WLUV Box Set: Ignited, Consumed, Burned Read Free

take their coats, offer them coffee or water, and then let them know you
can get them anything else they may need. You are WLUV’s first impression, and
so far it’s not a good one.”
    The girl blinked her eyes as though stung by the words. Then
she walked over and took Macy’s coat, “We don’t have coffee brewed, it will be
a minute.” Brittany said.
    “It’s okay, I don’t need any. My job is to take things up a
notch or two around here, and you happen to be the first person I’ve met. I
think you’re going to be a fabulous receptionist, but you need to put the gum
in the trash and the cell phone down.”
    Brittany fled down a hall. Macy figured her coat would be
flung on a floor somewhere.
    A paunchy, balding man emerged from the same hall,
Brittany-in-flight barely registering with him.
    “Ms. Green, hello. I’m Bernie Manfred, Executive Producer
here.” Bernie extended a hand past his rotund belly.
    “Macy, call me Macy.”
    “Macy, I was an admirer of your work at WNS. You were the
real deal.” People recognized Macy less and less these days; the public memory
was short. Usually, it was old-time news people –like Bernie, she figured – who
appreciated the hard news and investigations she’d done in her decade at the
network.
    “Thank you.”
    “Now you’re an evil consultant, almost as bad as going into
pee-arh.” Bernie laughed as he said it, but really he’d nailed down the general
feeling about news consultants— that they were to be hated and distrusted. Macy
didn’t expect her arrival to be met with good cheer. She was there to change
things and hold some feet to the fire.
    “I’m too blunt to be in public relations, which you’ll
discover quickly.”  She thought she heard a faint groan of pain as Bernie led
her up a winding staircase in the center of the lobby to the station’s second
floor. Were the stairs hard on his knees, or was it the idea of the consultant
picking apart the station that had him groaning? Maybe both, Macy thought.
    “The upstairs is sales and management. The first floor is
our studio, newsroom, and editing suites. We also do our commercial production
in there,” Bernie explained as they walked.
    “Ya like the wallpaper? We’ve had the same stuff since
1978.” It was a Brady Bunch orange pattern, but Macy didn’t care about the
décor. She cared about the on-air product.
    “Hi Mrs. King,” Bernie addressed the secretary outside the
owner’s office.
    “He’s in there waiting.” Mrs. King didn’t get up but waved
them to the office door.
    “Mr. Thompson?” Bernie offered a courtesy knock but since
the door was ajar he just pushed it open the rest of the way.
    Macy tried not to let her jaw drop when she got a look at
Wes Thompson. She’d expected a middle-aged, overweight white guy in a crappy
suit, or a weak-chinned son-of-a-great-man.
    Wes Thompson was none of the above; in fact, he looked more
like a well-built George Clooney. His crisp white dress shirt fit perfectly
over his muscular shoulders, and it was tailored so it skimmed his trim waist.
Thompson threw a distracted smile at Macy as he finished his phone call. Her
mouth went dry.
    “If you could just get that sorted out, I’ll be in touch in
about a week.” He hung up with no further pleasantries. He was used to issuing
orders.
    “Hi there, you’re the consultant?” Thompson stood up and
offered her a hand across his desk, locking his gorgeous blue eyes on hers. She
would kill for his lush eyelashes. But they were the only soft thing about his
face. From his strong jaw to his aquiline nose, Macy was afraid she was
staring. 
    She’d seen thousands of attractive television faces but Wes
Thompson’s rugged good looks put them to shame. This man was quite possibly the
best-looking man she’d ever seen—but he wasn’t pretty in the slightest,
not like Phil. She estimated him at a couple inches over six-foot, since he was
a head taller than she was in her intimidating “network