Page 30 of Tempted By the Devil

He and I both know what’s transpired between us.

He recognizes me. He knows exactly who I am.

Maybe that’s the point.

This is some sick game he’s playing. First, wining and dining me, then bedding me and ghosting me, and nowthis.

Pretending as if he’s never seen me before in his life.

I lower myself into the chair relegated for me and tear my gaze away from his. I won’t give him the pleasure of witnessing how frazzled he’s made me. He won’t get to revel in the effect he has on me, nor will I give him the courtesy of acknowledging him at all.

He’s invisible to me.

“I’m sure most of you are aware why you’re here,” says Finkle from the other end of the table. He coughs into his curled up hand and then glances down at the sheets of paper laid out in front of him. “It’s been a tough season of news. Ratings are in a sharp decline despite the rise of on-air talent like Mr. Cheng and Ms. James here. Budget cuts have left us with dwindling options for how to proceed as an independent news network. We’re facing mass layoffs if we don’t reverse course and dig ourselves out of this hole.”

“It’s social media,” interrupts Keith Foster, one of the production assistants. “We’ve got a million and one citizen journalists stealing our thunder. By the time we make it on the scene, the situation’s already gone viral online.”

“He’s right. People don’t watch live TV like before,” chimes in Baron. “But we’ve been making inroads. Portia’s field reporting has brought in numbers.”

“Ms. James has done a fantastic job. There’s no doubt about that,” says Finkle. “But she can’t carry the network on her own. We need solid long-term solutions. I’m sure many of you are familiar with the man at the head of the table. Mr. Calderone is one of the world’s most savvy businessmen.”

“Everybody knows Rafael Calderone. He’s an icon,” says an executive producer by the name of Pat Linetti. “I didn’t know you were in the media biz.”

An easy smile spreads onto Rafael’s face. A reminder of how frustratingly handsome he is.

“I like to branch out into different areas of business,” he replies smoothly. “The fact of the matter is that, as a resident and longtime viewer of Metro News, I can see its potential. I believe the network can be saved. Since I have the means to do so, it is a no-brainer. I’m sure it’s worth the investment.”

Rafael’s gaze returns, landing squarely on me. It’s as if no one else is at the table as his eyes burn a direct path in my direction.

Several others seated around the table follow his lead, perplexed frowns on their faces as they search for what’s holding his fascination.

I’m still heated.

My skin’s running hot and flames lick away at my insides.

Though I can barely glance at him, I can feel the weight of his stare. It’s visceral and unyielding.

Finkle clears his throat with another cough. “Well, Mr. Calderone has made a very generous offer to purchase Newport Metro News. The deal is set to go through this Thurs?—”

“Do those of us at the network get any say?” I interrupt suddenly. I’m aware of my snappish tone and how hostile I sound. My pulse is racing, making the room spin. “Baron and I have been called into this meeting as if our input matters, but it sounds to me as if the decision’s already been made.”

Baron gives a start in his seat at the mention of his name. “Portia, why don’t we?—”

“You said it yourself,” I continue. “Some of the on-air talent are making a difference. Cheng’s morning show and my evening field reporting are making ground. We need to give it a few more months?—”

“I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of a timeline,” says Finkle. “The network is going under if we don’t sell to Mr. Calderone. This meeting wasn’t to discuss the sale itself, Ms. James. This meeting was more of a sync up. A chance to brainstorm how we can best improve Newport Metro News.”

Chill, Portia.

CHILL.

But I can feel myself blowing up.

My hand shakes as my temper rises. I try to force a pleasant smile onto my face only for it to come out more like a grimace.

And then there’s Rafael’s—Mr. Calderone’s—unblinking stare. The way he watches me every second of the meeting.

Why is he doing this to me? Why is he here right now?

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