Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(9)

XTN will outfit me in a wardrobe of their choosing, so I only need my personal things. I’ll take the train to Calloway Creek, and Mom will pick me up from the station, hopefully avoiding any onlookers that would surely make me town gossip.

I turn toward the exit of the airport when I see a man holding up a sign with my name on it. Oh, my. A sign. With my name on it. It’s something from out of a movie.

Part of me wants to snap a picture for posterity, but I resist the urge, not wanting to seem like a silly girl when I need to be viewed as an upstanding, albeit temporary, member of one of the most popular cable news networks on television.

I approach the man in the black suit and chauffer’s hat. “I’m Nicole Forbes.”

“Right this way, Ms. Forbes.” He takes my bags and escorts me out of the terminal and over to a waiting limousine in some VIP area I never knew existed.

VIP! I scream in my head.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“XTN, ma’am.”

“Do you know why? I wasn’t aware I was needed until tomorrow.”

“I’m just the driver, ma’am.”

“Of course. Sorry.”

On the way, I text my mother and tell her I’ll be later than I thought and not to go to the train station until I contact her again.

Forty minutes later, I’m on the eighth floor of the XTN building, standing in the office of my new weather producer, Barry Remsen. Alone.

I glance around, keeping myself in check but knowing this is the big league. Marty’s office could fit in Barry’s bathroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Manhattan. Awards line one of the interior walls. Photos of news anchors, prominent politicians, and celebrities line another. I’m so in over my head.

Jenny, Barry’s assistant and the woman who led me into the office, returns and hands me a bottle of water. “They’ll be in momentarily.”

“They?”

“Barry, wardrobe, makeup—you know, everyone.”

Suddenly I’m terrified. I smile at Jenny as if I knew. She leaves and I breathe deeply. You can do this, Nicky.

There’s a lot of activity outside the door. Someone holds it open, and people pour in. Dozens of them. They’re all talking to each other— about me, but not to me.

“Uh, hello,” I say quietly amongst the noise. I clear my throat and speak louder. “Hi.”

“Nicole,” a man says, as if I’m an afterthought. His eyes sweep me up and down, homing in on my chest. He snaps his fingers at a woman. “Clarice, you get her first. You may have your work cut out for you. She’s got big boobs; you’ll have to let out material to accommodate them. Bad for you, but I have a feeling weekend viewership is about to go through the roof.”

I step forward. “I could sue you for sexual harassment, you know.”

He appraises me like I’m a toddler. Okay, so no joking around with this asshole.

“I was only kidding,” I say. “I’m actually flattered you think I’ll bring in more viewers.”

“Why would you sue me? I was just stating the facts. You have large breasts, and that means Clarice will have to alter your wardrobe. And, yes, men will tune in to watch.”

“I hope women will too.”

“That remains to be seen.”

I realize this jerk just assumes I know who he is. “Where I come from, we generally introduce ourselves before making comments about each other’s bodies.” I extend my hand. “I’m Nicole Forbes.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes. “Barry Remsen.”

I turn to Clarice. “Clarice, nice to meet you.” And then I ask the names of the rest of the crowd who run the gamut from assistant producers to lighting techs, makeup artists, and more wardrobe people.

“Follow me,” Clarice says, guiding me toward Barry’s private bathroom. Once inside, she shuts the door. “Don’t mind us, we work eighteen-hour days and rarely come up for air. You’ll get used to this bunch soon enough. Some of us might actually be nice people.” She nods to the door. “But not all.”

I don’t have to ask about whom she speaks.

“I hope you don’t mind getting measured,” she says. “I promise not to make it awkward.”

I unbutton my blouse. “Not if you don’t mind that I’m wearing my comfortable airplane undergarments that look like they belong on someone three times my age.”

Clarice laughs, putting me at ease for the first time today. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

After Clarice is done with me, hair and makeup get their turn.

“Keep her hair down,” Barry says, butting in.

I know why he wants it that way, and it disgusts me. He’s treating me like a weather girl, not a degreed meteorologist. But after earlier, I keep my mouth shut.

Henri, the makeup artist assigned to me, gets out his palette and picks my colors. “Beautifique,”

he says with what I’m pretty sure is a fake French accent.

“Merci,” I reply, earning a wink of approval.

Two hours later, everyone has cleared the room, leaving Barry and me alone.

“Listen,” he says. “Xuan Le Kim and I butted heads over this decision. I don’t think it’s prudent to start our relationship on bullshit. I wanted John Hansen from TTKY in Lexington. But Xuan Le’s the president of the network, so I got overridden. Plus, you’re only here temporarily, so it wasn’t a hill I was going to die on.”