Kitabı oku: «When He Was Bad...», sayfa 2

Sara looked at him questioningly.

“My listeners want to know what you look like,” Nick said.

Sara felt a shot of apprehension. “I don’t see the relevancy—”

“Oh, it’s relevant to them. Believe me.”

He kicked back in his chair, put his foot on the desk and dragged the microphone up to his mouth.

“Okay, guys, let me tell you what I’m looking at here. “Sara Davenport is about five-six, one twenty-five. Long, silky brown hair. Gorgeous green eyes. I think they’re green, anyway. They’re hard to make out with the reflection off her glasses.”

She pursed her lips, trying hard not to react.

“Now, don’t worry, Sara,” Nick went on. “I’m not knocking off any points for those. Contrary to common belief…” He dropped his voice to a sexy drawl. “Men do make passes at girls who wear glasses.”

Sara just sat there, astonished that he was saying these things in front of…good God. Ahundred thousand people?

“And I’m thinking she’s probably…” Nick paused. “Let’s see. Thirty-two years old?”

She couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing.

“Oops,” Nick said. “Got the evil eye on that. With all those letters after her name, I assumed she had to be older. Turns out she’s not old, just smart. Let’s try twenty-eight.”

Actually, he was off by two years, but that was absolutely none of his business, and she willed herself again not to react. She didn’t want to telegraph to the women in the audience that she cared whether this man found her attractive or not.

“Okay,” Nick said. “Twenty-eight it is.” His gaze slid down her body, lingering on her legs. “I’m guessing she’s got some really nice legs, but underneath the wool pants she’s wearing, it’s hard to tell. Now, up on top…” He eyed her breasts with such intensity that she had to resist the urge to fold her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately, she left the spandex at home today, and her buttoned-up cotton shirt kinda hinders the view.”

“So what score do you give her?” Andy asked.

Nick sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t go any higher than a six.”

Sara’s eyes flew open wide. “A six?”

She instantly clamped her mouth shut. Damn it. He’d dangled the bait and she’d snapped at it. She’d known exactly what he was up to, and still—

“Wait a minute, Sara,” Nick said. “Let me clarify. I’m pretty darned sure there’s a ten under there somewhere, but I can’t go jumping to conclusions with the obstructed view and all. Now, if you could see your way clear to get rid of some of that cotton and wool, I might be persuaded to reevaluate.”

For several seconds, Sara was dumbfounded into silence. Did he seriously think she’d consider such a thing, as if she was one of the strippers he was so famous for interviewing? Was she supposed to take this kind of thing lying down?

Then, out of nowhere, she was hit with an image of taking all kinds of things from Nick Chandler while lying down.

Oh, God. Why was her brain going there at a time like this? What was the matter with her?

“Never mind, Sara,” Nick said. “Numbers really aren’t that important, now are they? Let’s take a few more calls.” He punched a button on the console. “I’ve got Tawny in Forest Heights on the line. Hey, Tawny. Welcome to the show.”

“This question is for Sara,” she said.

Sara sat up and squared her shoulders. Finally. A woman who wanted to ask a serious question. She leaned into the microphone. “Yes?”

“I’ve never seen Nick in person,” Tawny said. “Is he as gorgeous as his picture on the Web site?”

Sara flicked her gaze to Nick, who was wearing a smile of supreme satisfaction.

What was she supposed to do now? If she said yes, he’d become so arrogant and unbearable that his ego would ooze right out of this studio. If she said no, her nose would grow like Pinocchio’s on steroids. There was only one way to deal with this.

It was time to fight fire with fire.

She took hold of her microphone. “Hi, Tawny. You want to know if Nick is as gorgeous as his picture on the Web site?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for me to do a rundown of my own. Let me tell you what I’m looking at.”

She turned and stared at Nick, who responded only by leaning back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and giving her a challenging smile.

“Nick Chandler is the kind of man who makes every woman he meets check her chest for the heart she’s sure she’s lost. And no wonder. When it comes to good looks, this man went through the line twice. He’s got a smile that would light up New York in the middle of a blackout. A body that dropped right down from Mount Olympus. I suspect he’s given more than one woman a case of whiplash just by walking past her.”

A big grin spread across Nick’s face. He leaned into his microphone. “Tawny, I’ve got to tell you. This woman really knows what she’s talking about.”

“Hold on, Nick,” Sara said. “I’m not finished yet.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said with a smug smile. “Did I interrupt?”

She leaned into the microphone again. “Given his excessive good looks, I suspect he never developed any real talent because he never had to. That’s why he hosts a radio show that relies strictly on his physical attractiveness and his magnetic yet misguided personality. Where women are concerned, he’s as full of empty promises as he is of BS. He’s the kind of man who wouldn’t think to ask ‘Was it good for you, too?’ because he couldn’t fathom that five minutes in his presence wouldn’t drive a woman to orgasm. And while you’re busy thinking about the future, he’s wondering how many beers are left in the fridge.

“So, without demeaning him by asking him to strip to make the assessment, I’d give him a ten-plus for looks. What I’d give him for what’s underneath those good looks, though, would be a big fat zero.”

A few seconds of dead air passed, and the flicker of amazement on Nick’s face gave Sara a rush of vindication. Yes. She’d scored a direct hit. Let him try to mess with her after that.

To her surprise, though, his expression morphed into a grin of sheer delight. “Well,” he said into the microphone, “there may be a little frost on her windows, but it looks as if the furnace inside is going full blast. So how about it, guys? If you like your women feisty, this one might be worth turning off the big screen for. Give me a call and tell me what you think.”

As the phone lines lit up, anger rumbled inside Sara like a volcano ready to blow. Feisty? Had he just called her feisty? And how had this interview gotten to be about her, anyway?

Nick started to touch a button to pick up another call, only to put a finger to his headphones. “Oops. Sorry, guys. Butch is telling me we’re out of time.” He swung around and grabbed the copy of Sara’s book from the table beside him. “The name of the book is Chasing the Bad Boy, by Sara Davenport. Buy it because you believe it or buy it because you don’t, but whatever you do, buy it. Then drop Sara an e-mail at—” he flipped to the back of the book “—Sara at Sara Davenport dot com and tell her what you think. Now, don’t go away. We’ll be back in just a few minutes with a little sports talk.”

Nick punched a button, then pulled off his headphones and faced her. “Wow, Sara. You really let me have it, didn’t you?”

Sara couldn’t believe this. As if it was her fault they’d squared off the way they had? He’d baited her, angered her and demeaned her, and now he was upset because she’d given him a dose of his own medicine?

She pulled off her headphones. “Look, Nick. If you’re expecting an apology—”

“Apology? Are you kidding? That was what I call damned good radio.” He gave her a radiant smile. “Don’t let this get out, but I swear sometimes it’s better than sex.”

Huh?

He leaned toward her, dropping his voice. “How about you, Sara? Did you feel the rush?”

What the hell was he talking about? “All I felt,” she said hotly, “was the desire to get out of here. You made me look like a fool.”

Nick drew back. “Nobody looked like a fool. Least of all you.”

“But all those things you said—”

“Yes. I said a lot of things. And you gave them right back to me. We lit up those lines. That’s a good thing.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, standing up. “Not when you humiliate me to make it happen.”

She turned to leave. Nick rose and grabbed her arm. “Hey, take it easy, okay? I don’t want you going away mad.”

She shook her arm loose and glared at him. “Too late for that.”

“Okay,” he said, holding up his palms. “I can see that we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“You have a talent for understatement.”

“So how about we start over?” A smile eased across his face. “Say…with dinner tonight?”

Sara drew back in total disbelief. “You have got to be joking.”

“I never joke about food. I know a great steakhouse on Campbell Road that’s got a rib eye that I just might sell my soul for.”

“No, thank you.”

He frowned. “Oh, boy. It’s the red meat thing, isn’t it? Are you one of those women who eats only green stuff?”

“No!”

He sighed with relief. “Thank God. Nothing’s worse than taking a vegetarian to a steak house. They end up eating a salad and poking at a baked potato.” He smiled again. “So how about it, Sara? Wanna make an evening of it?”

This was absolutely unbelievable. How could he even think she’d take him up on such a thing?

“I told you I’m not interested,” she said. “And I can’t imagine why you would be, either. I mean, why would you want to get stuck with a six like me when you could thumb through your little black book and come up with a perfect ten?”

“Come on, Sara. That rating thing is just a gimmick. My listeners love it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Okay, then. Forget the numbers. Here’s the truth.” He moved closer, his mouth edging into a warm smile. “When you walked in here a few minutes ago, my very first thought was that you were just—quite simply—one beautiful woman.”

For a moment, she thought she heard a note of actual sincerity in his voice, one that almost made her think he wasn’t just tossing compliments around because she’d turned him down and his ego couldn’t take it.

Almost.

“No, Nick. Here’s the truth. Your opinion of my physical appearance doesn’t interest me in the least. I was here to promote my book, not to subject myself to your adolescent behavior. But you know what? It’s my fault. I knew what your show was like, and I let my publicist book me on it, anyway. But you can bet your life I won’t make a mistake like that again.”

“Nick!” Butch said. “You got fifteen seconds!”

Nick’s smile faded, replaced by a look of resignation. “Okay, Sara. I get the message.”

“Good.”

She started to walk out.

“Sara?”

“What?”

“If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He put on his headphones and hit a button on the console. As he started his well-practiced banter once again, Sara left the booth, still fuming, still frustrated, and when she thought about the people all over town who had just heard her humiliation, she wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

You know where to find me. As if she’d ever get within a mile of this radio station again.

When she came into the lobby, Karen stood up. Sara brushed past her and headed for the door.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Karen said. “Where are you going? I wanted to meet—”

“No. You don’t want to meet him. Trust me. You don’t.”

She yanked open the door and stepped outside. Traipsing through the snow, she headed for her car, the bitter winter wind swirling around her. Karen threw the strap of her laptop case over her shoulder and followed. She caught up to Sara in the parking lot and pulled her to a halt. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Did you not hear that interview?”

“I heard every word.”

“It was a disaster!”

“Disaster? Are you kidding? You were brilliant!”

Sara gaped with disbelief. “Brilliant? What are you talking about? That man humiliated me!”

“No way. He may have given it to you, but you gave it right back. You beat him at his own game.”

“No. All I did was let him drag me down into the gutter right along with him.”

“Yeah, and while you two were wallowing around in that gutter, I was checking the e-mails coming in through your Web site. Half a dozen already.”

“What?”

“Get in the car. I’ll show you.”

They slid into the car, and Karen flipped open her laptop. She ran her finger over the touch pad, then tapped.

“Listen to this,” she said. “‘I just heard you on Nick Chandler’s show. You’re absolutely right. Somebody needs to warn women about men like him. Keep up the good work!’”

Sara blinked with surprise.

“Here’s another one,” Karen said. “‘I liked how you let him have it. If I had that kind of backbone with a man, then maybe I never would have stayed with the losers I have.’” Karen hit the touch pad again. “And how about this one? ‘I came to one of your seminars, and now after hearing you on Nick Chandler’s show today, I can see that you’re somebody who actually practices what she preaches. You don’t let men mess with you. Way to go!’”

Sara was dumbfounded. “They actually heard me? Women who aren’t Nick Chandler groupies?”

“If they were before, they’re not now. They heard you, they thought about what you said and they responded. And there are more e-mails coming in. Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

Sara felt a glimmer of hope. “I still don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. You reached your target audience. You may have done it under the radar, but you did it just the same. It appears that Nick Chandler was his own worst enemy in there, and he didn’t even know it.”

His own worst enemy?

The more Sara thought about that, the more it made sense. He’d baited her into unmasking him just enough that at least a few of the women in his audience had been able to see him for what he really was. And that was a very good thing.

Then all at once, an inkling of an idea came to Sara. She froze, her hands on the steering wheel, as it took shape in her mind. She felt a spark of excitement, which grew hotter with every second that passed.

“Oh, my God. Karen. I know the angle for my next book.”

“What?”

“Maybe it’s time the women of the world knew exactly what goes on inside the mind of a man like Nick Chandler.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wrote my first book from the perspective of women who fall prey to bad boys. What if I write my second one from the perspective of the bad boy himself?”

“Nick?”

“Exactly. He’ll be my starting point. Once women have a peek inside his head, see his motives, hear firsthand how he goes about controlling and manipulating them, they’ll know he’s the kind of man they need to avoid at all cost.”

Karen’s eyes flicked back and forth, her mind turning. “Sounds promising. PR-wise, it could be a gold mine. But how are you going to get Nick Chandler to spill all his secrets?”

“You said it yourself—he’s his own worst enemy. He doesn’t see anything wrong with his point of view, and with an ego like his, getting him to talk about himself should be a breeze.” She gave her friend a devious smile. “Believe me, Karen. If I want to know what Nick Chandler is thinking, all I have to do is ask.”

3

TWO HOURS LATER, Nick swung his car out of the KZAP parking lot onto the snow-crusted road to head home. Sixteen inches of snow had hit the city already, and more was falling. His windshield wipers were working overtime to sweep enough away that he could see to drive.

He pulled up to a stoplight, then turned to look at Sara Davenport’s book lying in the passenger seat beside him. Why he was bringing it home with him, he really didn’t know. It had sat on the table beside him during the rest of his show this afternoon, distracting him to the point that he’d actually lost his train of thought a time or two. Finally, he’d stuck it under his desk, thinking out of sight, out of mind, only to see Sara’s face in his mind instead.

And now the book was staring up at him in that same accusing way it had in the studio. For an inanimate object, it was doing a pretty good job of generating a whole lot of guilt.

He sighed. Face it, Chandler. You screwed up.

The minute he’d seen those lines light up during his show, he’d responded as he always did, like some kind of Pavlovian dog with his tail wagging wildly and his mouth watering. As he pictured every one of those incoming lines jammed with callers, his heart had raced and his nerves had come to life, driving him to fan those flames until they burned as hot as they possibly could.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d fueled that bonfire at Sara Davenport’s expense.

Technically, he’d done things right. He’d entertained his listeners, stirred up a little attention-getting controversy, and plugged her book. Unfortunately, she hadn’t exactly gotten into the spirit of his show. And he was still stinging from her turning down his dinner invitation, too, because that meant she was holding a grudge, and he hated that. He’d been a lot of things to a lot of women in his life, but enemy had never been one of them.

He hadn’t been lying. She was a beautiful woman, which made her turning down his dinner invitation doubly painful. He glanced at her book again and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to have to do something to rectify the situation, but he just wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later, he pulled into his parking space next to his apartment and killed the engine, thankful that he’d moved to a new apartment only five minutes from the station. It was bigger than his last one, and the covered parking was a real plus in a city with an average annual snowfall of almost ninety inches. His recent salary increase had afforded him all kinds of luxuries: more space, more comfort, more convenience. All very good things.

Nick grabbed Sara’s book, got out of the car and trudged through the snow to his apartment door. Glancing through the window into his living room, he saw a familiar head sticking up above the back of the sofa. He checked his watch. No wonder. He was late getting home tonight, and the game started in ten minutes.

Nick unlocked the door, stomped the snow off his boots and walked inside to find that Ted, as usual, had let himself in and parked himself in front of Nick’s big-screen TV, which he said beat the hell out of the piddly twenty-six incher in his own apartment.

“Hey, man!” Ted said. “About time you got home. The game’s about to start.”

Nick closed the door and tossed Sara’s book down on the coffee table. “Let me grab a beer. Need another one?”

“Has the answer to that question ever been no?”

Nick pulled two bottles from the fridge and they sat down on the sofa. Ted looked as he always did, which wasn’t surprising since his wardrobe consisted of three pair of jeans and sixty-two concert and radio station T-shirts. And Nick knew that sixteen inches of snow was the only thing on the planet that could make Ted swap his flip-flops for the boots he was wearing now.

He and Ted had met for the first time when Nick had been an intern at KPAT in Colorado Springs. Ted had been their morning man along with another DJ, a guy who was a genius behind the microphone but had a reliability problem stemming from his close personal relationship with the whiskey bottle. When that guy got canned, Ted had lobbied for Nick to fill the spot, telling the station manager that he needed a pretty face to balance his own butt-ugly one because wearing a ski mask during remotes seemed a little too serial killer. It had been an unheard-of opportunity for someone who’d done as little dues-paying as Nick had, and he vowed he’d never forget it.

They’d been a great team on a show with great ratings, but eventually they’d been fired. Nick figured that the hoax they’d pulled on the mayor probably had something to do with it. They’d split up, Ted heading to Monroe, Louisiana, and Nick to Dallas, then Chicago, before finally landing in Boulder. Nick had learned his lesson. He kept the practical jokes to a minimum, stayed put and built a reputation, finally working his way up to his own show. Ted hopped from job to job, eventually ending up at a low-watt hole-in-the-wall FM station in Tupelo.

When he’d called three months ago to tell Nick that he’d been fired one more time, Nick hadn’t been surprised. There was always some stunt Ted wanted to pull, music he declined to play, or ass he refused to kiss. But this time Nick had heard a touch of desperation in his friend’s voice that had never been there before, so he pulled a few strings and got him an interview for a producer’s job at KZAP. At first, Ted had flipped out: I’ve been playing rock and roll across this great country of ours for the past twenty years, and you want me to produce a gardening show? But then he’d gotten real and gotten down to business, taking the job when it was offered and staying with Nick until he could get back on his feet again.

“Caught your show today,” Ted said. “Great stuff. Loved Amber, the pole dancing champion.” He drooped his lids and assumed a Madonna-like voice. “‘It’s, like, you have to become one with the pole. Feel the pole. Love the pole.’”

“Hey, everybody’s got their thing. I respect that.” Nick gave him a sly grin. “Her thing just happens to be slithering naked up and down a pole in front of a roomful of drunk men.”

And after her spot on the show, Amber had offered to show Nick the practice pole in her bedroom, complete with a private performance. When he’d declined, she’d given him an open invitation for the future. In light of Amber’s considerable physical assets, he’d surprised himself by feeling more turned off by her than turned on.

Then Sara Davenport had shown up.

He’d looked around to see her standing at the door of the studio, uptight and buttoned-down, but still considerably sexier than any psychologist he’d ever imagined. The nervousness she’d tried to hide had only made him wonder what other chinks there might be in the armor of rigid professionalism she wore. Only seconds passed before he was already thinking about pulling those glasses off her real slow, tossing them aside, then taking her in his arms and…

“But your best bit was that psychologist,” Ted said. “She really let you have it, didn’t she? God, that was great. The kind of guest you kill for.”

“Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, the lady didn’t think it was all that entertaining. She thought I humiliated her.”

“You kidding? She got her shots in, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she still didn’t think much of me by the time the interview was over. I tried to ask her out to dinner as a peace offering, but that didn’t fly, either.”

“Are you telling me a woman turned you down?”

“It’s hardly the first time.”

“Yeah, but it’s the first time since you were twelve years old.” He reached to the coffee table. “Is this her book?”

“Yeah.”

Ted thumbed through it. “Wow. Check out her bio. Education out the wazoo.” He turned to Nick. “Since when do you have a thing for the intellectual type?”

He didn’t. At least, he didn’t think he did.

Did he?

“I just didn’t want her to go away mad,” Nick said. “That’s bad for business.”

“So which was she? A six or a ten?”

Nick winced. He’d taken that bit a little too far. Sara wasn’t a mud wrestler or a Penthouse pet or the owner of a nudist resort. Those women were used to his kind of banter. They thrived on his kind of banter.

Sara didn’t.

“That’s just a stupid bit I do,” Nick said. “I’m thinking of trashing it.”

“No way. It’s that kind of bit that got you where you are. That show’s a cash cow, kid. Milk it for all it’s worth. If you don’t, one of these days you’ll be old and decrepit like me, and you won’t be good for much of anything.” He took a swig of beer. “Well, anything except producing a gardening show.”

“For God’s sake, Ted. You’re only forty-one.”

“In radio, I might as well be a hundred and forty-one.” He pointed his finger at Nick. “Take this as a warning, kid. This business chews you up and spits you out.” Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, hell, why am I warning you? You’re riding the wave. If they’re talking syndication for your show, you’re gonna be on easy street.”

“They’re talking. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Nope. You’ve got what it takes. I knew it from the second I met you. Syndication will put you on top, so you do anything—and I mean anything—to get there. You hear me? Otherwise you’re gonna end up like me in ten years. Look how I was wallowing around at the bottom of the barrel when I called you a few months ago.”

“You were out of a job. Like that’s something new to radio guys?”

To Nick’s surprise, Ted’s expression turned solemn, and he stared down at his beer. “You know, when I got fired, I was at the end of my rope. I wasn’t quite sure where I was gonna go. I just hung around Tupelo for a few days, staring at the wall. Then I talked to you.” He turned his gaze up to meet Nick’s. “Thanks, kid. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Nick’s heart twisted a little. “Hey, it was purely selfish on my part, believe me.”

“How’s that?”

“At the rate I’m going, I’m never going to have a wife, but what do I need one of those for when I have you waiting for me when I get home? If I could just get you to have dinner ready and bring me my slippers, I’d be all set.”

Ted scowled. “Hey, you know the number of the pizza place as well as I do. And your big stinky feet can freeze for all I care. Now, just watch the game, will you?”

Nick grinned and picked up the remote, when all at once the phone rang. He tossed the remote aside and grabbed it.

“This is Nick.”

“Hi, Nick. This is Sara Davenport.”

His heart skipped. Hers was the last voice he’d expected to hear on the other end of the line, and for a moment he was actually speechless.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” he said, sitting up straight. “Not at all. I’m just…well, I guess I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“I phoned the station and your producer gave me your home number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Nick’s mind was spinning, wondering why she was calling. “I just hope this means you’ve reconsidered my dinner invitation.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not calling about dinner. But there is something I’d like to discuss with you. A business proposition.”

Business? He could think of all kinds of business he’d like to get down to with her. Unfortunately, she sounded as if she meant, well…business.

“Can you meet me at my office tomorrow at ten o’clock?”

Nick ran through his mental to-do list for tomorrow and saw nothing on his schedule for that hour. And between now and then, if he remembered something, he’d cancel it.

“Sure, Sara. I can meet you at ten.”

“Good. My office address is 8442 Cavanaugh Court, Suite 214.”

Nick grabbed a pencil and scribbled the address on the cover of his TV Guide. “Care to tell me what we’re gonna be talking about?”

“I’d rather go into it tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Nick heard a click. He held out the phone and stared at it for a moment, then turned to Ted. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

He returned the phone to its cradle. “That was Sara Davenport.”

“The shrink on the show today?”

“Yeah. She wants me to meet her at her office tomorrow morning.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Her office, huh? Why there?”

“I don’t know. She’s says it’s business.”

Ted grinned. “Business? Right. Don’t psychologists have couches in their offices?”

“They do on TV.”

“Well, there you go, kid.”

“What?”

“I’d say she’s looking for a little afternoon delight. This way, you don’t even have to buy her dinner.”

“Will you give me a break? It’s nothing like that. Trust me. When she left the station, she was cold as ice. And I don’t sense that a whole lot of thawing has taken place since then.”

“Oh, yeah? Bet you can lock her office door, draw the blinds and get her naked in under two minutes.”

Nick gave him a deadpan stare. “Ted?”

“Yeah?”

“You really need to get a love life of your own.”

“Nah. What woman in her right mind is gonna want a washed-up bum like me? Just hand me a beer and let me live vicariously.”

As Ted picked up the remote and found the station the game was on, Nick glanced at the phone again, still wondering why Sara wanted to see him.

And why he wanted to see her.

It was crazy, after all. Sara wasn’t anything like the kind of women he usually dated. She’d probably never done a Jell-O shot in her life. Or picked up a pool cue. Or flashed her boobs during Mardi Gras, worn a thong or woken up in Cancun with a hangover and wondered how she’d gotten there. Instead, she’d been busy getting all those letters after her name and writing books, not to mention straightening out people’s minds and collecting a hefty paycheck for her services. Just being seen with a sharp, conservative, intellectual woman like Sara would make his bar-hopping, speed-dating, sports-crazy listeners wonder when he’d gone over to the dark side.

So why did he feel a hot little rush at the very thought of seeing her again?

He had no idea. He only knew that it had been a very long time since he’d met a woman who was any kind of challenge at all. Most of the women he encountered were either waiting in the lobby of the station to slip their phone numbers into his pocket, calling his show with various sexual propositions or tossing their panties into the booth whenever he did remotes. He tried to imagine Sara doing any of those things, and he almost laughed out loud.

He settled back with Ted to watch the game, but he had a hard time concentrating. Business? He had no idea if Sara ever mixed that with pleasure, but he sure intended to find out.