word slipped past his lips.
She shook the errant thoughts from her mind, trying to focus on work. Despite all the drama of the past two days, she did have one positive thing going for her—the potential for a monster story. She didn’t have her fat file of notes since whoever had broken into her house had made off with that, but she still had the information from her investigative trip yesterday and the details she knew by memory. It wasn’t enough to break a story yet, but it was a damn good foundation for a killer scoop. Her boss Trey was going to flip his shit when he saw how big this could be. The on-air position would be hers wrapped up with a bow.
This was going to be her moment. Finally, she could prove her mother wrong. This girl was meant to be on TV. Her dream wasn’t something to laugh at.
Charli pushed open the doors to the main lobby and was greeted by the massive digital scoreboard that covered the back wall. All the scores of each Texas team’s last game were displayed in bright blue numbers. She gave a little wave to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, her stomach flipping over for reasons other than the rush to the top floor.
The elevator dinged and the funeral-like hush of the executive floor greeted her. Two levels down, where Charli worked, there was constant noise—phones ringing, all the sports channels cued up on the television screens, chattering over the walls of the cubicles. She loved the energy of it, the adrenaline. All this peacefulness on the top floor would drive her crazy.
She made her way to the far end of the hall and rapped on Trey’s partially ajar door. The door nudged open a bit farther from her knocking, and she could hear he wasn’t alone. She probably should’ve called up first, but trying to catch Trey when he wasn’t busy was like trying to find a break in traffic at rush hour.
“Yeah,” he called out.
She pushed the door fully open and stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, Tr—Mr. Winger.” Though she’d known Trey since college and had dated him briefly back then, she did make an effort to address him formally in front of others. “I needed to talk to you about something. I was hoping you’d have a minute.”
“Sure, Beaumonde, come on in,” Trey said, his voice like a barking dog. “I was just finishing up with Stormy here.”
The leggy blonde rose from her seat and flashed a toothpaste-ad smile Charli’s way.
Trey came around his desk and pressed a palm to the small of Stormy’s back as he guided her toward the door. “Let me know if you have any more questions, all right? I’m so happy this worked out.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Winger,” she said, her tone as perky as her Wonderbra. “And thank you. I know you’ll be a great mentor.”
Charli’s eyebrows lifted. Was Trey blushing? She’d seen the former-football-player-turned-executive get red with rage before, but never a blush. She pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.
Trey walked the girl out without introducing her to Charli, then came back to sit behind his desk. Charli sat in the chair the blonde had vacated. “Is she the new intern or something?”
“Not exactly.” Trey adjusted his suit jacket as if it had suddenly grown too small for his shoulders and frowned. “I called you earlier this morning, but you weren’t at your desk.”
“I had car trouble on the way back from an investigative trip. I sent you an e-mail about it.”
He glanced at his computer screen, which was apparently in sleep mode, and grunted. “You’re not supposed to be on investigative trips. I hired you to do lifestyle pieces.”
“I know. And I’m sorry about being late, but I think you’ll forgive me when you hear what I saw while on my trip. I drove out to take a look at Jensen Lerner’s place. You should’ve seen the number of suits going in and out of his house.”
“Beaumonde—”
She plowed on, too excited to share the information to pause for Trey’s questions. But by the time she was done spilling all of the evidence she’d gathered, she could tell he was only half listening.
“Sounds interesting. And hard to prove.”
She clenched her teeth, uninspired by Trey’s lack of enthusiasm. “I understand that. I plan to get facts. But you know how big this could be if it’s true? If they’re cheating and boosters are really paying players, that could shut down the entire football program.”
He waved his hand, a dismissive flip of the wrist that told her he was planning to ignore everything she’d said. “Keep me up to date with what you find. But make sure you don’t lose focus on what I hired you for in the first place. Your notes on the elderly fantasy football league story lacked your usual enthusiasm and level of detail.”
She resisted the urge to shake him. She’d been hired to research what most of the office considered fluff. Feel-good pieces that filled the space between the daily score updates and hard-hitting stories the network was known for. She enjoyed her job and believed those stories were just as important to tell, but she knew she’d need to bring in more breaking news–worthy pieces if she wanted to be seen as a serious on-air contender. She craved being in the action, there on camera sharing her passion in front of a live audience instead of from behind a desk. “I brought you the facts. You know I’ve never slacked. I don’t plan to start now.”
Trey’s face softened and the vein that had begun throbbing at his temple smoothed. Suddenly, he looked like the kid quarterback she’d met her freshman year again—the guy with whom she’d attempted her first real relationship. “I know. You’re a good reporter. But this is distracting you, and I don’t want you spinning your wheels on something that will be near impossible to prove.”
She could hear the underlying message in his words—Don’t fuck things up, Beaumonde. He’d gone out on a limb to get her in this position, and his name was riding on her doing the job he’d hired her for. “Right. I won’t let it interfere again.”
She rose to leave.
“Hold up, Charli. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
She sat back down, a little stunned that he’d used her first name. He never did that—even when they’d dated, he’d called her Beaumonde. Maybe this was going to be it. The day she’d been dreaming about. Her heartbeat ticked upward. “Yes?”
“We didn’t select you for the sideline reporter position.”
A short, emotionless sentence—one that managed to hit her like a dump truck.
She blinked, words escaping her. She hadn’t gotten it? They’d picked that smarmy-ass Pete over her?
Trey took a sudden interest in the pen he was rolling between his fingertips. “We just didn’t think it was the right fit. We feel your strengths are in the behind-the-scenes work.”
If the first revelation stole her breath, this one downright demolished her. Not only had she not gotten the position, but they didn’t think she was meant for an on-camera job? Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. “I don’t understand. You told me you thought I’d be a great candidate for it. And Pete froze up when we did our auditions. You think he’s better suited for TV?”
Trey shifted in his seat, set the pen down, and folded his hands on his desk. “No, we didn’t go with Pete either.”
Thoughts raced through her mind, knocking into each other, and tumbling. “Then who?”
Trey’s gaze flicked toward the door and he cleared his throat. “Uh, well…”
Oh, shit. She knew that look. He’d had the same one when he’d admitted he’d run up a gambling debt in college and had used money she’d lent him for rent to pay it off. It was the I-just-totally-screwed-you look. She followed his gaze, and realization clamored in her brain.
She