he didn’t get the story, did he?” She spoke with a light note of triumph.
“No, but he has a black belt.”
“Are you suggesting I learn karate?” she asked sweetly.
He shrugged a broad shoulder. “I’m suggesting you learn a few moves if you’re going to continue to get yourself into situations where angels might fear to tread.” His tone, tough and uncompromising, suddenly changed. “What would you think about taking over as anchorwoman at the weekend?” Hell, what a good idea. It just popped into his mind.
Chloe, too, was startled and looked it. She didn’t want to take anyone’s job but the thought excited her. “I don’t know that I’m ready for anything like that,” she evaded. The weekends gave her extra time with her mother.
“That doesn’t sound like you, Cavanagh. Too boring?”
“I suppose you could say that,” she sighed. “My talent is for getting a story, getting to the bottom of things. I’m not a talking head.”
“You will be if I think you fit the bill.” He had to think this thing through.
She sat very still. “You’re the boss.”
“And that continues to enrage you.” There was a slight bunching of the muscles around his hard jawbone.
“Not at all.” Her answer was surprisingly, disarmingly soft.
“So why look at me as if I’m a woman-eating tiger?”
Because you are and you’d better believe it. “You did send Marlene Attwell on her way,” she pointed out.
“You admired her, did you?” His expression was cynical.
“Not quite. She was too bitchy for any of us to like her, but she’s a professional. She looked good in front of the cameras and she has credibility.”
He quelled a little rush of anger. Like some other people, he wasn’t a forgiving soul. “She insulted a lot of powerful people once too often, Cavanagh. Not to set the story straight but to establish her own questionable style. Then as you say, her in-house standing was far from good.”
Chloe nodded, looking suitably chastened. “I knew I wasn’t going to leave your office with a big smile.”
“Why so sure?” His black eyes sparkled with sardonic humour. “Mel Gibson will be in town the beginning of next month,” he found himself saying. “A quick trip home to promote his new movie. He’s willing to talk to us. I’ve had it confirmed.”
Chloe looked back at him in astonishment. “You’re surely not handing the job to me?” Her melodious voice, one of her big assets, took on a decided lilt.
“Can’t handle it?” One black eyebrow shot up, giving him a rakish look. Surely he should be handing the interview to Jennifer?
“I’ll have you know I once sat a few seats behind Mel on a plane.” She smiled.
“Is that so? Then you won’t want to miss this golden opportunity, either. He’s happy to talk. Keep it short and keep it light.”
“A pleasure.” She totally forgot herself and beamed at him. Gosh, what was in that muffin? “It should be fun. They say he’s the easiest person in the world to talk to. None of that Big Star ego. A down-to-earth Aussie. Won’t Jennifer have her nose put out of joint?”
He held up a large palm. “There’s no law against passing over our senior female reporter. Though Jennifer is never late, never misses meetings, and never gets herself involved in ongoing brawls.”
“She’ll certainly have something to say to me.” Chloe smiled wryly. There were big jealousies abroad. Grudges. Undercurrents.
“That’s your problem, Cavanagh.” He stared at her for a minute or two. “I had intended to bawl you out, but I seem to have surrendered to your charm. You can go now. I’m busy. By the way, Sir Llew is giving a small party, which means roughly a hundred people, Saturday night. You’d better go out and buy yourself a new dress.”
Anyone else but McGuire, she would have rushed to kiss his cheek. “You mean, I’m invited? That’s