Page 11 of Stealthy Seduction
No. Callie Northwood was the one who survived, the one who kept standing. And if she had to step back into the fire, she’d do it as her.
Several people, old faces and new, nodded at her in greeting and recognition. She folded her hands in her lap and listened to the roster of assignments being handed out around the table, from breaking news to an exposé on local crime and a feature on the mayor’s budget.
The meeting wrapped up, and everyone left with their assignments in hand.
Everyone but her.
Heart sinking, she started to get up and leave, but he called out, “Izzy. Stay a minute.”
She settled once more. When the producer leaned across the table, pinning her with his stare, Izzy’s stomach dropped.
Oh no. Now what?
“You’re comfortable with this, Callie?” He slid a slim folder her way. “You’ve only just come back into the field. I don’t want to push you too hard.”
Her pulse spiked, but she forced a smile. “I’m good. I’ve got therapy. Medication. I’m not going to crack on air, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He studied her for a long second, then tapped the folder. “This is a charity piece.”
“A fluff piece?” She held out a hand for the folder, and he passed it to her.
“Call it what you want, but I need you to interview the new head of a well-known charity. Human interest, soft edges. Good reentry story.”
Yup. A fluff piece. She should’ve been insulted, but instead, relief poured through her. She could do fluff. She could do charity.
She took the file without even glancing at the contents. “Thank you. I’ll give it my best.”
His smile was warm. “I know you will.”
She started out of the room, just like she was one of the team again.
“And Callie,” he called out.
She swung around.
“Welcome back.”
Her insides warmed as she returned to her cubicle. It wasn’t the same one she had years ago, and there was nothing remotely personal about it. No photos on the walls, no trinkets on her desk. Just her and the assignment.
It was a start. For now, it was enough.
Izzy opened the file and started the research. With each minute she searched, she felt the old throb of excitement.
The charity director she would interview was actually a medical doctor. He’d traveled the world helping people, and had now broadened his focus to help the charity raise nearly two million dollars in its first year.
Some of that money helped rebuild schools in war-torn countries. It provided clean water projects and even gotten veterans back on their feet through a therapy program inWyoming. All the glossy bullet points she needed to string everything together into a feel-good package.
She jotted questions—how many people they’d helped, what partnerships they’d formed and how others could get involved.
By the time she closed her laptop, her nerves had steadied. She had an assignment. A goal. Tomorrow, she’d sit down with the doctor and run through her questions.
A small bubble of hope flickered in her chest. Maybe shecoulddo this. Maybe this was her first step back to…normal.
When a shadow of dread curled in her stomach, dark and low, she pushed it aside.
It was just a charity story. Just a feel-good piece.
Nothing dangerous about that.
