She clenched her teeth, uninspired by Trey’s lack of enthusiasm. “I understand that. I plan to get facts. But you know how big this could be if it’s true? If they’re cheating and boosters are really paying players, that could shut down the entire football program.”
He waved his hand, a dismissive flip of the wrist that told her he was planning to ignore everything she’d said. “Keep me up to date with what you find. But make sure you don’t lose focus on what I hired you for in the first place. Your notes on the elderly fantasy football league story lacked your usual enthusiasm and level of detail.”
She resisted the urge to shake him. She’d been hired to research what most of the office considered fluff. Feel-good pieces that filled the space between the daily score updates and hard-hitting stories the network was known for. She enjoyed her job and believed those stories were just as important to tell, but she knew she’d need to bring in more breaking news–worthy pieces if she wanted to be seen as a serious on-air contender. She craved being in the action, there on camera sharing her passion in front of a live audience instead of from behind a desk. “I brought you the facts. You know I’ve never slacked. I don’t plan to start now.”
Trey’s face softened and the vein that had begun throbbing at his temple smoothed. Suddenly, he looked like the kid quarterback she’d met her freshman year again—the guy with whom she’d attempted her first real relationship. “I know. You’re a good reporter. But this is distracting you, and I don’t want you spinning your wheels on something that will be near impossible to prove.”
She could hear the underlying message in his words—Don’t fuck things up, Beaumonde. He’d gone out on a limb to get her in this position, and his name was riding on her doing the job he’d hired her for. “Right. I won’t let it interfere again.”
She rose to leave.
“Hold up, Charli. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
She sat back down, a little stunned that he’d used her first name. He never did that—even when they’d dated, he’d called her Beaumonde. Maybe this was going to be it. The day she’d been dreaming about. Her heartbeat ticked upward. “Yes?”
“We didn’t select you for the sideline reporter position.”
A short, emotionless sentence—one that managed to hit her like a dump truck.
She blinked, words escaping her. She hadn’t gotten it? They’d picked that smarmy-ass Pete over her?
Trey took a sudden interest in the pen he was rolling between his fingertips. “We just didn’t think it was the right fit. We feel your strengths are in the behind-the-scenes work.”
If the first revelation stole her breath, this one downright demolished her. Not only had she not gotten the position, but they didn’t think she was meant for an on-camera job? Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. “I don’t understand. You told me you thought I’d be a great candidate for it. And Pete froze up when we did our auditions. You think he’s better suited for TV?”
Trey shifted in his seat, set the pen down, and folded his hands on his desk. “No, we didn’t go with Pete either.”
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.