Breaking News - WriteOnTime.pdf

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Copyright Page
This book was automatically created by FLAG on January 3rd, 2012, based on
content retrieved from http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5424559/ .
The content in this book is copyrighted by WriteOnTime or their authorised
agent(s). All rights are reserved except where explicitly stated otherwise.
This story was first published on October 5th, 2009, and was last updated on
January 3rd, 2012.
Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated - please email any bugs, problems,
feature requests etc. to flag@erayd.net .
Summary
Two network news anchors. One desk. In a race to get the story, love might
become the headline - if they don't kill each other first. AU/AH Canon Couples,
smart people, particle physics, and tap dancing.
- 4 -
Sitting in a Dead Man's Chair
Disclaimer: Twilight characters and situations are copyright Stephenie Meyer.
This plot is mine, and you may not hijack or copy it without my permission.
# # #
Sitting in a Dead Man's Chair
Thursday, 5:49 PM
"Where the fuck have you been?" Walter's eyes were watery and furious, his
melon of a head shiny with the patina of nerves and authority. "Get your ass into
makeup. No - wait - Charlene!" he screamed for the girl, who came flying across the
studio with a pink tackle box in one hand and a sponge in the other. "Do her
standing so Steve can mic her. Steve, get a mic on her five minutes ago. Jesus
fucking Christ, this is New York, not Omaha or wherever the hell you're from. I
shouldn't have to put up with this shit. What the hell about 'live network feed' do you
not understand? It's my nuts in a sling if that chair is empty, you get me?"
Under normal circumstances, and were it directed at another person, the tirade
might have rattled even the most seasoned pro and possibly cost the floor director
his job. But I wasn't listening anyway, so Walter's magnificent spew was wasted on
me. My thoughts were elsewhere, out of the building which housed the studio and
precisely 42 blocks south and three avenues over.
Charlene, whose real name was actually Charlotte, tucked tissues into the collar
of my blouse before applying Studio Fix to my face. "This is a big deal, Bella - you
should pretend to give a shit, you know," she whispered.
I shrugged. "I'm not here to make his life easier. Are you finished?"
Charlotte surveyed my face as she finished sponging my forehead. "You'll do.
Better sit down and let them test that blouse - what the hell made you wear it?"
I looked down at myself. "Crap. Oh, well. It's supposed to be a lucky color, right?"
"Won't be much luck involved if you look like a floating head against the green
screen," Charlotte grinned, grabbing the tissues away from my neckline.
- 5 -

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