What a Girl Wants. Amy VastineЧитать онлайн книгу.
was giddy about it. The men were grouped together, enthusiastically reminiscing about game-changing plays and state championships. The women giggled and postured. Hair was big and clothes were tight today. The new guy was somewhat of a legend in these parts, born and raised in Sweetwater, and he played ball for Texas. The man’s broadcasting experience was all on the other side of the microphone. He had held countless press conferences, only not as the press. Nobody else seemed to care his résumé consisted of nothing but football stats. For whatever reason, he was a big deal. A very big deal.
Ken Collins, the station director, believed this addition to the news team was going to give KLVA’s ratings a major boost. Summer tried to focus on the positive. The former sports guy had been forced into early retirement. Bud Lawson gave her the creeps. His suits smelled like cigarettes and cheese and he thought it was completely appropriate to tell Summer he’d fantasized about her in a Dallas Cowboys cheerleading outfit. Even more disturbing, he’d attempted to pat her behind more than once. Summer spent a ridiculous amount of time and energy making sure her back was never turned to Bud.
Ken came to a dead stop in front of Summer and the umbrella resting against her desk. “When did you say it was going to rain? Richard didn’t say that this morning. He said sunny and ninety. No rain. I washed my car on the way here.”
She shrugged and Ken threw his hands up. “I only got the feeling before leaving the house,” she explained. “Computer models say I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure the winds are shifting.”
“Great,” he said with a huff. “Can you text me the next time you get a feeling after the morning forecast? Please?”
“Will do, boss.” Summer smiled as he shouted that they’d all better be ready for the staff meeting in ten minutes. Not everyone believed in Summer’s abilities, but Ken and the leather interior of his convertible had learned the hard way that she often knew more than the average meteorologist.
“What are you wearing?” Rachel Crow came zooming across the newsroom, headed straight for Summer’s desk. She was the station’s most popular news anchor, beautiful and polished. On the air, she had the sweetest Southern disposition. Behind the scenes, however, she was a bit more...tenacious.
Summer looked down at her favorite silk top. It reminded her of Texas bluebonnets and matched the color of her eyes. “Clothes?”
Rachel was not amused. “What color are you wearing?”
“Blue.”
“Yes! Yes, you’re wearing blue!” Rachel tucked her auburn hair behind her ears as she looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “Do you know what color the Chicago Bears are?”
Summer didn’t even know who the Chicago Bears were. “Blue?” she guessed.
“Blue,” Rachel repeated solemnly. “Did you think about that when you got dressed this morning? Today, of all days?” Summer would have felt guilty if she had any clue what Rachel was talking about.
“I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Obviously.”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to forgive me.”
“It’s not my forgiveness you should be seeking, sugar. Not mine.” Rachel shook her head and walked back to her desk.
Summer didn’t have the time to worry about why the color blue and Chicago and bears were somehow the root of all evil today. She opened an email from her parents’ friend Ryan Kimball about a tropical depression off the coast of Haiti that had turned into a tropical storm overnight. Ryan produced a storm-chasing show on the Discovery Channel that she watched religiously. He sent her the best pictures to post on KLVA’s weather site since he was still out there, living the life her parents had lived until their untimely passing. He emailed her often, reminding her that storm chasing was in her blood, and she was kidding herself if she thought she could stay away forever.
“Looking up new ways to make sunny and ninety sound interesting?” a voice asked over Summer’s shoulder. She spun in her seat and found her nemesis and fellow meteorologist, Richard Mitchell, appearing disheveled. He had removed his Dillard’s Big and Tall suit coat, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Richard was a large man who always seemed to be suffering in the Texas heat. The sweat stains on the armpits of his shirt made Summer cringe.
“I was checking on that tropical storm off the coast of—”
He cut in before she could finish. “I’m pretty sure the good people of Abilene couldn’t care less about a tropical storm in the middle of nowhere. Unless, of course, you plan on telling them it’s headed this way.”
Richard’s dislike of Summer was completely unjustified, if you asked her. She had earned the five and ten o’clock spots fair and square. She did her job well and people just plain liked her better than him. KLVA jumped to number two, ratingswise, when Summer switched from mornings to evenings.
“Well, as a matter of fact...” She glanced down at her bright red umbrella.
Richard’s beady eyes widened. “There’s no storm headed our way, Summer,” he hissed. “If you go on the air and report that, you’ll make a fool of yourself and this station!”
She glared at him. “There’s only one fool in our department, and it’s not me. Don’t worry, I’ll take full credit for my prediction and let our viewers know you thought differently.”
Richard’s face was redder than a July tomato. He pointed a thick, stubby finger at her. “You... You better watch yourself!” She laughed as he stomped off. “And don’t you dare mention my name!” He shouted his idle threat over his shoulder. Richard could hate her all he wanted, but he knew if she thought it was going to rain, it most definitely would.
Ken came out of his office and called for everyone’s attention. “All right, as most of you know, we have a new member to welcome to the KLVA team. Travis, come on over here.”
Summer rolled her chair a little to the left to catch a glimpse of this supposed god among men. He emerged from the huddle of guys who had been reliving his glory days when she walked in. Travis was young, about Summer’s age. His sandy blond hair sat on his head like a mop. The boy needed a haircut, but he wore a suit better than anyone else in the newsroom, perhaps in all of Texas. His broad shoulders and long legs made him a star on the field; his pearly white teeth and adorable dimples made him shine off-field. Her colleagues’ big hair and tight clothes made sense now. Travis was a lady-killer.
Ken patted him on the back and squeezed his mammoth shoulder. “I am more than proud to officially introduce Travis Lockwood, our new evening sports anchor.” More clapping, hooting and hollering took place.
Summer would admit he was cute, but this kind of welcome was unheard of around here. There was work to be done. She couldn’t stop herself from opening The Weather Channel’s website for a quick peek at the national map while Ken blathered on and on about Travis. She’d just clicked on a headline about how the drought was affecting the butterfly population when she heard her name.
“Right, Summer? I’m sure you can make that work.”
Ken was looking at her expectantly. “Can you repeat that, Ken? It’s hard to hear y’all over here with the fan going.” She pointed at the large oscillating fan blowing on Richard a few cubicles over.
“I said we’re going to take thirty seconds from the weather segment and give it to Travis for the first couple weeks. Give him some time to really connect with the audience.” Ken turned his attention back to Travis. “They’re gonna love you, son.”
Thirty seconds? Summer barely had enough time as it was to fit in everything she wanted to cover. She’d spent hours trimming here and there so she could add a segment she liked to call “Today in Weather History.” She’d been gathering interesting weather facts for weeks. They could not take thirty seconds from her and give them to some stupid, former football player.
“I can’t give you thirty seconds,” she