Headlines (Prime Time Series Book 3) by Ella Frank

Author:Ella Frank [Frank, Ella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

18

Xander

“I SWEAR, IF your ass isn’t in my makeup chair in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to send Marcus to your office to personally escort you over.”

I grinned at Cynthia’s put-out tone as she reprimanded me over the phone. I was usually in her seat forty-five minutes before I went on air. I always complained she could do it in less, but as she constantly liked to point out, the time block had nothing to do with her skill and competence, but with all of the interruptions, pop-up emergencies, and last-minute changes to my write-up.

Twenty minutes for makeup, and twenty-five minutes to avoid disaster. Right now, I was eating into her time block.

“I’ll be over there in—”

“Ten seconds or less if you want to live to get on air tonight.”

I pushed to my feet. “I’m on my way.”

She’d already hung up before I could attempt the word goodbye, and I clicked on my email inbox one last time to refresh it. When no new mail popped up, I sighed, grabbed my phone, and headed for the door.

All day today—and yesterday—I’d been refreshing and checking my emails like I was paid to do so. But as I headed across the newsroom toward the dressing rooms, I knew I needed to chill out and focus on the job I was actually there to do.

That was easier said than done, though. Yesterday morning I’d reached out to Bailey regarding my birthday this coming weekend, and even though I knew he wanted nothing to do with me right now, I’d blindly hoped that this would be the one thing he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Birthdays were our thing. They always had been, ever since we were boys. No matter how old we were turning, who we were dating, or what was going on in our work lives, we always showed up for the other’s birthday. We hadn’t missed one in all the years we’d been friends.

I was just about to pull the door to the dressing room open when my phone vibrated. But instead of the text I was hoping for, it was my mother letting me know that they would be arriving in Chicago Friday. I sent her a quick message asking if she needed me to send a car or pick them up, but she assured me they would be fine and she’d be in touch. Then, because I’m a pathetic human being, I refreshed my email one more time—

“Alexander Thorne, get in here now!”

—no new messages.

I sighed, shut the damn thing off, and then pushed through the dressing room door to see not only Cynthia, but Ryan, who was currently sitting in my makeup chair.

“I’m sorry, but did you get lost?” I said, as Ryan spun around and closed the magazine he was reading. “Your desk is out in front of mine.”

Cynthia was leaning back against the bench that housed her makeup and hair-styling products. I looked between the two of them, and the curious expressions on their faces made me frown.

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