Weathering the Storm by Brynn Paulin

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

~ Becca ~

I wasn’t as sure of things when I walked through the newsroom on Monday. Despite what people might think, the TV studio was far from glamorous. In fact, parts of it were pretty dark and gritty. Other parts were loud and bustling with activity all the time.

“Becca, Simon wants to see you,” Addison, one of the assistants, told me. I kind of wondered why she worked here. She was too beautiful for words and I knew her parents had Hollywood connections. In fact, I sometimes wondered if I’d seen her on TV or on a movie screen because she looked so familiar. When I’d mentioned how I thought I knew her from somewhere, she’d waved it off. But I still had a feeling.

Right now, another feeling was taking over. The nerves in my belly fought against each other, making me feel slightly ill. More than I normally did when it came to dealing with my boss. Few people knew it, but I didn’t love my job. I loved weather and all its intricacies and anomalies. I love going to the schools and talking about weather to the elementary kids. The politics, the back stabbing, the constant focus on looks and the pressure to fit a certain mold, the station manager… Pretty much, I disliked all of that.

“Can you pretend like you haven’t seen me?” I joked, giving her puppy dog eyes.

Addison chuckled. “That Becca… She must have run in right under the wire, again. Haven’t seen her anywhere.”

Because the girls here…we all got it. There weren’t many of us, but most had each other’s backs. “Thanks.”

“You can’t avoid him forever,” she warned. “Just… If you want someone nearby when you meet with him, grab me before you go in, okay?”

I nodded, hating that this was reality. Unfortunately, it seemed this was the way of life around here. I wondered if it was the case at most stations, the patriarchy and misogyny.

After Addison and I parted ways, I headed over to my cubicle. If someone else was sent to find me, they’d have no trouble in this open bullpen used by all the meteorologists at the station. The daytime guy had already split, and the overnight one wouldn’t get here until an hour before the end of my time. There were two floaters who covered weekends and absences, but they were off, as well. That was nice. I had the whole space to myself while I ran reports.

As they started to tabulate and print, my thoughts drifted to Heller. I’d been on edge all weekend, though we’d both tried to ignore it. I knew exactly what Simon wanted. It would be a continuation of Friday’s conversation.

“Becca. I know Addison found you,” Simon grated from behind me, fifteen minutes later. “I want to see you in my office. Now.”

“I need to have my graphics to production in an hour,” I protested, swiveling my chair toward him. “I still need to get prepped and miked up.”

He scowled but I knew he wouldn’t argue with me. Preparation was his Kryptonite. He required everyone to be perfect, and sloppy work wouldn’t be accepted.

“As soon as the show is off-air, your ass had better be in my office,” he demanded.

Asshole. I saluted sharply at his back as he stormed away. It probably ticked him off that he had to wait to squash me under his heel a little more. With difficulty, I pushed both Heller and Simon from my thoughts and focused on getting everything ready for my initial three minutes on air. I’d turn around and present another two minutes right before the half-hour broadcast closed.

Preparing for that was more important than anything else at the moment.

* * * *

“Burn that suit,” Simon snapped when I stepped into his office.

Oh, this would go well.

“Why?” I happened to like the sunny yellow.

His scowl deepened at my audacity. So sue me. I was kind of sick of his shit. Stuck here? Yes. But sick to death of him? Also yes.

“It makes you look sallow and doesn’t compete well with the green screen, making you look even heavier than you already are.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“That isn’t why you called me in here,” I prompted. He’d ordered my presence in his office before the broadcast had begun.

“Yes, let’s get on with that.” Leaning back in his chair, he pulled open one of the drawers then pulled out a book. I didn’t need him to show it to me, for me to know it was a yearbook.

Flipping it open to a placed he’d marked with a yellow posted note, he placed it flat on his desk and slid it toward me.

“I knew I wasn’t wrong.” His pudgy finger jabbed at a photo in the rows on the page. “Heller Lewis. This is last year’s book when he was a junior, which means he’s a senior now. What are you thinking, Becca? You’re fucking a high school student? Are you insane? Do you have any idea the blowback this would cause if someone finds out.”

“He’s eighteen,” I croaked, unable to lie. Simon had the proof in his hands, in the form of his daughter’s yearbook. There was no denying the truth, even if it was uncomfortable.

“He’s a high school student,” he scoffed. “No one will look beyond that.”

My arms crossed, my chin lifting with bravado I really didn’t feel. “There’s nothing illegal about me dating him.”

He stood, responding to my belligerent stance. He leaned forward, resting his fingertips on the surface of his desk. “Break it off with him. That’s final.”

“You have no say in who I see or don’t see,” I argued.

“When it reflects back on the station, I do. One of our senior female meteorologists dating a high school student? That’ll cause a scandal, especially since that school teacher was just convicted of having sex with her student.”

“She was his teacher and he was in middle school!” I exclaimed, holding my ground. “It’s not even close to the same.”

“Break it off or it’s your job.”

I stared at him, my eyes burning, impotent rage pummeling my veins while dread knotted in my belly. Simon was leaving me with no choice, though this was none of his business.

“I won’t go out with you,” I snapped.

The sound he made mocked me. “Why would you think I’d want that?”

“Let’s see,” I growled. “Showing up at my house at almost eleven-thirty on a Friday night to see if I wanted to go for drinks?”

He rolled his eyes, actually rolled his damn eyes. “I thought you might be hard up for company and I’d help you out. So sorry.” His thick sarcasm on the apology mocked me even more.

We stared at each other for several long beats. My world crumbled inside me, but I refused to reveal it to him. His anger at my strength grew clearer as he glared, and I wondered if he feared I’d take action on what he’d done. Like I could. There was no one at the station to go to. Yeah, there was an open door policy, but each of those doors opened to someone worse.

“What I said stands. End it,” he commanded through his teeth. He sank into his chair and slid away the book, never looking at me again. “Get out.”