“Thank God we didn’t get stuck in that.” I drop into a chair opposite Cade.

“It was a tight turnaround, but I appreciate your hustle.” He takes a pencil off his desk and rolls it in his fingers. “Watched your bit. It was decent.”

Decent? I’d rocked the hell out of a silly human-interest story, but Marv can be hard to please. I take his criticism with a nod. Working for the top local affiliate in the fourth-largest city in the U.S. isn’t for the thin-skinned. “Viewers will love Petal.”

He doesn’t look as confident, and a prickle of misgiving zips down my spine. Petal might have been spot-on, but my appearance was iffy.

A noise of heels clicking outside the door captures his attention. “Vicky!” Marv shouts. “Could you step in here a minute?”

Vicky, too? Now my throat is tight.

“What’s up?” Vicky steps in the door looking professional and cool in cream-colored slacks and a green shirt that perfectly compliments her red hair. “Hello, Cade.” She looks around the office and adjusts her glasses. “Hey, Becks. Nice work with those little robots today.”

“Future Stepford Wives,” I quip, and she laughs. “Except for Petal.”

A stylish lady in her forties, Vicky Grant and I hit it off my first day, and she’s had my back ever since. We both share a vision of shaking up this football-and-oil-dominated city and shining a light on projects and organizations trying to make a difference . . . pageants possibly included.

“The consultants arrived this afternoon.” Marv pulls our attention back to him. “They gave me the feedback on our six o’clock show.”

My stomach sinks. Corporate sends a pair of “insultants” (as we call them in the newsroom) twice a year to watch our broadcasts and give “constructive feedback,” which essentially consists of ripping the reporters to shreds from the way we dress to how we walk to the word choice in our tags. It’s brutal, and I do not want Cade in here listening to whatever they said about me.

Marv leans forward on his desk, resting on his forearms. Gray eyes lift under his bushy eyebrows. Our gazes meet.

“Okay?” I shift in my chair.

“What other projects do you have in the works, Becks?” He’s back to playing with that pencil, rolling it back and forth in his fingers. “Any outside gigs in the hopper?”

“Outside gigs?” I’m confused. I spend every waking minute at this station, including weekends if there’s breaking news. “I don’t have time for a cat, Marv.”

“Hmmm. Any interest in joining the production staff?” He glances at Vicky, and I do the same.

I can tell she’s caught off-guard, but she covers it. “Er . . . of course, we could use someone like Becks in production. She’s smarter and has more experience than any of our reporters, but—”

“Great! That’s great!” Relief breaks over our boss’s face, and he leans back in his chair as if a decision has been made. “Don’t you think, Cade? You’re in management now.”

My eyes cut to him.

“In sports,” he says. “I don’t have any say over the regular reporters.”

“Still,” Marv continues. “You know what the board wants. You have eyes.”

Dread pools in my gut. “Wait . . .” I can’t hide the panic in my voice as I quickly glance from Cade to Marv. “Did you just take me off reporting? You know I’ve been working toward that weekend anchor chair.”

Cade’s brow lowers, and Marv’s moment of cheer flits away. “The consultants think you might do better behind the camera, rather than in front of it. But don’t worry, it’s not the end—”

“What the fu-hell?” I curb the profanity. He’s still my boss, but I’m on my feet. “Why would they say something like that? They loved my piece on the dinosaur excavation last summer!”

Marv’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. It’s his tell that he’s nervous—which makes me nauseous. “They think we need fresher faces. Someone who’ll appeal to the . . . eighteen to twenty-five age bracket.”

“You have got to be kidding me! Those aren’t the people who watch the news.” I pace around the room, propriety gone.

Cade clears his throat. “Marv, I’m not sure I should be—”

“They’re thinking of the advertisers,” Marv continues. “Viewers don’t want to be scolded by their mothers on the nightly news.”

My brain literally short-circuits, and I can’t decide if I’m more offended by his use of the word scolded or his use of the word mothers. “I’m single! I’m not even dating anyone!”

“Well . . . perhaps you should.”

My jaw drops. He did not just go there. “That’s sexist! My personal life has nothing to do with this job.”

“This is news to me, Marv,” Vicky says, her voice infused with calm. “Maybe we should discuss this in private before we make a decision.”

He shrugs, eyes fixed above my head. The ass can’t even meet my gaze. “Maybe there are some steps you could take to improve your on-camera look. Something around the forehead to look less . . . angry.”

“Botox?” I snap. “Are you saying I need Botox?”

“Now, don’t put words in my mouth.” He rises from his chair, holding out a conciliatory hand. “I didn’t say anything about possible plastic surgery. Did I, Cade?”

“Plastic surgery!” My heart beats faster and my chest rises. I twist the handles on my bag. Shit, I might hyperventilate. “I just turned twenty-eight!”

Cade shifts in his chair, and Marv continues. “Now, Rebecca, even you have to admit you haven’t been yourself lately.” His eyes drift to my straining waistline.

I stiffen, standing straighter and trying to suck in subtly.

“You’ve been with us five years without a break.” He scratches his nearly white goatee. “Maybe a little R&R . . . combined with some good, brisk walks around the park.”

“Are you calling me fat?” My question is just short of a shriek.

Marv looks like he swallowed a goldfish and isn’t sure how it’s going to come out.

Again Vicky attempts to calm the situation. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we all get some rest?” She takes my upper arm and leads me to the door. “Marv and I will get with Liz over the next few days, and we can talk more about it then.”

“Good idea,” Cade says.

I allow Vicky to lead me to the door, but I’m vibrating with anger and outrage.

“Just breathe,” she says a notch above a whisper once we’re in the hall.

“Oh, sure, quote classic country to me.” I don’t smile. It’s easy for her to say. She can age all she wants in the control booth, but I have to remain eternally twenty-one.

Cade exits Marv’s office and does a sudden U-turn when he sees us. I can’t stop a tiny growl. “He should not have been in that meeting.”

“I agree.” Vicky’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “I don’t know what Marv is thinking.”

I’m still feeling sick. Production is where you work if you love TV news, but the camera doesn’t love you. “Is he right, Vicky? Do I look like somebody’s overweight, angry mother?”