Going For It

Jamie slid back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. So not only am I going to be publicly humiliated, I’m going to do exactly what I’ve been accused of. It’s called fraud, Fred, and they have laws about that.”

“All you have to do is not sleep with him. You said yourself, that was no problem.”

“That’s exactly my point. Nothing can possibly happen. You know that, and I know that. Don’t you see? It’s not a contest. It’s not even clever. It’s just that woman’s idea of clever.”

Behind her, a man cleared his throat, and she spun around to see Chase at the door.

“Sorry to butt in, but I figure I have a stake in this, so I might as well hear what’s going on.”

“Come in, Chase.” Fred waved him over to a straight-backed chair by his file cabinet, but Chase chose to sit in the leather wing chair by the bookcase. He sank down and opened the front of his jacket, revealing a plain, white T-shirt. His knees spread wide in that totally masculine, completely arrogant manner of men who think they’re God’s gift.

“I was just telling Jamie about your ties to the station.”

Chase nodded. Jamie didn’t want to stare at him, but tearing her gaze away was proving a difficult task. Finally, she managed to turn in her seat so her back was to him.

“Hey, I don’t care one way or another,” Chase said. “If she doesn’t want to do this…”

“Jamie can’t do this.” Marcy stood up and walked to the file cabinet. Jamie noted that from there she could see all three of the players. “It doesn’t matter what that woman said. Jamie isn’t a fraud. She has nothing to prove. Whittaker is just looking for cheap publicity.”

“And you’re not?” Chase asked. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

Fred nodded. “I can’t force you to do this. But I’ll tell you this—we have a chance at syndication without it. A chance. But if you do this thing—if you go out with Chase and keep your legs crossed—we’ll be syndicated before the end of the year. Guaranteed.”

“I don’t want it that badly.”

“Is that so?” Fred asked. “You’re young and you have a brilliant career ahead of you. Why blow it over something like this? You play along for a couple of weeks, Chase says whatever he has to, and that’s it. Except that we have a hell of a lot of new listeners. Believe me, it’ll be worth it once we’re national. The rest of your life depends on your decision here. You can make the best of it, or you can walk. Wasn’t it you who told me you don’t believe in half measures? That you were going to get syndicated before you were thirty if it killed you?”

“Wait a minute.” Marcy shook her head as if she could hardly believe what was happening. “This is nuts. Why don’t we all just think it through? Who says we have to decide right now? By tomorrow, things will be much clearer and—”

Jamie stopped listening. She had a decision to make. She could walk out now and not look back. She’d find another radio gig. She was number one in her market, for God’s sake. On the other hand, what if Darlene was right? That she had no business telling New York, let alone the nation, a thing about life or love. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t wondered—as if her own doubts hadn’t made her contemplate quitting. Did she have any right to help all those callers? Wasn’t it only appropriate that she should be tested by her own fire?

She wouldn’t sleep with him. No amount of charisma was going to change that. So why not go along with it? She loved this job. She wanted to be syndicated. She wanted to prove to herself and her family that she’d made the right choice. And lord, she didn’t want Darlene to win.

She put up her hand, stopping Marcy mid-sentence. “All right.”

“What?” Marcy headed back to her chair. “Jamie—”

“I said all right. I’ll do it. But I’ll only do it on the up-and-up.” She turned her head so she could see Chase.

He looked at her with a curious smile. “You’re sure about this?”

She nodded.

He stood. Walked slowly over to her. She almost bolted. With each step he took, her heart beat faster and her thoughts grew fuzzier. He was so big. So imposing. So unbelievably handsome. The truth was, he scared the hell out of her.

He stopped, but only when he was very, very close. He took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet. His fingers went to the bottom of her chin, and he lifted her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t sure at all—especially now that she could see his eyes. They were dark, mysterious, and they saw too much. That was it, of course. Why he frightened her. It was the way he looked at her, as if he could see all her secrets.

Still holding her chin, he leaned forward, and she understood what his intention was seconds before his lips touched hers. She didn’t jerk away. She didn’t push him back. She just closed her eyes.

Soft at first, teasing. His breath, coffee with a hint of peppermint. His size, imposing, almost threatening. But his lips were tender, even as the kiss deepened.

Somewhere out there, she heard Marcy’s voice. Then the sound of her own heart beating drowned out even that.

Her lips parted, and he slipped inside her. Still soft. Achingly soft. He found her tongue and touched it, letting her taste him, igniting a tingle that spread through her like molten lava. Before the heat dissipated, he was gone. His tongue, his lips, his fingers. All gone.

She heard him chuckle, then she opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved away.

“I’ll give you tonight,” he whispered so that only she could hear. “But tomorrow, you’re mine.”

“We, uh, need to discuss this,” she said, surprised at how slurred her words sounded. As if she were drunk.

“We will. Tomorrow.” His gaze roamed over her from face to breasts, then back again. “And put on your good underwear.” He winked, then he was out Fred’s door.

“Jamie?”

As she came out of her daze, the sounds of the room became clear again and she turned to Marcy. “Yes?”

“Honey, you don’t need to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

Marcy shook her head. “It’s a mistake.”

“Probably. But don’t worry. I’m not helpless here. I can take care of myself. You know, it’s not all just talk. I do believe what I say on the air.”

“I know.”

Jamie smiled, although Marcy’s doubt sat heavy in her chest. Who was she kidding? She knew books, not men. Definitely not men like Chase Newman.

She wasn’t one to cuss. She’d always believed that if people tried, they could come up with better words, more exact words. But for the second time that night, all she could say was, “Holy f—”

3

CHASE SETTLED more comfortably into the black leather armchair and cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder. Rupert Davidson, his business manager, did like to talk. And talk. If Rupert wasn’t so good with money, Chase would have fired him years ago. No, that wasn’t true. Rupert had been part of his life for too long. He had been his father’s closest friend, and he’d taken care of Chase and his mother after Jack had died. What everyone except Rupert knew was that he’d fallen in love with Chase’s mother. Nothing would be done about it until after a proper mourning period, of course. Rupert would never disgrace Jack’s memory.

Chase almost thought of Rupert as his stepfather, which he could have been if he’d only asked. But his mother couldn’t or wouldn’t urge him on, preferring the romanticism of an unrequited lover to anything real. It was an odd drama, played out over the years, one which he’d learned to accept.

“…I want to roll the CDs over. I’ve done some investigation about GF Labs, and it’s risky, but I think it might be worth it—at least for a few hundred thousand.”

“Do it.” Chase looked at his coffee. It was on the ebony-and-teak coffee table, out of his reach. He’d have to move to get it, and he’d just gotten comfortable. So what was more important? The way the chair molded perfectly to his back and shoulders? Or caffeine?