Thoughts raced through her mind, knocking into each other, and tumbling. “Then who?”
Trey’s gaze flicked toward the door and he cleared his throat. “Uh, well…”
Oh, shit. She knew that look. He’d had the same one when he’d admitted he’d run up a gambling debt in college and had used money she’d lent him for rent to pay it off. It was the I-just-totally-screwed-you look. She followed his gaze, and realization clamored in her brain.
She gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from leaping across the desk and choking Trey. “The blonde?”
He winced. “She’s been really successful hosting a fashion show on the web.”
“Fashion?” Her voice had gone too loud, but she couldn’t help it. “You’re going to put a fashion reporter on the sidelines? Does she even know what a touchdown is?”
“She was a baton twirler in college so she has been on the sidelines before.”
“Oh, Trey, come on.” Her head felt ready to explode. Being on the pep squad was now a qualification?
“She has good timing and a great speaking voice.”
“And big tits and legs up to her ears,” Charli countered.
His jaw twitched, though he was obviously trying hard to keep his impassive business face on. “When we showed audition tapes to a focus group and our sponsors, she got the best scores.”
“No doubt that focus group was all dudes.”
“Eighty-five percent of our viewing audience is men. And yes, men don’t mind watching a pretty girl deliver their sports information. I didn’t create that fact—it just is.”
And she wasn’t a pretty girl. He hadn’t said it, but he might as well have. “So if I looked like her, then I’d be the one with the job?”
“No.” Trey rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows, as if stalling to search for the right words. “Charli, I think you’re great. Your sports knowledge is unparalleled. But the group didn’t find you easy to watch. It’s not about looks as much as vibe. Viewers want a guy with an air of authority or a real girly girl. Not…”
“Me.” The tomboy. The girl who felt more comfortable in a locker room than a nail salon. The ugly-duckling daughter who wasn’t worth sticking around for.
He met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
Trey did look like he felt like shit about it. And at least he hadn’t pulled punches. She’d rather hear the truth than some manufactured attempt to make her feel better. Even if the truth had sliced and diced her.
She rubbed her lips together, willing herself to keep it together. “What about the weekend anchor position coming open next month?”
He sighed, tilting back in his chair. “Obviously, you have the right to apply for it. Pete already put his name in for it, too. But I can’t see there being a different outcome. The same criteria are going to apply.”
“I’ve got to get to my desk,” she said, standing, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her pants. She needed to get out of there before she cried like some loser.
Trey rose as well. “Beaumonde, don’t let this get you down. There are behind-the-scenes positions that pay more than the on-air ones. With your skills, you’re going to move right up the chain.”
The gritted teeth smile she gave him made her face hurt. “Right.”
“And—”
She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “Of course you are. You’re the toughest woman I know.”
And therein lay the problem.
She walked out of his office, the tattered threads of her childhood dream unraveling at the seams with each step.
Maybe her mother had been right to laugh at her.
FIVE