Dirty News (Dirty Network Book 1) Read online

  Hiring an agent to get some type of television job or something like that sounded like the thing to do. And here Larry was, finally giving me something I could sink my teeth into.

  I’d majored in journalism at LSU. I could be a newsman.

  “Yeah, there are anchor positions and other ones too. I was thinking you might want to jump on any of the sportscaster positions too.” Larry sniffled. “So, should I set it up?”

  “Yeah, I think you should. I think this is just what I’ve been looking for. You know what? I thought you were useless, Larry, but you’ve gone and done something pretty good. Good job.” With a sip of hot coffee, my day began to look brighter.

  “I’ll text you the time and address as soon as I set it up, Duke. Good luck, man.” He hung up, and I put the phone down.

  Making my way to the bathroom, I looked at my reflection. My beard had grown out, making me look a little on the straggly side. My hair needed to be cut too. “Time to make an appointment to get myself looking presentable.”

  After a hot shower, another pot of coffee, and my morning Aleve, I headed out to see the barber who’d taken care of me since I’d moved to New York.

  Jordan greeted me as I entered his little shop in Queens. “Yo, Duke. What’s the good news today, my friend?”

  Taking a seat in the empty chair, the loud clap of the cape Jordan snapped at his side echoed in the little place. “I might have an interview to be an anchorman, Jordan.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He put the cape around me as he looked at me in the mirror in front of us. “For which channel?”

  “A new one.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I want something nice and short on the sides, but leave a little for the girls to run their hands through on top, all right?”

  “Got ya.” He looked at my beard. “In my opinion, this needs to go. I’ve never seen an anchorman with a beard.”

  Running my hand over my beard, which I’d had for years, I hated to see it go. But go it must. “Yeah, you’re right. Get rid of it entirely.”

  With a nod, he went on. “What’s this new channel called?” Spritzing my hair with scented water, Jordan got right to work on that first.

  “The network is called WOLF. I don’t know what channel it’s gonna be on though.”

  “WOLF? Now that’s gonna sound badass, man.” Jordan laughed. “And next up, Duke Cofield, WOLF’s toughest anchorman ever.”

  Laughing, I felt a bit of excitement growing inside me. It was the first time in forever I’d felt that, and I knew that meant something. It had to.

  My days had been blah since my retirement, humdrum, even. My family asked me to come back to New Orleans all the time. But leaving New York felt like I’d be losing the game. And I hated to lose.

  It felt like eons had passed since I had moved to the big city. This might not have always been my home, but now it felt like it was. I had my favorite deli just five blocks from my apartment. The hot dog stand on the corner made the best in New York, in my opinion. And the atmosphere was electric all the time.

  Life just moved at a different pace in the city that never sleeps. I didn’t want to leave. I knew my life was meant to be spent here. So, I stayed, and kept looking for the next phase of my life to begin.

  My cell dinged. I had a message. Pulling it out of my pocket I found the address and time for the interview had been sent to me by Larry. “Finkelstein did it! I’ve got an interview at four this afternoon.”

  “Way to go!” Jordan nodded. “You’re gonna get it. I know you will. You’re a freakin’ former New York Jets linebacker, dude! You’ve gotta be more popular than anyone else who’s going up for this thing, right?”

  All I could do was shrug. I had no idea who else would be going up for this. “All I can do is hope, right?”

  And a few short hours later, I stood in front of the glass doors that I hoped I’d get to walk through every day. Seeing the word ‘WOLF’ on those doors gave me such a thrill. I wanted to be WOLF’s first anchorman—and what I wanted, I usually got.

  My dress shoes clicked as I walked over the black and gray marble floor to the reception desk. A woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun looked up at me. Her dark eyes lingered on my cleanly shaven face. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” I leaned my forearm on the top of the mahogany wood counter she stood behind. “I’m here for an interview. The anchor position, if I was correctly informed. Duke Cofield is the name.”

  She licked her shiny red lips. “Yeah. Um, the boss is ready for you, I bet. Let me see real quick.” She looked away from me to pick up a phone. After a moment of mumbling, she hung up. “Brady’s coming to get you now. You were a football player, right?”

  “Linebacker for the Jets. You a fan?” I ran my fingertip over the counter and her eyes followed my movements. I loved toying with the opposite sex. Making women all wiggly inside was my specialty.

  “I am.” She pulled her lower lip between her white teeth.

  The sound of the elevator dinging had me looking away to find a little man stepping out of it. “Mr. Cofield, can you come with me?”

  “Yeah.” I walked away as I looked over my shoulder. “Bye now.”

  “Bye, Mr. Cofield. Oh, my name’s Gretchen, by the way.” She waved her little hand at me.

  I nodded and got into the elevator as the little guy inside sighed. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  Choosing to ignore his comment, as I just didn’t really give a rat’s ass, I asked, “So, are you Brady?”

  He nodded as I put my hand out to shake his. “Um, no. I’m not into shaking hands.”

  Who the fuck’s not into shaking hands?

  “Okay.” I put mine into the pockets of my slacks as we went all the way to the top floor. I’d worn my best suit. The dark blue Armani had always been lucky for me. When the doors opened, I found a nice reception area. Everything was done in dark colors. Very manly, which made me think the owner and I would get along just fine.

  Brady didn’t say a word as he took me to the door with Artimus Wolfe’s name on it. He knocked before opening the door.

  An older woman came to me, holding out her hand. Behind her, the man in the chair behind the desk got up too, taking long strides toward me. “Duke Cofield, so glad you could come,” she said as I shook her hand. “I’m Mrs. Baker.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I let go of her hand and turned my attention to the man who I hoped would hire me. He took mine with a firm shake.

  Two pumps, strong grip.

  I liked the way the man shook my hand. It told me a lot about him.

  “Artimus Wolfe, Duke. I hope you don’t mind if I call you that?” He turned to lead me back to his desk, but then walked right past it to the set of sofas on the other side of the room.

  “No, you call me Duke. And may I call you by your first name as well?” I took a seat on the opposite sofa as he sat on the one across from me. Mrs. Baker was pouring a couple of glasses of amber liquid from a decanter.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got some twenty-year-old Scotch I thought you might like to try.”

  Never one to turn down a drink, especially one so expensive, I thought the interview was getting off to a great start.

  I had this job in the bag.

  Chapter Three

  Lila

  When a message came in from Mrs. Baker, I prepared myself for the worst. Pulling the fluffy white hotel robe tighter around me, I took a deep breath before opening the message on my cell.

  Hello Lila, we hope you’re enjoying your evening. We’d like you to come in for another interview tomorrow morning at 9. We’ve booked you another night at the hotel.

  My feet took me dancing around the room as I laughed and cried, feeling like I must be fast asleep and dreaming this whole thing. But as I fell back on the soft bed, I continued to stare at the words on the screen, and it finally began to sink in.

  This is really happening!

  Sleep was nearly impossible, but I managed to get a few good hours
in before I got up to get ready for the meeting. Another sixty-dollar cab ride and I was standing once again in front of the glass doors I had prayed I would see again.

  I’d put on a dress this time. Reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn, I wanted to be sure to show how diverse my style could be. Dark blue flowers flowed over pearl white fabric. My heels matched the blue perfectly, and I even wore my grandmother’s string of pearls around my neck.

  I felt like a real New Yorker as I strode to the reception desk. “Lila Banks, here to see Mr. Wolfe again.” This time no nerves plagued me. I’d been called back. They wanted me for sure this time around.

  “Go on up. They’re waiting for you.” She smiled at me with a wide grin as I walked to the elevator. In hindsight, the grin she wore was a shit-eating one, not meant to make me feel at ease in the least.

  Stepping off the elevator once I’d reached the top floor, I saw Mr. Wolfe, Mrs. Baker, Brady, and one more man in the reception area. Brady was busily making coffee as the other three talked about something.

  They all looked at me as I headed their way. Mr. Wolfe was quick to make the introduction, “This is Lila Banks, Duke.”

  The man he’d called Duke was tall. A man with broad shoulders. A man with a wide chest. A man with a devastating smile and perfectly straight, sparkling white teeth. His hairstyle—short on the sides, a bit longer on the top—accentuated his dark hair. Hair that contrasted well with his bright blue eyes.

  In short, Duke exuded sexual prowess. And when he took my hand with a firm grip, I felt a spark—and then a lot more than a spark as heat flashed through me.

  Oh, shit!

  “Hi there, Lila. Duke Cofield, former New York Jet. And I hear you’re a recent grad from UCLA.” His voice was a mixture of satin and gravel that combined to tickle my ears, then sooth them with a soft tongue.

  “Hi.” I couldn’t really come up with anything else at that moment. I’d never before been in the presence of so much man.

  Mrs. Baker moved things along, “Come, let’s head to the meeting room. Brady, bring in the coffee and pastries, please.”

  She ushered us along. If she hadn’t, my feet might well have stayed planted right where they were. Duke certainly had an effect on me.

  I, however, didn’t seem to affect him much at all. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d had plenty of women in his time, no doubt. Why would I affect him?

  When we entered the meeting room, I found a white dry-erase board with a chart on it. My name was next to a box that had the words, “Nightly News Weather” in it. Other names were in other areas. Duke’s attention was on his own name, which was written next to “Evening News Sports.”

  My jaw dropped when I saw what was at the very top of the board. “Morning News Anchor” had both of our names in the place next to it. Both were followed by question marks.

  “As you can see, we’d like to welcome you both to WOLF,” Mr. Wolfe said as he took a seat.

  Duke looked at me for a moment with no expression at all on his handsome face, before he looked at our new boss. “And what do the question marks mean, Artimus?”

  “Sit, you two,” Artimus urged us. After we’d taken seats across the table from where he and Mrs. Baker sat, he went on. “You see, we like you both for that position. We think what it will come down to is you showing us who would be better for that position. Then we can make a final decision.”

  “Like a competition?” My nails bit into my palms as I waited for the answer.

  “Sure, you can look at it like that.” Mrs. Baker put packets in front of us both. “We’ll need you to sign these papers. It’s your normal new hire paperwork.” She pulled out the first sheets in each packet. “On these, you’ll find your salary for the positions you’ve been hired for. Whoever gets the anchor spot will get another paper to sign for that job. Of course, that job comes with three times the pay as the positions we’re offering you right now. We’re financially transparent here at WOLF. No matter what gender you happen to be, each job pays the same for men and women. We’re hoping to set a precedent for other networks.”

  Duke looked stunned. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he actually said, “You want me to compete? With her?”

  “You don’t have to look at it like that if you don’t want to,” Artimus informed him. “You both have qualities that we like, but we just want to be sure we’re making the right choice before making anything final.”

  Mrs. Baker took over. “I’d like you both to think about what being an anchor really means. It means doing great interviews. It means doing things in the community that show how much you care about our city and our people.”

  Artimus added, “Being an anchor is more than just reading things off the prompters or cue cards. It’s about being the face of our new network. The morning show is what will start it all off when we go on-air. We have very high expectations for that position.”

  “I feel confident that I can handle that responsibility, Artimus.” Duke looked at me with a weak smile. “Not to offend you in any way, but you’re not even from here. I don’t think people will connect with you as quickly as they will with me. No offense.”

  “None taken.” My hands lay in my lap as I tried to put on my best face. “And I see what you’re saying, but I have to say that I am the fresh face they’re after. The new look of a new network. WOLF is about people who are new to this industry.”

  “And I am.” Duke looked at Artimus. “I am new to this. My face isn’t a television staple. It’s been hidden behind a football helmet most of the time.”

  “He’s right,” Artimus agreed. “He’s just as fresh a face as you are.”

  Mrs. Baker seemed set on making us understand what the hell they were doing to us. “Look, you’re both perfect for that position. But we only want one. So, we need you both to use the rest of this week to make us some videos. Do some community work and interviews. Anything you can think of to show us who you are and what you can do for WOLF.”

  “Can I ask how I’m supposed to make videos? I don’t have a camera here in New York.” I looked at Duke and found him nodding.

  “Yeah, how are we to go about doing that?” He chewed his lower lip. That made him look nervous to me, which I rather liked seeing.

  If he was nervous, then he thought I stood a chance. I could beat him. If I tried hard enough, I could do it.

  So what if he was the manliest man I’d ever seen in real life? He could be beaten—his nerves told me so. Being devastatingly muscular and sexy didn’t automatically mean he’d be the best man for the job.

  Artimus answered our question, “You can use our crews. All you have to do is call the producer, Ashton Lange.” He pulled two business cards out of his breast pocket and pushed them across the table to us. They were Ashton Lange’s business cards. “He’ll get the crew out to wherever you need them to be.”

  I still had questions. “And if the person I find to interview doesn’t reside in New York?”

  “WOLF has a private jet.” Artemis gave me a brilliant smile. “Call me, and I’ll set that up if need be.”

  So we had it all at our fingertips. Both of us did. Everything we’d need to show them why each of us was the best.

  The only problem was that I had no idea what I had that would be better than what Duke Cofield of the New York Jets could offer. Or former New York Jet. Whatever the hell he was, he was better known by New Yorkers than I was.

  How will I make them love me?

  “Start by doing a video here today,” Mrs. Baker told us as she gave us each a pen to start working on the mountain of paperwork in the packets. “The crew will be in the studio after lunch. They can film you telling the people of New York good morning for the first time, introducing yourself to them all. The same way you’ll have to do when we first go live.”

  Introduce myself?

  Already this was proving harder than I knew it would be. My only saving grace was that Duke seemed just as worried as I was.

&nbs
p; “Okay, so I’ll make a video introducing myself to this town.” Duke drummed his thick fingers. Two of them were bent a bit.

  I brushed them with my fingertips. “They look like you broke them.”

  His blue eyes followed my fingers as I moved them off his hand. “Yeah, I did. I’ve broken more than just those fingers.”

  That gave me an idea—maybe I’d interview him. But did I want to make my enemy look any better in the boss’s eyes than he already did?

  Probably not.

  I hadn’t ever been in a real competition before. I was more of a team player—a let’s all do this together kind of girl. But now it seemed I was going head-to-head with a man who had made a living out of competing. And not with girls either. No, he’d competed with strong men. Men who were brutal. Men who could break a girl like me in half.

  Did I have it in me to fight as hard as I knew Duke Cofield would?

  Chapter Four

  Duke

  Brady escorted Lila and me to the third floor. There, we found a skeleton camera crew. “These people here will film you guys after you’ve come up with what you want to say to the people of New York. I know it’s just a rehearsal, and you can punch up what you actually want to say when you have to do it for real, but make this count.” He pointed to a table with a few chairs around it. “Over there is where you can write down what you want to say. The scene should only last about a minute. Not too long, not too short. Any questions?”

  I shook my head, and Lila did too. Seemed we both knew what we were doing. Not that I actually knew what I was doing, but I could fake it. The air of confidence one wore could be the only thing needed to throw the competition off. They thought you knew what the hell you were doing, so they developed an inferiority complex right off the bat. Or so I hoped, anyway.

  The fact was, I knew Lila would be the perfect face to anchor the morning program. She was as fresh as a spring morning. Her dewy skin, tanned to creamy perfection, was the perfect backdrop for her sparkling sky-blue eyes. Thick, dark lashes, that actually looked natural and not fake at all, framed those gorgeous eyes. A thin nose sat in the middle of her lovely face, turning up slightly at the end. So cute, dainty, and begging to be kissed. High cheekbones, dusted with pale pink, gave her a look of sophistication, even though she was obviously young—early twenties, I guessed. The pink of her cheeks matched her lip color. And those pink-stained lips were pouty with just the right amount of plump.