Eyes On You Part 12

"We will," Oliver said firmly. "Until then, I want you to lock your office door whenever you're away from your desk, and let me know if you spot anything out of the ordinary. Though we won't bring in outside security at this moment, I'm going to have our own team spend more time on the floor. It will be done discreetly."

"Yes," Potts said, shooting a look at Ann. "Discretion is key. We need to keep a lid on this." He glanced back to me. "And Robin, it's going to be difficult, but you'll have to do your best not to seem ruffled."

"Of course," I said. G.o.d forbid I look ruffled by this.

Ann raised a finger and suggested that I tell Stacy that the foundation had gone bad somehow; otherwise she'd start gossiping. Tom, who'd remained mostly silent during the meeting, nodded.

"One last point," Oliver said. "I'm going to loop in Carter on this. If the person responsible has a grudge about the show, it's possible that he could become a target, too, at some time."

I didn't divulge, of course, that Carter already knew. Carter, I was sure, would keep his mouth shut.

When we finished, Potts remained in his apartment, and Oliver went his own way. I gave Tom and Ann a lift back to the office in my car. Tom said very little on the ride, just tapped, tapped, tapped on his iPhone.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ann asked me privately. She'd stepped off on my floor of the building, and Tom had scurried off.

"I'm hanging in there," I said.

"Your face looks better, at least."

"Thanks." I offered her a rueful smile. "And just think, when it's fully healed, I'm going to have the most refined pores in the universe."

"Remember, I'm just one floor away."

As soon as I was in my office, I called Stacy, as instructed. She'd already texted me twice about my face. I told her I was on the mend and that the foundation had become contaminated on its own. She suggested we switch to a different brand.

Next I phoned Richard to fill him in. He sounded truly alarmed and promised to call Potts immediately.

After I hung up, I popped two ibuprofen. My head was hurting, the pain bleeding from front to back. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

Over the next few hours, my office phone seemed to ring constantly, making me jerk nervously each time. I let Keiki pick up and field the calls. After about the tenth one, she poked her head into my office. "There's a Mrs. Nolan on the line," she announced. "She said it's personal."

"Okay," I said, caught by surprise. It was my cousin, Maddy's mother. Though we spoke occasionally on the phone, she'd never contacted me during the workday. "Paula, hi," I said. "What's up?"

"I just thought I'd check in, say h.e.l.lo. I hope it's okay to call you at work."

"Sure." Though the last thing I was in the mood for was chitchat.

"Maddy is loving her interns.h.i.+p. And we're so grateful for all you've done."

"But . . . ?" I said.

"But?" she said.

"She's loving her job, but you're calling in the middle of the day. Something's clearly up." I wondered if Maddy had filled her mother in on the screwups at work.

"Robin, you can't tell Maddy I told you this, but she's a little worried about you."

"Worried about me?"

"She says . . . well, that you've seemed tired lately and stressed out. I just wanted to be sure you're okay."

Was my stress really showing? I wondered if word had leaked out about the episode with the foundation.

"That's sweet of Maddy," I said, gritting my teeth. "But I'm fine. This job can be demanding at times, that's all."

"Good, I was just a little concerned."

"Like I said, I'm fine. How-how's everything with you?"

"We've been to the Finger Lakes this summer. Our old stomping grounds. Um, we saw your father up there a couple of times."

I said nothing.

"Do you ever meet with him?" she asked haltingly.

"No," I said.

"He's proud of you. And I know he'd love to be part of your life."

"Paula, I appreciate the call, but I really need to get back to work."

"Of course, of course. I'm glad you're okay."

As soon as I hung up, I swallowed a third ibuprofen. My head felt ready to explode. What I needed even less than chitchat was hearing a status report on my father. And though Maddy might mean well, I didn't appreciate her stirring the pot.

Just before noon, I headed down to the newsroom. Tom had sent an email saying there was a story he wanted to do tomorrow relating to a comment from the FCC on TV coverage of red-carpet events. It was time to check in with Alex about it. As I walked along the outside perimeter of the newsroom, I caught a few people, including Charlotte, raising their eyes toward me.

"You feeling okay?" Alex said as I pulled up a small stool. "They said you took the night off because you were sick."

It was a little more personal than he usually allowed himself to be with me. Maybe our brief chat on the High Line had made him feel more at ease.

"Yes, thanks for asking," I said. "So what's this red-carpet story about?"

He smiled. "I'll tell you, but you've gotta promise not to report me for s.e.xual hara.s.sment. Underb.o.o.bage. Remember how big side b.o.o.bage was a while back? Apparently, this is the newest red-carpet trend. The FCC seems to be agitated about it."

Despite my foul mood, I smiled.

Alex explained that for guests, he was aiming for a celeb stylist or fas.h.i.+on editor and a spokesperson from the FCC. "Who else, do you think?" he asked.

"You know who would be interesting to include? An anthropologist. We can ask if underb.o.o.bage is hot right now because we've seen so much outrageous decolletage lately that we're almost oblivious to it and we need a different visual to jolt our senses."

Alex laughed lightly.

"What?" I asked.

"I like the idea of adding an anthropologist, but I don't think many men end up oblivious to plunging necklines."

I laughed, too. This is better, I thought. I'm feeling normal now. "Point taken," I said. "So find a great guy to weigh in. Maybe an author who's written about the male-female dynamic."

"Good. I'll shoot you names by email."

I started to rise and then paused. "I bet you didn't get to deal with cool stuff like underb.o.o.bage in the DA's office."

"Not true," he replied. "There were a few hookers who were in on the trend. They may have even started it."

The comment was breezy enough, but he'd taken a second to respond. The DA's office. There was something about it that didn't sit right with him.

I ate lunch at my desk, a salad from the cafeteria. As I was tossing the container in my trash basket, I heard a knock on the door frame. My body jerked nervously in surprise.

Will Oliver was standing there. "Got a minute?" he asked.

"Of course," I said, feeling my pulse kick up. "Do you have news already?"

"Not yet," he said. He eased the door closed without making a sound, like some Navy SEAL would know how to do. He motioned for me to remain seated and dragged the extra chair over to my desk. "But there's a question I need to ask you, one I didn't want to raise in front of everyone."

"Okay," I said. Something was up.

"The kind of hara.s.sment you're experiencing often occurs after a failed relations.h.i.+p," he said. "I need to ask if you've been involved in a romantic relations.h.i.+p with anyone here at work."

I probably should have expected a question like that, but I hadn't. "Absolutely not," I said.

Oliver studied me without saying anything, as if he weren't a hundred percent convinced. Well, I wasn't going to confess to a momentary rush of l.u.s.t for Carter Brooks.

"Okay," he said at last, "but instinct tells me that there's something you didn't want to say in front of Dave this morning."

He was as good at his job as he looked. I hesitated.

"Robin, I need you to be honest with me," he said.

It didn't seem wise to make an accusation at this point. But if I withheld information, it might bite me in the a.s.s later.

"Can it be between just the two of us?" I asked.

"For now, definitely."

"Several days ago, Stacy, one of the makeup artists, told me that Vicky Cruz had inquired about what foundation I used."

His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. "Was there a reason given?"

"She claimed she liked the way my skin looked. And that so-called altercation in the newsroom wasn't the only problem I've had with her. A couple of days later, she complained to Potts about one of my interns."

Oliver laid a long slim finger across his lips and tapped a few times. "Was she at your book party?" he asked.

"Yes. And she was on our set the night the water bug ended up in my coffee."

"All right," he said, betraying nothing. "I'll be back in touch soon. Until then, be extremely careful."

He left soundlessly, like an apparition. But his words kept echoing in my head. Later, rus.h.i.+ng to makeup, I could feel anxiety gaining on me again, like a nasty mongrel nipping at my heels. There were two guests in the room, having their makeup done for the six o'clock show, so Stacy kept her mouth shut about what had gone down the evening before. But she gave me a sympathetic look and opened all new packages of makeup for me. I held my breath as she sponged the foundation on my face.

"Hey," Carter said as I slid into my seat on the set a little while later. He'd sent me a text earlier, just checking in. "Your face looks great now."

"Thanks. Nothing like an acid peel to pump up the collagen."

"Let's talk after the show, okay?"

"Two minutes," the director said. Then thirty seconds. Then we were live. I made myself think only about the segments, connecting with the guests, the energy I needed to summon.

The last segment was on summer concert tours, partly about the outrageous riders many singers had on their contracts. Lady Gaga, for instance, insisted on white leather couches in her dressing room; Kanye West demanded that the person chauffeuring him wear only hundred-percent-cotton clothes; and Mary J. Blige required that the toilet seat be changed before she arrived at each venue. One of our guests at the table was the entertainment reporter from another of the network's shows, a girl named Hadley who nearly s...o...b..red over Carter, batting her double row of false eyelashes at him.

"If you were a rock star, Robin, what would you put in your rider?" Carter asked as we wrapped the show a few minutes later.

"Um, a private chef, I think. Truffles, too. And maybe a ma.s.sage after every show. What about you?"

"I'll skip the truffles. That ma.s.sage sounds good."

"That's it?" I asked, smiling.

"I'm a man of simple needs."

"Oh, I dare say we've gotten the sanitized version-for our own protection-but I'll leave it at that."

As soon as we'd stood up and unclipped our mics, I turned to Carter, but little Hadley had obviously been biding her time in the wings, and she came rus.h.i.+ng toward him. I brushed past both of them and hurried off the set.

Half-way to my office, I stuck my hand in my purse, rummaging for my keys. As directed, I'd locked my office door and closed the outer door to the anteroom.

I rounded the corner-and then froze. Up ahead I could see that the door to the anteroom was open, and light was pouring into the hallway. I caught my breath. It's the cleaning lady, I told myself.

I moved ahead, almost tiptoeing. As I reached the doorway to the anteroom, I realized that the door to my office was open, too. My heart hurled itself against my rib cage. Someone had managed to unlock the door. I felt my gaze drawn to the floor of the anteroom, to the cheap light gray carpet.

Something dark and wet was streaked across it.

chapter 13.

I staggered backward into the corridor. A sound came from the right, and I swung in that direction. The cleaning lady. She was rolling her cart in my direction.

"Did-did you see who was here?" I blurted out.

"Here?" she asked, frowning. "You mean in the hall?"

"No, in my office," I said. I flung my arm to the left, pointing into the anteroom. I could feel my hand begin to tremble. "Someone's been in here. And there's a huge stain on the rug."