âWill you take it easy? Itâs time to let your hair down a little. Get your message out, but have fun with it.â
Fun? She felt as if she were heading to her own execution.
A few moments later, a man came out to the lobby. He was balding, in his midforties, wearing a scruffy pair of khakis and a sweatshirt.
âThat must be the producer,â Karen whispered. âYouâll be on in a minute. Just be sure to stick to English when you talk.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhenever you get nervous, you slip into geek speak.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âBig words nobody cares about. Just talk to people.â She patted Sara on the arm. âIâll be waiting for you out here.â
Take it easy, keep your cool, stay on message, she told herself. How hard could that really be?
The man introduced himself as Butch Brannigan. He hung Saraâs coat on a nearby rack, then led her down a long hall. As he swung open the door that led to the studio, her heart beat wildly. She thought she was ready for her first glimpse of Nick Chandler. Unfortunately, his photo on the Web site had barely given a hint of the man in the flesh.
He wore jeans. A ragged V-neck cotton sweater over a white T-shirt. Boots that looked as if theyâd been to a war zone and back. He hadnât seen the business end of a razor that morning, or maybe the morning before, either. Few men could pull off the shabby look without appearing unkempt, but Nick merely looked careless and uninhibited. And those eyes. Dear God. In the war between men and women, they were lethal weapons.
He stood up as she came in. âHi. You must be Sara.â
âYes,â she said, extending her hand. âItâs a pleasure to meet you.â
âNo,â he said, his lips easing into a captivating smile. âThe pleasureâs all mine.â
He enveloped her hand in a warm, solid handshake, sending goose bumps crawling all the way up her arm. Then he pulled out her chair. âHave a seat. Weâll be on in just a little bit.â
His deep, resonant voice meshed perfectly with his seductive smile and his incredible good looks, creating a package of pure temptation that could turn a defenseless woman with low self-esteem into a mindless love slave in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, Sara wasnât defenseless, her self-esteem was thoroughly intact and Nick Chandler was going to have to fill the position of love slave elsewhere.
Butch left the room and slipped back into the glassed-in booth that looked into the studio. âThirty seconds, Nick.â
She sat down, and Nick handed her a set of headphones. After putting them on, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. Then realizing how uptight that looked, she stuck them in her lap instead.
âNervous?â Nick asked.
She whipped around. âNo. Not at all.â
âEver do radio before?â
âNo. This is my first time.â
âAh. A radio virgin.â He smiled reassuringly. âDonât worry. Iâll be gentle.â
Her heart jolted at the mental image that created. âItâs okay. Iâve done a lot of interviews.â She forced a look of indifference on her face. âThis is just one more, right?â
He nodded, still smiling. âRight.â
Pleasant tone of voice. Agreeable expression. Nonconfrontational body language. Everything about him said, You can trust me. So why was she still so terrified?
Because sheâd heard his show before. She knew his point of view. A copy of her book lay on the desk beside him, and she wondered if heâd read anything more than the inside flap copy.
A few seconds later, Nick hit a button and leaned into the microphone. âNext in the hot seat is Doctor Sara Davenport, author of a book called Chasing the Bad Boy. Hi, Sara. Glad you could join us today. You donât mind if I call you Sara, do you? Weâre pretty informal around here.â
She wished she could keep her doctorate wedged between them, along with the title that came with it, but she didnât want to look stuffy. Just have fun with it, Karen had told her.
âOf course you can call me Sara. If I can call you Nick.â
âSweetheart,â he said with a dazzling smile, âyou can call me anything you want to.â
Little prickles of awareness danced across the back of her neck. Stay on your toes.
âWhy donât you give us your book in a nutshell?â Nick said. âThen weâll chat about it.â
She took a deep, silent breath. Here we go.
âWell, the premise of my book is that there are certain men who some women have a hard time resisting. Theyâre the guys they meet at the gym with the incredible bodies who want them for their bodies and nothing else. The mystery men who are here today and gone tomorrow. The amazingly handsome men who sweep women off their feet, then hit on their sisters the moment they leave the room. These men are all very enticing on the outside, but in reality, most of them are immature, reckless and irresponsible, offering nothing to the women who fall for them.â
âWow,â Nick said. âSo how many men do you think are out there who fit that description?â
Sara blinked with surprise. As if she had an actual number? âWell, I donât know exactly. But obviously not all men are like that.â
âSo some of them are pretty good guys.â
âOf course.â
âSo itâs really just a select few who are causing a whole bunch of problems.â
Her heart skipped. âI didnât say there were a lot of problems, justââ
âSara. You wrote an entire book on the subject. Of course there must be a lot of problems. In this country we donât fell trees just for the heck of it, you know.â
Sara just stared at him, her heart thumping. What was she supposed to do now? Defend the logger whoâd cut the trees to make the materials that the printer had bought so he could commit her words to paper?
âOkay, so letâs narrow it down a little,â Nick said. âWhatâs the biggest problem you see with this situation between good girls and bad boys?â
âWomen think theyâre going to change menâs thought processes. Make them into something theyâre not.â
âSo men are inflexible.â
âSome of them are.â
âBut women arenât.â
âWell, some women areââ
âBut theyâre inflexible about the right things.â