"Roberts, Nora - Private Scandals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

sixty-three, he was showing no signs of slowing down. As he crossed toward Finn, he pulled an orange neon
sweatband away from his silver mane of hair. Finn had always thought Barlow had a face that belonged on Mount
Rushmore. Craggy, huge and powerful.
"Getting soft, kid." Barlow pulled a bottle of Evian out of his gym bag and tossed it underhand to Finn. The second
one he kept himself, drinking in deep, greedy gulps. "Almost took you that time."
"I've been playing with Brits." Since he nearly had his breath back, Finn grinned up at him. "They're not as mean as
you."
"Well, welcome back to the States." Barlow offered a hand, hauling Finn to his feet. It was like being gripped by a
friendly grizzly. "You know, most people would have considered the post in London a promotion, even a coup."
"It's a nice town."
Barlow let out a sigh. "Let's hit the showers."

Twenty minutes later, they were stretched out on massage tables being pummeled.
"Damn good show this morning," Barlow commented. "You've got a good crew, solid writers. Give it a little time and
you'll be competitive."
"Time is shorter than it used to be in this business. I used to hate the goddamn bean counters." He bared his teeth in
a grimace. "Now I'm a goddamn bean counter."
"At least you're a bean counter with imagination." Barlow said nothing. Finn held his silence, knowing there was a
purpose to this informal meeting.
"Give me an opinion on the Chicago bureau."
"It's tight," Finn said cautiously. "Hell, Barlow, you were bureau chief there for more than ten years, you know what
we're working with. You've got a solid combination of experience and fresh blood. It's a good place to work."
"Ratings for the local evening news are weak. What we need is a stronger lead-in. I'd like to see them shift Angela's
to four, pull her audience along."
Finn shrugged. He didn't ignore ratings, but he did detest their importance. "She's been at nine in Chicago and most
of the Midwest for years. You might have a tough time pulling it off."



"Tougher than you think," Barlow murmured. "You and Angela ... ah, there's nothing going on there anymore?"
Finn opened his eyes, cocked a brow. "Are we going to have a father-son chat, Pop?"
"Wiseass." Barlow chuckled, but his eyes were keen. Finn knew the look. "I wondered if you two had picked up
where you left off."
"Where we left off was in the toilet," Finn said dryly. "And no."
"Hmmm. So are relations friendly or strained?" "Publicly, friendly. Realistically, she hates my guts."
Barlow grunted again. It was good news, he thought, because he was fond of the boy. It was bad news because it
meant he might not be able to use him. Making up his mind, he shifted on the table, wrapping the sheet around him
and dismissing both masseuses.
"I've got a problem, Finn. A nasty little rumor that came buzzing in my ear a couple of days ago."
Finn pushed himself up. At any other time he would have made a crack about two grown men having an intense
conversation while they were half naked and smelling of ginseng. "You want it to buzz in my ear?"
"And stop there."
"All right."
"Word is Angela Perkins is pulling up stakes--in Chicago and with CBC and Delacort."
"I haven't caught wind of that." Considering, Finn pushed the hair away from his face. Like any reporter, he hated
getting news secondhand. Even if the news was only a rumor. "Look, it's contract time, right? She probably started the
hum herself to get the brass to offer another truckload of money."
"No. Fact is, she's keeping it quiet. Real quiet. What I hear is that her agent's making negotiating noises, but they
don't ring true. The leak came from Starmedia. If she leaves, Finn, it'll be a big hole."