"Research file you asked for on the Pinnacle Pharmaceuticals follow-up," he said, setting the folder on my desk."And your dry cleaning."He crossed to the closet and hung the garment bag."The navy jacket, the black suit, and the ivory shirt.They did a beautiful job on the ivory, by the way.That wine stain from the charity gala is completely—"
"Harry."
He stopped and turned toward me.
"You're pacing," he observed.
"I'm not pacing."
"You're standing in the middle of the room with your fists clenched and there are track marks in the carpet.You're pacing."He leaned against the closet door and folded his arms."Bad day?"
"I don't have bad days.I have days that require more management than others."
"Right.And how's the management going?"
"Harry, is there something you need, or are you just here to narrate my afternoon?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender but didn't leave.Harry never left when he sensed something.It was one of his most useful qualities and also, at moments like this, one of his most infuriating.
"I'm just in a good mood," he said."It's a nice day.The show's been strong.The Pinnacle follow-up is going to be excellent.The sun is shining, Nelson.Sometimes the sun just shines."
I stared at him."The sun is shining."
"Metaphorically."
"Get out."
He grinned.I did not grin.He didn't move.
"Harry."My voice dropped to the register that cleared rooms."I said get out."
The grin faded.He straightened up, and for a moment something passed between us — not hurt, exactly, but the slight stiffening of a man who had just been reminded that the person he worked for could draw blood without raising his voice.
He nodded once."Of course.Anything else you need before—"
"Actually."I stopped pacing."Sit down."
Harry sat.In the chair by the vanity, the one visitors used — not that I had many visitors.He crossed one leg over the other and waited with the patient attention of a man who sensed the conversation was about to get interesting.
"What do you think of Mr.Goodman?"
The question came out more abruptly than I'd intended.Harry's eyebrows did a complicated thing — rising slightly, then settling, then holding very still in a way that suggested he was choosing his next words with extreme care.
"In what capacity?"he asked.
"As an executive producer.What do you think of his performance."
He was quiet for a moment.His fingers tapped once against his knee."I think he's possibly the best EP this network has ever had."
The words landed in the room like a grenade rolling across a hardwood floor.I felt my jaw tighten.
"The ratings are up," he continued, carefully."The Vasquez interview went viral.The Chicago coverage was the best live broadcasting we've done in years.The editorial quality of the show has improved measurably in every metric the network tracks.The crew respects him.The correspondents want to work with him.And the audience—"
"The audience."I cut him off."What does the audience know, Harry?The audience doesn't see the editorial meetings or the control room.The audience sees what I give them, which is the same thing I've been giving them for years — a flawless broadcast every single night, regardless of who's sitting in the EP chair."
Harry looked at me.Something shifted in his expression — the professional deference cracking, just slightly, the way it did on the rare occasions when Harry Perricone decided he had something to say that I wasn't going to like.
"With respect, Nelson."His voice was firm."The broadcast is better.Not the same.Better.Your delivery has changed.The pacing has changed.There's something in the show that wasn't there before, and the numbers prove it, and pretending otherwise because you don't like the person responsible isn't—"