It's News to Her

“I take it that the translation isn’t complimentary.”

“Self-love stinks.”

“Ha! That explains a good deal.”

“Speaking of compliments, this car is surprisingly low-key.”

“More German genes in play?” Too amused to take offense, Cord replied, “Knowing my grandfather as you do, you must remember he doesn’t approve of us drawing unwanted attention to ourselves. But these are different times, and his safety must come first, so with Lenore’s help, I did get him into the limo. Otherwise, I use this leased vehicle when here. There’s another on each coast, so when we travel, our chauffeurs fly with us. When we travel elsewhere, we rent. It’s proven both more economical and practical working with personnel who know our routines and schedules as well as we do ourselves.”

“I’ve met Stuart, Mr. Henry’s driver,” Hunter said with concern. “He’s some years away from retirement. What will happen to him?”

“He’ll remain at the estate. He lives in the spacious apartment above the four-car garage with his wife, Meg, who works in the house.” There would be many doctor appointments and hospital stays. Devoted to the family, Stuart would make sure both Cord’s grandfather and step-grandmother were well cared for, as would the rest of the staff.

“That’s undoubtedly going to be a great relief for Mr. Henry and Lenore.”

Her sincere concern had Cord venturing another probe. “What about your grandparents? Are they still alive?”

“My paternal grandparents died when I was very young. My maternal grandfather passed away four years ago. My grandmother lives with my mother in Boston.”

“Boston—that’s right, she’s an accomplished musician.”

“You’ve been in my files.”

Her voice held more resignation than resentment, and Cord’s gesture made the observation matter-of-fact. But he wasn’t about to admit that he’d perused her Facebook profile and routinely checked her page on the network’s website. “It’s my job to know who our people are.”

“Then you know she’s a First Violin for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

“That’s impressive. Do you play?”

She glanced at him again with a look that said, okay, we’ll play this silly game of yours. “The piano. Badly.”

But she had the elegant, long-fingered hands for the instrument. “Do you see your mother and your grandmother often?”

“You know my schedule.”

True. KSIO kept her on the air as much as they could and then encouraged special appearances on behalf of the station. “I’m sorry that work keeps you apart so much, but their loss is our gain. I hope they’re proud of you.”

“When they aren’t worrying that I’ll accept an overseas-correspondent job like my father’s.”

Cord felt a jolt himself and he couldn’t quite hide a frown. “Is that an ambition?”

Hunter looked out her window. “Worried about losing your senior anchor?”

“I’d be a fool not to be.” He replied amiably, but a cold lump formed in his stomach as he thought about her on a war-torn front. Since it was way too early to tell her that he had no intention of ever letting her take such risk, he asked instead, “Your mother didn’t remarry?”

“No. My father was…Their relationship was one of those rare ones. After we lost him, my mother redirected her passion toward her music, which probably saved her sanity. Can we change the subject, please? The graduates I’m going to speak to deserve an uplifting speech,” she said. “Lingering on those initial days and weeks after losing my dad isn’t conducive to assuring those kids will get that.”

Cord reached over and gently touched the tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. Again.” He spoke quietly so that the sound was barely a whisper around them, and he kept his contact brief. Then he added in a conversational voice, “Are you speaking from notes tonight or a written-out speech?”

“It’s written. Though I do like to speak extemporaneously for more informal occasions. That tends to relax and engage the audience more.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing you. Or would you be more comfortable if I don’t follow my grandfather’s directive to the word and just have Lane escort you?”

With a mirthless chuckle, Hunter shook her head. “Mr. Rivers, one thing I do understand is that this has ceased to be about what I want. If the school administrators learn that the new CEO of Yarrow Communications is available to attend their ceremony, and I deny them your presence, I’m likely to find my appearance cancelled before I get on the stage.”

Cord almost reached for his tie to ease the knot at his throat. She loathes you, pal—and she’s no ingenue. It’ll take more than charm and chitchat to bring down her walls to the point of being willing to even hear you talk about something other than the weather.

With that realization stinging, Cord was still surprised at how quickly they reached the airport. After a short pause at the security gate, they drove up to YCI’s jet. Cord climbed out immediately, ready to offer his hand to Hunter, but Phil was at the opposite door faster, and had the honor.

Captain Zack Murray stood at the top of the stairs to offer a crisp salute in welcome. Beside him was Steward Chris Duluth. Cord introduced Hunter once again.

“Ms. Harding,” Chris said, nodding down the aisle of the cabin. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

“Sorry to interfere with this afternoon’s golf game, Chris,” Cord said, once she had passed.

“Full disclosure—I’m relieved, sir,” the younger man said good-naturedly. “I’d prefer a morning game instead of melting on the fairway. Captain Murray says we’re good to go as soon as you settle in.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time. No telling how backed up things will be on the Eastern Seaboard.”

Once he headed further into the plane, Cord saw that Hunter had chosen an aisle seat forcing him to either do the obvious—sit by the window beside her—or take the opposite aisle seat. He chose the aisle seat.

“This is belated, but what kind of flier are you?” he asked, fastening his seat belt.

“I promise not to charge the door and try to open it at the first hint of take-off.”

Cord adopted a smile but was sobered by the thought of her never being able to get on a plane without thinking of her father. Such a catastrophe would kill his enjoyment of air travel, too. “If I had to fly commercially more than I do—I’d dislike it myself.” He nodded to the open cockpit door. “They usually leave it open for me but if too much view disturbs you, they can shut it.”

“I won’t be looking.”

As she turned her head away, Cord motioned to Chris to shut the door, which he did quietly. Once that task was done, the steward approached her. “Would something bicarbonate help after we take off?”

Grimacing, Hunter asked, “Am I already turning green? Ginger ale would be great if you have it.”

“We do. One other thing. If you haven’t already, you need to turn off your cell phone and any other electronic devices.”

“Of course.”

As she reached for her BlackBerry, Chris turned to Cord. “Sir, anything for you?”

“Water, thanks.”

Once he was gone, Cord leaned over his armrest. “I’d risk eardrum damage if you’d like to chitchat until we’re in the air.”

“How brave of you. But trust me, it won’t help.”

“It bothers me that you’re determined not to like me anymore.”

Raising her eyebrows, Hunter replied, “You’re assuming conditions were once different. I met you what—a half dozen times prior to Denny’s promotion? Half that since? That’s not the basis on which to draw any reliable conclusion, let alone trust there’s been an improvement.”