She held back a groan, making sure to keep her clenched fists out of sight of the camera. “Sure thing, Bobby.”
“Okay, gang, that about wraps it up today. If you’ve got anything else, now’s the—”
“Bobby,” she broke in, feeling flushed when everyone froze. Man, she hated that bug-under-a-microscope feeling. “If we could stay a moment after to talk?”
He nodded, then dismissed the rest of the crew. After everyone else logged off, and it was only her and Bobby on the screen, she breathed a little easier. “This story . . .”
“Pretty hot.” He nodded. “I have a feeling you’ll have to be careful with camera angles on some of these chicks. I know one of these women has a tattoo of her husband’s hockey jersey right on her—”
“Nope. No way.” She slapped her hands over her ears. “Full stop.”
Laughing, he shook his head. “You’re such a prude. When are you going to give up the crazy cat lady persona and kick it up a notch?”
She didn’t actually own a cat . . . but knew what he meant. Because only the hot Amazon women were considered for major network broadcasting. The ones who weren’t dwarfed standing next to a basketball star. Who commanded the eye. Who made men drool and women green with envy.
Her cat slippers shuffled on the floor. “I don’t have a crazy cat lady persona.”
“Then try showing a little cleavage in this next video. The male viewers love that shit.”
She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. Pays the rent. Pays the rent. Pays the rent. “Bobby, I need something more. Something more important than this. You know nobody’s going to take me seriously if tattoos and groupies are the extent of my portfolio.” She glared at him. “When I got hired, you promised I’d be working on the stories that mattered. That would catch the big networks’ attention. You said you looked forward to giving me my first step up.”
“You’re working up to it.” He shrugged. “Look, the fact is, viewers have a harder time taking you seriously when it comes to the actual sports stuff. They think you’re cute, like their little sister. The women like you because you’re softer, and the guys don’t mind watching because you know the right angles to push even on the bullshit stories.”
“So you admit you’ve been giving me bullshit stories?”
“I give you the stories that are challenging,” he amended with a toothy grin. “The ones only a true professional, such as yourself, can make shine.”
“Talk about bullshit,” she muttered.
He raised a brow, indicating he heard her.
“Bobby, give me something. Anything. I can’t keep doing this forever. I can’t be Off Season’s fluff reporter. You knew I had bigger dreams when I took this gig.”
He steepled his hands, watching her for a moment. His steel-gray eyes made her want to shiver with their coldness. Bobby Mundane had a way of staring at you that made you not sure if he was checking you out, or about to verbally skin you alive. “Okay, Rogers. You want something bigger? Go get it.”
She blinked. “Go get . . . what?”
“A bigger story. You get me a damn good story, a good five-minute run of unique content that would make any big network proud, and I’ll personally hand it over to my buddy at NBC.”
Her mouth dried up a little. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah, I’m serious. Though to be honest, I don’t have high hopes.”
She fought back a scowl.
“Reminder,” he added, looking like he was one second away from busting out laughing. “You couldn’t score the goods with the Prodigal Daughter.”
“Nobody could score the goods with her. Cassie Wainwright didn’t want to be interviewed by any media after her initial opening. What was I supposed to do, duct tape her to a chair until she talked?”
Bobby brightened. “That’s the spirit. More of that talk and we could have a real go at this.”
She snorted in disgust.
“Rogers, you want attention from the big wigs? You need a white whale.” He tapped a finger on his goatee-covered chin. “Okay, how about this? Another elusive public figure. One nobody has any interview tape with. Not the big networks, not the small timers, nobody.”
A skitter of warning traveled up her spine. “Uh, Bobby . . .”
Warming to the idea, he ignored her. “You get an interview like that, and our view count would skyrocket.”
“Okay, but really—”
“There’s no way the networks could ignore that. You’d have what they couldn’t get.”
“Right, but—”