Read Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) Online
Authors: Jacie Floyd
Book 1 of the
Good
Riders
“And the winner of this year’s Community First award is—”
Annabel heightened the imaginary suspense with a mental drum roll as she pulled
into the local television station’s parking lot. Beelining for an empty spot at
the end of the row, she allowed hometown favorite George Clooney to announce,
“Challenging Destiny, Lasting Productions, Annabel Morgan and Howard Lasting,
producers!”
Normally, she only conjured up her favorite career
fantasy in dark and private moments, but today she’d paraded it out in bright
sunlight to distract herself from a raging case of stage fright. After all, she
didn’t appear on an afternoon talk show every day. Or in front of a television
camera ever. Her nerves were stretched tighter than her budget.
Easing through the tandem parking slot from one
side to the other, she pictured herself at the upcoming award ceremony. Dressed
to impress in something sophisticated and expensive, she’d step up to accept
the award that would change her life. Just as George took her in his arms for a
meaningful exchange of glances and a long congratulatory kiss filled with
infinite possibilities, a sickening crunch jolted her back to reality.
The front bumper of her ten-year-old Saab was
metal-on-metal with a small, flashy vehicle attempting to back into the space
she’d been sliding into headfirst.
Grimacing over her carelessness and the certainty
of another insurance claim on the heels of her seventeen-year-old
stepdaughter’s mishap the month before. Annabel shifted her car into park. She
clutched the hem of her mini-skirt to keep it from rising to indecent heights
as she stepped out to meet her victim. Good thing it was May, not January, or
she’d freeze her butt off.
“Hey, lady,” a testosterone-laden voice growled
over the slam of a car door. “You should keep your mind on your driving when
you’re behind the wheel.”
Fresh from her bout of daydreaming, Annabel bit
back the urge to tell the chauvinist where to stick his opinion. She glanced at
the slight crease in her fender and the deeper dent in his, relieved that the
damage hadn’t been worse. Shoulders squared, she turned to exchange info with
the other driver and admit her guilt.
Damn. Investigative reporter ‘Mad Max’ Williams.
An apology died on her lips. Even though he worked at the television station,
he spent most of his time out on assignment. She’d hoped she wouldn’t run into
him today. And now she had. Literally.
She crossed her arms and studied him with a
chilling look. Professional acquaintances and personal opposites in work habits
and lifestyles, he was her biggest rival for the community service award she
coveted.
Aside from their award competition, she’d worked
with him on several projects for Lasting Productions. Her work involved
insignificant details like scriptwriting, casting, editing, and scheduling. His
duties included the more challenging tasks of sitting in a booth and recording
the voiceover, flirting with female assistants, distracting male interns with
assorted hijinks, generally creating chaos, getting paid the big bucks, and
receiving most of the recognition.
Everything about his flamboyant image and
overbearing self-confidence rubbed her the wrong way. It annoyed her to admit
that the broad shoulders and rugged good looks the television camera loved were
even more compelling in person than they were on the small screen. But the
less-than savory details she’d witnessed and heard about from others prevented
her from lusting after the exterior packaging that rivaled Clooney’s.
Smoothing down her skirt, she waited for Max’s
leisurely perusal to move from her new pointy-toed high-heeled shoes and past
her uncustomary form-fitting outfit to her face. As expected, the interested
gleam dimmed from his eyes and switched to disbelief as recognition kicked in.
“Nice legs, Morgan. First time I’ve seen you in
anything but your Iron Maiden costume. You should show that figure off more
often.” He lounged against the hood of her car and let his gaze travel her body
a second time. “This new look is almost enough to excuse you from rear-ending
me. But not quite. What had you so distracted?”
“What do you mean?” Like she’d be willing to share
her hopes and dreams with him.
“You sure weren’t thinking about your driving, and
you couldn’t have been preoccupied with your love life since everyone knows you
don’t have one.”
“Whereas you,” she countered, poking a finger into
his rock-solid chest, “were probably thinking about the bevy of mud wrestlers,
rodeo queens, and strippers you’re currently dating.”
“Hey!” He straightened up with mild indignation.
“Candy LaBar’s not a stripper. She’s an exotic dancer. Her act’s very
artistic.”
Already running late, Annabel didn’t have time to
trade childish insults with Max. She dismissed the response with a flick of the
wrist. “I’ll bet.”
He whipped his phone out, then took pictures of
the damage to both bumpers. As she stepped toward the television station’s main
entrance, his fingers clamped around her elbow. “Aren’t you forgetting
something?” He jerked a thumb toward his car. “Damage? Repair? Insurance?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
He shook his head at her dismissive attitude.
“It’s just a scratch on the bumper of a vintage Porsche I’ve spent two years
restoring. Whether they fix it or replace the bumper, it’s not going to come
cheap.”
That figured. “I’ll have my insurance company
contact you.”
“They better, or I’ll send the repair bill
straight to you.”
“Fine, fine.” Annabel marched forward, eager to
leave Mad Max behind. But he fell into step alongside her with his customary
swagger.
“By the way,” he said, “congratulations on the
Community First nomination.”
She slid a peek at him from the corner of her eye
and examined his comment for sarcasm. His expression remained suspiciously
sincere. “You, too.”
“Who’d have thought we’d be nominated in the same
category?”
“Not me. The mind still boggles over my
documentary about inner-city high school students competing with your four-part
exposé on botched boob jobs.”
“That’s one way of describing them,” he said
before urging, “Just remember what they say.”
“What do they say, Max? Sex sells?” Why does he
always manage to bring out my inner bitch?
“No-oo. It’s an honor just to be nominated.”
She coated the smile she turned on him with pure
sugar. “You remember that when they call out my name from the podium.” She
prayed they’d call out her name. Her professional and financial future hinged
on winning the award.
“Yeah, right. I’ve got the award all but in my
hands.” He raised her show of bravado with an ante of overconfidence.
“And how many judges did you sleep with to make
that happen?” The accusation almost shamed her as she made it.
“Talent earns its own reward.” A glint of real
pride moved behind his dark brown eyes as he veered away from her, toward the
news team’s entrance. “See ya later, Morgan.”
“Not if I see you first,” Annabel muttered to his
retreating back.
Against her better judgment, she watched him
stride masterfully toward the building. Then, he looked over his shoulder and
caught her watching him. Lifting her chin, she turned to glide into the main
entrance. Her face flushed when she twisted her ankle on the new heels.
Damn
,
he probably saw that
.
Putting the incident behind her, she hurried into
the lobby where Carly waited. Her stepdaughter bounced in anticipation of their
joint television appearance. A quick hug went a long way toward banishing Max
from Annabel’s thoughts and quelling her preshow anxiety. “Been waiting long?”
“Long enough to find out everything we need to
know.” Excitement widened Carly’s bright blue eyes to saucer-size. “First, sign
in here, then follow me.”
Annabel had visited the station many times and
knew her way around, but she allowed the bouncing teen to lead her the makeup
room anyway. After they’d settled into chairs, an energetic elf with purple-streaked
hair introduced herself as “Voila!” then set to work. She dabbed foundation on
their faces, swiped blush on their cheeks, and applied goop to their eyes.
“Not so much, please.” Annabel pushed Voila’s hand
away. She didn’t want to look like a clown, and Carly’s fresh appeal didn’t
need much enhancement.
Voila frowned. “You’ll look sickly without it.”
“You know she’s right, and I want you to look
awesome. Please?” Her stepdaughter’s coaxing did the trick after the makeup
artist’s opinion had failed to win Annabel over.
Voila hurried to apply a few finishing touches.
Annabel assessed her reflection in the mirror then blotted off a coat of shiny
magenta lipstick. She tugged the lapels of her snug teal jacket together. As
soon as she released them, they separated into a wide V that exposed the
barely-there cleavage created by her new push-up bra.
“I don’t know how you talked me into buying this
suit. I’m touched by the attempt to update my image, but I have plenty of
other, more suitable clothes.”
“More boring, you mean.” Carly brushed
Annabel’s hands away from the lapels. “You’ll be in front of a camera instead
of hiding behind one for a change. You should wear something that makes you
look young and hot, instead of old and frigid.”
“Let’s take your hair down to really boost your
image.” Voila pulled pins out of the bun at the base of Annabel’s neck.
“No.” Annabel covered her hair with her hands to
keep Voila’s busy fingers out of it. “It’s too curly and flies around when it’s
not pulled back.”
“Hmmm.” Voila cocked her head and considered for a
moment before sweeping Annabel’s locks into a French twist with just a few
loose tendrils. The style softened the angles of her face and enhanced the
shape of her light-gray eyes.
If her stepdaughter weren’t sitting right there
beside her with Carly’s own brand of youthful, natural beauty, Annabel wouldn’t
have recognized herself.
“You look gorgeous,” Carly enthused as they made
their way to the green room next door. “Super hot!”
“You look fabulous, too.” Annabel pulled the
girl’s long French-braid in front of her shoulder as they stepped into the
waiting room. “But we’re going on a program to discuss successful
stepparent/stepchild relationships. We’re not trolling for guys on the
internet.”
“Close enough,” murmured a pencil-thin woman
nibbling a carrot stick by the snack table.
As they took seats on a lumpy sofa, Carly refused
to meet Annabel’s eyes. Never a good sign. Annabel studied the seven other sets
of parent/teen duos.
While a couple of parents glanced at her
curiously, the others flicked pitying looks her way. None of the teenagers
managed to look her in the eye.
A wary tingle replaced stage fright as the reason
for her damp palms. “Close enough to what?”
Before anyone responded, a chipper production
assistant buzzed in, wearing a headset and clasping an electronic tablet. “My
name’s Justine. On behalf of Tess Hartley, I’d like to welcome all of you to
Let’s
Talk
. We’re going to open with the kids on camera. If you’d head that way,
please...” She motioned the younger group toward the door. “I’ll come back for
the parents shortly.”
Carly squeezed Annabel’s hand. The teenager’s
excitement fizzed palpably between them like a carbonated cola.
“Good luck, Anna,” Carly whispered. “Please don’t
be mad,” she added before slipping away.
Don’t be mad?
That simple plea put
Annabel’s parental alarm system on full alert. She was all too familiar with
the way the high-spirited girl’s best intentions frequently misfired. “Mad
about what?”
From the doorway, Carly flashed a mischievous
smile and escaped with the other teenagers. Except for the gurgle of an
espresso machine in the corner, the room swirled with awkward silence. Annabel
thought of all the editing waiting for her back at the production studio and
longed for the safety of her ordinary routine.
A military-type with ramrod-straight posture and
square jaw stopped at the end of the sofa. “When you came in,” he said, “I
wasn’t sure if you were a parent or one of the kids.”
The flattery tickled Annabel. Only fourteen years
older than Carly, people occasionally guessed they were sisters. But she
couldn’t imagine anyone mistaking her for a teenager. Maybe the kick-ass outfit
Carly chose for her had shaved off some years.
“Stepparent.” She glanced around the room, trying
to interpret the spike in atmosphere. “Aren’t we all?
A couple of “Not me’s” mingled with one “I am.”
“What’s going on here?” she asked GI Joe.
He nodded toward a monitor where the smiling face
of Cincinnati’s answer to Oprah filled the screen. “Watch and learn.”
Tess Hartley let her lively theme song and the
audience’s applause fade away before she introduced the day’s episode. “Today
on
Let’s Talk
, we’re going to meet a group of caring teens who are
concerned about their single parents.”
Concerned! The word bounced around inside
Annabel’s head like a loose basketball on a gym floor. Why would Carly be
concerned about her? Discomfort plummeted into downright dread.
“Through death, divorce, or abandonment,” Tess continued,
“all of these high-school seniors live in single-parent households. As they
prepare to leave home for the first time, they worry about their parents’
lonely futures. Isn’t that sweet?”