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

"Best of luck with it. We'll be back in a moment with the rest of the Midday News." Once they were in!commercial,
she smiled at Jonathan. "You were great. I appreciate your coming in."
"I hope I did okay." The minute his mike was removed, Jonathan whipped out a handkerchief to mop his brow. "First
time on TV."
"You did fine. I think this will generate a lot of local interest in your book."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Would you mind signing this for me?"
Beaming again, he took the book and pen she offered. "You sure made it easy, Deanna. I did a radio interview this
morning. The DJ hadn't even read the back blurb."
She took the autographed book, rising. Part of her mind, most of her energy, was already at the news desk across
the studio. "That makes it hard on everyone. Thanks again," she said, offering her hand. "I hope you'll come back with
your next book."
"I'd love to." But she'd already walked away, maneuvering nimbly over snaking piles of cable to take her place
behind the counter on the news set. After slipping the book under the counter,



she hooked her mike to the lapel of her red suit.
"Another screwball." The comment from her co-anchor, Roger Crowell, was typical.
"He was very nice."
"You think everyone's very nice." Grinning, Roger checked his hand mirror, gave his tie a minute adjustment. He had
a good face for the camera--mature, trustworthy, with distinguished flecks of gray at the temples of his rust-colored
hair. "Especially the screwballs."
"That's why I love you, Rog."
This caused snickering among the camera crew. Whatever response Roger might have made was cut off by the floor
director signaling time. While the TelePrompTer rolled, Roger smiled into the camera, setting the tone for a soft
segment on the birth of twin tigers at the zoo.
"That's all for Midday. Stay tuned for Let's Cook! This is Roger Crowell."
"And Deanna Reynolds. See you tomorrow." As the closing music tinkled in her earpiece, Deanna turned to smile at
Roger. "You're a softy, pal. You wrote that piece on the baby tigers yourself. It had your fingerprints all over it."
He flushed a little, but winked. "Just giving them what they want, babe."
"And we're clear." The floor director stretched his shoulders. "Nice show, people."
"Thanks, Jack." Deanna was already unhooking her mike.
"Hey, want to get some lunch?" Roger was always ready to eat, and countered his love affair with food with his
personal trainer. There was no disguising pounds from the merciless eye of the camera.
"Can't. I've got an assignment." Roger rose. Beneath his impeccable blue serge jacket, he wore a pair of eye-
popping Bermuda shorts. "Don't tell me it's for the terror of Studio B."
The faintest flicker of annoyance clouded her eyes. "Okay, I won't."
"Hey, Dee." Roger caught up with her on the edge of the set. "Don't get mad."
"I didn't say I was mad."
"You don't have to." They walked down the single wide step from the glossy set to the scarred wood floor, skirting
around camera and cable.



They pushed through the studio doors together. "You are mad. It shows. You get that line between your eyebrows.
Look." He pulled her by the arm into the makeup room. After flicking on the lights, he stood behind her, his hands on
her shoulders as they faced the mirror. "See, it's still there."
Deliberately, she eased it away with a smile. "I don't see anything."
"Then let me tell you what I see. Every man's dream of the girl next door. Subtle, wholesome sex." When she