Tonight was the annual end-of-season gathering for the faces of the HAP News network, the current ratings leader. There were no close seconds. At the helm of the media giant was Mosley Germaine. He had been the head of HAP News since the nineties, hired when the prime-time lineup was headlined by no-name personalities, the ratings were in the tank, and the network barely made a blip on the radar. But Germaine possessed a vision for delivering the news. He chose the personalities and dictated the content. If a program failed to attract a proper audience, he replaced the hosts with someone new. If a hard news hour failed to compete with the major network’s evening newscasts, the anchor was pulled in favor of a new face. He did this often enough to keep his people in line and on their toes, and to let them all know that folks tuned in to HAP News, not just a single personality. But when a show succeeded and stood out from the rest, he made sure to keep the host happy—cornered and with no other options, but otherwise happy. Mosley Germaine was the master puppeteer controlling everything that transpired at the network. Tonight was a celebration of another successful season at the top of cable news—all of cable programming, in fact. It was an annual gala at the boss’s impressive waterfront property where success was celebrated, wealth was flaunted, and the idea that with dedication, hard work, and loyalty, anything was possible for the select few who were invited. Avery Mason hated every minute of it.
She arrived alone. She wasn’t in a relationship—another topic to be discussed with her therapist—and even if she had been, bringing a date to this annual ordeal was a bad idea. She needed to be sharp. She needed to be on her game. She could allow no distractions when she entered the lion’s den. Mr. Germaine was notorious for cornering his talent and coercing them into agreements to which they had not planned to commit. With Avery’s contract ending in a short couple of weeks, there had been only light negotiations to this point regarding her future at HAP News and as the host of American Events. Avery had turned down the contract extension that was offered to her a few weeks back. It was a feeler offer meant to see what sort of resistance the network was up against. Avery, with the help of her agent, rejected it outright under the argument that she wanted to concentrate on the final two months of American Events and keep it at the top of the ratings before she worried about something as juvenile as money and the future of her career. It was nonsense. She knew it, Mosley Germaine knew it, and every other suit at the network knew it. But Avery had framed the rejection in such a way that made it difficult for Mr. Germaine to push back. So he hadn’t. But tonight, in his own home, he surely would.
As far as leverage went, the move was golden. She ended the season on the highest of highs, and could now go back to the negotiation table with some ammunition. Avery and her agent were working on a counteroffer but, up to this point, had left the network hanging. Now, as Avery drove toward her boss’s beach house, she was on edge. Her presence at Mosley Germaine’s home was sure to lead to a discussion with her boss about her plans for the future. The night was billed as a celebration, a time to put business on hold and enjoy the success they had all found at HAP News. But Avery knew better. Tonight was a well-choreographed ambush, and she needed to be prepared.
She pulled her red Range Rover through the gates and into the circular drive. Germaine had hired a valet service for his guests’ convenience and Avery surrendered her vehicle—a gift she had purchased for herself after she signed on to host American Events—to a polite young man who handed her a tag in return. Avery had dressed strategically for this evening’s event. She wore tapered slacks that accentuated her long legs. At five-ten she didn’t need much help. A white, sleeveless blouse displayed her toned arms and gave off an aura of strength, which she always needed when dealing with Mosley Germaine. Her auburn streaked hair was pulled back in a stylish ponytail to keep it out of her face when the Playa del Rey winds kicked up. Standing face to face with Mr. Germaine and constantly having to swipe wild strands of hair behind her ear was a disadvantage she would not allow. She headed up the front steps, her high heels clicking on the stone as she went—another tactical move. The heels put her squarely at six feet. When Germaine managed to find her, she would be eye to eye with him.
A hostess greeted her at the front door with a tray of champagne flutes. Avery took one and sipped it. As usual, it was some of the best she’d ever tasted. Germaine spared no expense at these annual galas, to which Avery had been invited twice before.
She had just passed through the entry foyer and walked to the edge of the kitchen when she spotted Christine Swanson.
“Ah, you made it, girl!” Christine said.
“Thank God.” Avery grabbed her hand. “Give me some recon. A quick lay of the land.”
“Ooh, you’re in fighting mode. I love it.”
“I should have worn camouflage.”
“Germaine is on the patio and in a festive mood. And Mr. Hillary has honored us with his presence, as well.”
“Hillary?”
David Hillary was the billionaire owner of the communications conglomerate HAP Media, of which HAP News was one of many affiliates. As executive chairman, very little happened at the company that did not contain his stamp of approval.
“Yes. He’s in a white seersucker suit, looks like he just came from the tanning booth, and has his fifth wife on his arm. She looks like she just graduated from college.”
“Probably with a degree in communications.”
This made Christine laugh. “She won’t need a degree. If she’s smart, she’ll divorce him in a couple years and take a hundred million with her.”
“I always love when one of his exes takes another chunk of his fortune,” Avery said. It had happened twice before during Avery’s short tenure at HAP News.
“Why are fabulously rich men so stupid when it comes to women?” Christine asked.
“Because they think with their groins and can’t help themselves.”
An image of Avery’s father popped into her mind. She quickly pushed it away. She could allow no stray thoughts tonight, and the hatred she carried for her father was the biggest stray of them all. Her father was another topic to discuss with the therapist she would someday hire. But tonight she needed to be focused and calculated. Avery took a long sip of champagne as she scanned the crowd. She would allow herself just a single glass before she switched to seltzer on the rocks with a twist of lime. She wanted to blend in freely but needed a clear head. Champagne was her drink of choice for such an approach. It loosened her up in ways vodka and wine could not, and it took no more than a few ounces to do so.
“What’s the plan?” Christine asked.
“Let’s sneak down to the beach and hide out until dinner.”