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She dug through her purse for another color of lipstick. "Im sick of college. I need to get into the real world. "
"Youre not ready, Tully. A reporter needs to exhibit a perfect mix of objectivity and compassion. Youre too objective, too cold. "
This was the one criticism that bugged her. Shed spent years not feeling things. Now she was suddenly supposed to be both compassionate and objective at the same time. Empathetic but professional. She couldnt quite pull it off and she and Chad both knew it. "Im not talking about the networks yet. Its just one interview for a part-time job until graduation. " She walked over to the bed. In her black suit and white blouse, she was the picture of conservative chic. Shed even tamed the sexiness of her shoulder-length hair by pulling it back into a banana clip. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she pushed a long lock of hair away from his eyes. "Youre just not ready for me to go out into the world. "
He sighed, touched her jawline with his knuckle. "Its true I prefer you in my bed to out of it. "
"Admit it: Im ready. " Shed intended to sound sexy and grown-up, but the vulnerable tremble in her voice betrayed her. She needed his approval like she needed air or sunlight. Shed go without it, of course, but less confidently, and today she needed every scrap of confidence she could find.
"Ah, Tully," he said finally. "You were born ready. "
Smiling triumphantly, she kissed him—hard—then got up and grabbed her vinyl briefcase. Inside it was a handful of résumés printed on heavy ivory stock; several business cards that read, Tallulah Hart, TV news reporter; and a videotape of a story shed done on-air for KVTS.
"Break a leg," Chad said.
"I will. " She caught the bus in front of the Kidd Valley hamburger stand. Even though she was a senior, she hadnt bothered with bringing her car to school. Parking was expensive and hard to find. Besides, the Mularkeys loved having her grans old land yacht.
All the way through the U District and into the city, she thought about what she knew about the man she was going to meet. At twenty-six, he was already a well-respected former on-air reporter whod won some big reporting award during a Central American conflict. Something—none of the articles said what—had brought him home, where hed suddenly changed career tracks. Now he was a producer for the smaller office of one of the local stations. She had practiced endlessly what she would say.
Its nice to meet you, too, Mr. Ryan.
Yes, I have had an impressive amount of experience for a woman of my age.
Im committed to being a first-rate journalist and hope, no, expect to—
The bus came to a smoking, wheezing stop on the corner of First and Broad.
She hurried off the bus and down the steps. As she stood beneath the bus stop sign, consulting her notes, it started to rain, not hard enough to require an umbrella or a hood, but just enough to ruin her hair and poke her in the eyes. She ducked her head to protect her makeup and ran up the block to her destination.
The small concrete building with curtainless windows sat in the middle of the block with a parking lot beside it. Inside, she consulted the tenant board and found what she was looking for: KCPO—SUITE 201.
She perfected her posture, smiled professionally, and went up to Suite 201.
There, she opened the door and almost walked right into someone.
For a moment Tully was actually taken aback. The man standing in front of her was gorgeous—unruly black hair, electric-blue eyes, shadowy stubble of a beard. Not what shed expected at all.
"Are you Tallulah Hart?"
She extended her hand. "I am. Are you Mr. Ryan?"
"I am. " He shook her hand. "Come in. " He led her through a small front room cluttered with papers and cameras and stacks of newspapers everywhere. A couple of open doors revealed other empty offices. Another guy stood in the corner, smoking a cigarette. He was huge, at least six-foot-five, with shaggy blond hair and clothes that looked as if hed slept in them. A giant marijuana leaf decorated his T-shirt. At their entrance, he looked up.
"This is Tallulah Hart," Mr. Ryan said by way of introduction.
The big guy grunted. "She the one with the letters?"
"Thats her. " Mr. Ryan smiled at Tully. "Hes Mutt. Our cameraman. "
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Mutt. "
That made them both laugh and the sound of their laughter only cemented her anxiety that she was too young for this.
He led her into a corner office and pointed to a metal chair in front of a wooden desk. "Have a seat," he said, closing the door behind him.
He took a seat behind the desk and looked at her.
She sat up straight, trying to look older.
