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On the darkened set of West Coast Morning, Kaylie guessed that Alan didn’t like anything she was telling him. In fact, he was being bullheaded and stubborn about an issue that she considered very cut-and-dried.
Maybe, Kaylie thought wearily, Zane had been right about Alan all along.
“I don’t get it,” Alan complained, plucking a piece of lint from his jacket. His mouth pinched together into a contrite pout. His auburn hair was brushed neatly, and his suit didn’t dare have a single wrinkle. He sat on a bar stool in the kitchen of the set, his notes spread on the tile countertop of the island bar, near the gas range where Chef Glenn cooked up his Friday-morning concoctions. “What’s the big deal about a little publicity?”
“It’s not publicity, Alan, and we both know it. Who started the rumor that we were getting married?”
“Who knows? And who cares?” He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “If you’re in the business and you’re popular enough, eventually you find your name and face on the front page of Up Front or The Insider or some other rag.”
“So you think we should be flattered?” she accused.
Alan forced a smile, and seeing his reflection in the copper pots hanging near the stove, smoothed his hair with the flat of his hand. “Well, I think the least we can do is go with the flow. Next week someone else will make the headlines and we’ll be old news.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Hey—just chill out, okay?” he said, irritated as he noticed a mistake in his notes, clicked open a pen and made a quick slash on the neatly typed pages.
“I’ll ‘chill out’ just as long as both you and I deny this whole engagement thing to the legitimate press.”
He lifted his palms. “Suits me.” Looking back to his notes for the next day’s show, he asked, “So what happened? Does Brenda take some rag that got you all riled?”
“Brenda?” she repeated, not understanding.
“Your aunt. The one who was so sick.” Alan glanced up sharply, and a tiny line appeared between his thick brows. “The one you were visiting in the hospital for the past few days?” he prodded, eyeing her suspiciously from behind the wire-rimmed glasses he never wore on camera.
“Oh—no!” So Zane had gone so far as to name her supposedly seriously ill aunt. Kaylie cleared her throat. “No, I just had a lot of time to do some thinking….” Well, at least that wasn’t a lie. She’d spent the past four days thinking, thinking, thinking. And she’d gotten nowhere. Her thoughts kept turning back to Zane.
“So?”
“So I thought we should take a professional stand against all this tabloid gossip.”
“Tell that to the station. It’s my
bet that our ratings went up while we were splashed across the headlines.”
“Still—”
“So cool it,” Alan cut in, chuckling. “No harm done. Right?”
She wasn’t so sure. “I just like to keep my private life private, that’s all.”
Alan’s eyes, behind the thick lenses, narrowed as he studied her. He shoved his notes together, straightening the pages on the shiny mauve-colored tiles. When he looked at her again, his expression had turned thoughtful. “Is something else going on with you?”
“Meaning?”
He rubbed his chin pensively. “Before you left to take care of your aunt, Flannery called here a couple of times.”
Kaylie didn’t flinch. “Right.”
“So—does all this talk about privacy have something to do with him?”
“Of course not,” she said, rubbing her palms down the sides of her skirt.
“You’re sure? Because it seems like a big coincidence, you know, that Flannery calls a couple of times after leaving you alone for years. Then you don’t show up for work the next day—and now that you’re back, you’re all worked up about your privacy.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Kaylie countered.
“If you say so.” He touched his pen to his lips. “You know what I think?”
