A Case for Love (20 page)

She lay there for quite a while, trying to find peace within, silently praying for sleep to come. When it didn’t, she stretched out on her back again, staring at the patch of moonlight on the ceiling.

“Please show me how to trust You; show me what You want me to do. And help me to leave this situation in Your hands and not try to run out ahead of You and do things on my own. Because I can’t handle it on my own. I can’t figure it out for myself.” Her eyes grew heavy, and she yawned. “And I’ll never understand Forbes Guidry without Your help.”

Sleep came. But when the alarm went off at six o’clock, her head throbbed and she did not look forward to the day to come.

For the first time in more than ten years, she paid as little attention as necessary to her appearance—she’d worry about what her face and hair looked like closer to airtime.

At the office, she went straight to her cubicle, speaking as little as necessary to the co-workers she passed in the hallways, and dug into finishing a few stories for the broadcast.

“Hey, Alaine—whoa, are you feeling okay?” Bekka swung back into Alaine’s cubicle.

“I’m just tired.” Tired of keeping up appearances. Tired of trying to figure out how to get a promotion. Tired of trying to be the person everyone else thought she should be. Tired of wondering about Forbes. Tired of longing to fall in love and get married. Tired of everything.
God, help me turn it all over to You.

Bekka, who always showed up for work with little makeup and her hair overflowing the top of a clip at the back of her head, raised her eyebrows in an encouraging gesture. “How’d the meeting go last night?”

Tempted to tell her everything, Alaine had to stop herself. Never knew who might be listening around this place. “We’ll have to get together for coffee some time next week, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“And
him?
”

“Seems like he managed to win just about everyone over. Including my dad.” Closing her eyes, she could clearly see her father with his hand on Forbes’s shoulder—a sure sign JD Delacroix had accepted Forbes.

“That’s a good thing, though, isn’t it?” Confusion edged Bekka’s soft voice.

“Yeah. That’s a good thing.”

“You’re still not sure how you feel about him, though.”

Alaine clicked her pen with increasing rapidity. “I’m still trying to work that out. I trust him—I want to trust him. I want him to be everything he says he is, that he’s not just showing us one face and is a totally different person in reality.”

Bekka leaned against the edge of Alaine’s desktop. “Has he given you any reason to believe he’s deceiving you?”

Alaine told her about the magazine article in a whisper. “If he believes his parents can do no wrong, then how could he do what we’re asking him to do?”

“But Alaine, you have to think—those interviews were done months ago. Didn’t you do yours back in February?” She uncrossed her arms when Alaine nodded. “He didn’t know back then that they might be involved in something like this—you said yourself he didn’t know until you told him. And not only that, he was talking about them as a child about his parents for a magazine which is all about image. If you’d read that about him without this—thing going on, wouldn’t you have found it endearing he’d feel that way about his folks?”

The magazine was all about image. Just like her program. Just like
her.
When had she become such a sellout? Stopped looking for what people were deep down instead of just on the surface? She’d become like all of those people who thought they knew something about art but who looked no further than the initial impression they got by gazing at a piece. They didn’t examine the hues, the brush strokes, the textures, the use of shadow and light—they didn’t even know how to look for it.

“Yeah, I would have found it charming.” Just like Forbes. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“See you in twenty for the briefing.” Bekka patted Alaine’s arm and left.

“See ya.” Alaine’s computer chimed, and she turned to see what reminder had just popped up. ART GALLERY SHOW OPENING WITH MEREDITH, 7PM.

In her freshman year of college, she’d read a book by one of her professors about how everything he knew about life and relationships had come from his love of art. She’d taken the lessons to heart, learning to look beyond the “frame” and the “image” to the details of what made something—or someone—a masterpiece. She could blame it on her sorority sisters, who couldn’t accept her until they’d remade her in their own image. But culpability for losing herself, for losing the person who’d accepted everyone and not cared at all about someone’s social status, or appearance or success, rested squarely on her own shoulders.

She ached to have friends again—the real kind, the kind she’d turned her back on at age nineteen when she decided to become someone she wasn’t sure she liked anymore. And tonight, she’d try to rectify that by attending the art gallery opening with Meredith and trying to remember who Alaine Delacroix really was.

Alaine opened the conference room door at the insistent knocking. She glowered at the intern who stood on the other side. “We’re in a prep meeting for the noon broadcast. What is it?”

“Mr. Milton wants to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

Dread fizzled through Alaine’s veins. “Please let him know that I’ll be happy to meet with him after the broadcast, but for the next two hours, I’m tied up.”

“I’ll tell him.” But his expression said he didn’t think the boss would go for it.

Alaine returned to her co-workers and the meeting continued—until the knocking started up again several minutes later.

“Yes?” Her heart rattled in her chest.

“He said okay, but you’re to go straight to his office as soon as you sign off.”

“Thank him for understanding and let him know I’ll be there immediately after airing.” She closed the door and returned to the small conference table.

“What is that all about?” Pricilla asked.

“No clue. Now, where were we?” Getting her two producers to focus on the program notes was easier than returning her own focus to it. What had she done now to deserve to be called into the boss’s office? Whatever it was, she would apologize and show him she was turning over a new leaf. Gone was the full-of-herself diva. She just hoped he’d give her a chance to prove it instead of firing her on the spot. Not that he would. Would he?

The inside corner of her bottom lip was raw by the time she got to the set. She had to stop chewing on it when she was nervous, a bad habit she’d started when she forced herself to stop chewing the ends of her pens.

The program went smoothly—thank goodness Major O’Hara’s pretaped cooking segment took up more than a quarter of the show. With a few other taped segments, Alaine only had to focus on a couple of transitions, banter with Bekka and Brent before and after the news headlines and weather forecasts at the top and bottom of the hour, and hold an in-studio interview with one of the curators at the Bonneterre Fine Arts Center about the new exhibition, which opened to the public tomorrow.

As soon as she got the clear signal, Alaine unwired herself, took a deep breath, and headed upstairs to the news director’s office. The door stood open, but she still knocked to get his attention.

“Close the door and sit down.”

Oh, dear. That couldn’t be a good sign. She did as bade, clasping her hands tightly together in her lap. “You asked to see me?”

“Yes. What is this?” He flung a quarter-folded section of newspaper at her.

“Um...” Not a good time to be flippant. She closed her mouth and looked down at the portion of the page facing her. It was the news-briefs page—the page with snippets of information either too trivial for an article or learned too late for a full article to be written before press time. She was about to ask him what he wanted her to look at when she saw it:

She might throw up. Trembling, she set the paper gingerly on the desk. Of course someone had informed a reporter about the meeting—whether he was there or someone just gave him the information. With that many people, even though they’d all been asked to keep it confidential, word was bound to leak.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any involvement in what’s going on in the Mills.” Rodney leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

“I don’t—not directly. My parents, as you saw, are involved, as are my brother and sister-in-law. My only involvement was to find a lawyer who’d be willing to take a case like this against B-G.” She couldn’t get fired over this. He couldn’t be that petty.

“Need I remind you that you have a duty to this station that if you know of something newsworthy you’re to bring it to our attention?”

“I couldn’t. I was bound by a promise of confidentiality.”

“We could have treated you as an unnamed source. No one would have known you were passing us the information.”

“I would have known. I know my duty to the station, but I also know my duty to my family, as well as to myself and my own conscience. I could not break my word.” The DVD sitting on her desk at home with the finished piece about B-G and the Guidrys weighed on her mind.

“Well, now the news has been broken, your promise of confidence is null and void. I want you to be the primary on this story. It doesn’t mean a promotion yet, but if you do as good a job with this—and I want some heavy-duty investigative reporting—as you’ve been telling me you’d do if I moved you to main news, I’ll consider moving you over.”

Funny, yesterday she would have given everything for this chance. “No.”

“You’ll start with something for the six o’clock news today—excuse me?”

“No, I won’t report this story. I’m too closely involved in it to be objective. Not only that, but you already have an investigative reporter who’s been working on the story and who’ll do a much better job with it than I would.” And her parents would hold to their promise of dropping out of the lawsuit if she took the assignment.

He rocked back in his chair as if avoiding something she’d thrown at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” She leaned forward. “Listen, Rodney. I need to apologize to you. I know I haven’t been the most cooperative employee for the past few years—that I’ve been the thorn in your side with my mania to get promoted, to do hard news. But I’ve come to a decision.” She swallowed hard. “I want to stay with
Inside Bonneterre
for as long as you’ll let me. I have some ideas I’m working on for how I can make it even better, get more involved in the community. If I’m going to start implementing those changes, I’ll need all my focus there, not on trying to do the program and investigate what could be one of the biggest stories Bonneterre’s ever seen. So while I appreciate your vote of confidence in me, my answer is no.”

Rodney’s jaw hung slack.

She laughed. “I know.
Invasion of the Body Snatchers,
right? But trust me on this. You want a better reporter than me to handle this story. And I’d like my name to be kept out of it as much as possible. I know I’ve already put myself into the middle of it by being there last night, but my family has asked me to keep a low profile, to not add my name and image to the media circus that it might become. They don’t want me tainted by association if things go badly, I think.”

Recovering his wits, Rodney ran his hands over his face. “Well, since B-G is one of the biggest sponsors of your show, I suppose it’s better to keep you away from the story as much as we can. I’d—I know you have creative control over your program, but I’d be interested in seeing your ideas for the new segments you have. We need more community involvement, so I’d like to see if we can take your ideas and create some station-wide initiatives stemming from what you do on your show.”

“I’d love to talk to you about it.” But not yet. “I’ll send you an e-mail with the details once I get them fleshed out a little better. I’ll go now so you can get someone else in here and brief them on the Mills story.” She dismissed herself and stood to leave.

“Yes. Oh, send my secretary in here on your way past her desk.”

“Will do.” Though she’d never dreamed it possible, Alaine walked out of Rodney Milton’s office with no promotion and feeling better than she had in—in longer than she could remember.

Back at her desk, she checked messages on her work phone and her cell phone. Meredith Guidry ... O’Hara—Alaine grinned when Meredith had to quickly remember to tack on her new last name—had left a message for Alaine to call her to confirm plans for tonight. And she had a text message from Shon Murphy: U R ON AT 930 SATURDAY.

Not getting her date’s name until he showed up at the agreed-upon time and location worried her a bit. She couldn’t help but wish it was Forbes and not a complete stranger. But what would people think if her name became romantically linked with Forbes’s now? It was no longer just a case of the bachelor and bachelorette of the year becoming a couple. If this became a lawsuit, a relationship between her and Forbes could become a problem for others involved in the case—always wondering if her parents were getting more attention, better representation, than they were because the lawyer was dating their daughter.

Professional distance was what she needed. If she was to be seen out and about on dates with others, it would help put an end to any rumors that might hinder or damage the case.

“So I see you’re not packing up your desk.” Bekka leaned against the edge of the wall at the opening into Alaine’s cubicle. “Pricilla told me why you vanished so quickly after the program.”

“Right. Well, he offered me a promotion.”

Bekka’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Why? I mean, you know how much I respect your journalistic skills, but he’s not your biggest fan.”

“I know. But I’m mentioned in the newspaper as having been at the meeting in Moreaux Mills last night. He wanted me to cover the story—in addition to continuing with
Inside.
”

“And you said yes, of course.”

“I said no.”

Bekka must have put more of her weight onto the divider than before, because it wobbled, throwing her off balance. She grabbed it to right herself. “You said ... no?”

Alaine explained her reasons to Bekka—not just about the issue of her integrity in keeping her word to her parents, but about the underlying cause. “I need to find that person I used to be, the one I used to like. I wasn’t raised to be a diva. I wasn’t raised to smart mouth my boss. I was raised to work hard for what I want, but to be able to stop and recognize when I’ve been blessed with what I need, even if it’s not what I thought I wanted. If I’m going to keep faith with my parents’ expectations of me—and God’s—I have to do it in all aspects of my career, not just keeping the promise to not get involved in the story. Does that make any sense?”

Pushing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, Bekka gave her a smile like the one Alaine’s mother had worn for weeks after Alaine landed the job as sole host and creative director of
Inside Bonneterre
six years ago.

A vast sense of accomplishment welled up in Alaine. She’d prayed about everything else in her life last night. Figured God would answer the prayer she
didn’t
pray.

“I know this’ll sound patronizing, but I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. I hope to make everyone feel that way about me from now on.”

Bekka stayed only a few minutes to chat, then left Alaine so they could both get their work done—Alaine so she would have time to get ready for the black-tie event, and Bekka so she could prepare for the five o’clock newscast.

Alaine dialed Meredith’s office number.

“Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises, Facilities and Events, this is Corie,” Meredith’s assistant answered.

“Hi, this is Alaine Delacroix. I’d hoped to speak with our Mrs. O’Hara.”

Corie laughed. “Mrs. O’Hara has gone upstairs to speak with Mr. O’Hara. Shall I put you through to her cell phone?”

“Oh, no. Just have her call me when she returns to her office—on my cell.” Alaine gave the assistant the number, even though she knew Meredith had it.

Half an hour later, her cell phone buzzed.
Forbes Guidry
scrolled across the caller-ID window. She hit the silencer button and returned to the e-mail she was writing for Rodney to explain the ideas she had for incorporating more community outreach elements to her show. She couldn’t talk to Forbes right now. He’d get under her defenses and probably get her to admit her true feelings for him.

The phone buzzed again. Meredith this time. She flipped it open and tucked it between ear and shoulder. “Hey, girl.”

“Hey, yourself. I haven’t heard from you in ages—since we first arranged this. I was starting to wonder if we were still on or not.”

“We are most definitely still on. Art, fine food—at least I’m assuming it is since your husband’s preparing it—and a fund-raising auction. Who else would I possibly want to go with but the person who’s an expert in these types of gala events?”

“You float through those social waters pretty well yourself. I’ve seen you in action.”

“Yes, but tonight, I’ll have no camera, no notepad, no pen.”

“And I’ll have no clipboard, no earpiece, no wondering if everyone’s having a good time.”

“Just you and me and the art.”

“And a hundred or so other people.”

“Right.” Alaine mentally kicked herself for depriving herself of Meredith’s open, honest, and warm friendship for the past month. “Shall we meet on the steps by the Fontainebleau sculpture at seven thirty?”

“Sounds good. Hey, are you wearing floor-length or knee-length?”

“I’d planned on knee-length. The invite said black tie, but it also mentioned cocktails.”

“Oh, okay. You’re right. Knee-length, then. I brought both with me, just in case.”

“You took two dresses to work with you? Why not just change when you go home?”

Meredith let out a wry laugh. “Dear heart, you’ve yet to realize that I rarely leave here before six on nights when I don’t have anything going on in my department—and when I do ... I may not be working this event, but my catering division is, which means I need to be here just in case some last-minute crisis pops up so that Major doesn’t have to take time away from what he needs to get done to handle it.”

“Well, at least you get to see your husband when you stay late like that. But I can imagine he’s been telling you to go home, that he can handle everything.”

A pause on the other end spoke louder than a yes. “We’ve been having that argument for years; but now he feels like since he’s my husband, I’ll automatically do what he says instead of doing what I’ve always done.” She sighed. “In some ways, even though I’ll hardly ever see him, it’ll be a good thing once we break ground on the restaurant. It’ll keep him out of my hair here.”