Hotshot

by Jo Leigh

  Good. She was back to her feisty self. “I don’t have any plans for the next couple of weeks.”

  “You don’t have any plans,” she repeated. “Did you hear what Ms. Whittaker said? If we go through with this nonsense, we’ll have to see each other every day. You’ll have to come in to the studio and give progress reports.” She shook her head. “You don’t think this is completely nuts?”

  “It’s weird as hell, but I’m game,” he said.

  “There has to be more of a reason than your lack of a busy schedule.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this is… It’s absurd!”

  “Is it?” Darlene asked. “Is it absurd when you tell Noelle from Brooklyn that she’s not really in love with her boyfriend? Is it absurd when you teach Cindy from Queens that she’s weak and spineless because she couldn’t say no?”

  “I never said she was spineless. Besides, that’s different.”

  “Why? Because it’s not your life on the line? Because your heart isn’t at risk?”

  Jamie turned her gaze to Darlene, and Chase was surprised the writer’s hair didn’t catch fire. This was not a mutual admiration society. These women were out for blood.

  Maybe he’d been too hasty. What sounded like a laugh a few minutes ago was becoming complicated. He didn’t do complicated. On the other hand, Jamie had that luscious mouth.

  Darlene touched his shoulder. “Chase, have you ever seduced a woman?” “Yep.”

  “How many?”

  “All of them.”

  Darlene grinned. “So you think you can seduce Dr. Jamie?”

  “Yep.”

  Jamie’s eyes looked like they were ready to pop. “Are you serious? Every woman just falls into bed at the crook of your finger? Obviously that statement is a gross exaggeration.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What, you’re so fabulous, no woman can resist you?”

  “No woman I’m paying attention to. I don’t know all that much about the world, and I am, after all, only a guy who drives cars, but I do know what women want, and how to give it to them.”

  “Oh, please. That’s the most arrogant crock of—”

  “How long do you think it’ll take Jamie to succumb?” Darlene asked, barely masking Jamie’s curse.

  He chuckled. “I don’t know. It depends on how willing she is to play her part honestly.”

  “Explain that, please.”

  He turned from Darlene to Jamie. “She needs to walk into this with no prejudice. It has to be real—as if I asked her out and she said yes of her own free will.”

  “Jamie, how do you feel about that?”

  “I think this joke has gone far enough.” She lifted her cup with shaky fingers, then put it down again without taking a sip. “Why don’t we hear from some listeners. Mr. Newman, thanks for being such a good sport, but you can go now.”

  “Not on your life,” Darlene said, her tone as sharp as a knife blade. “There are only two ways this is going to end. Either you’re going to come in here in two weeks, in front of Chase and all your listeners, and tell us you stayed strong, that he didn’t seduce you, or you’re going to admit you’re a fraud.”

  “Ms. Whittaker, I invited you here as a courtesy. I agreed to be interviewed. I didn’t sign up to be made a laughing stock.”

  “Oh, I’m not laughing. I’m dead-on serious. Because, Dr. Jamie, I don’t believe you’ve ever been with a man like Chase. I don’t think you’ve been with a real man. Because if you had, you would know that sometimes the mind takes a back seat to the body. You’re just like the rest of us poor slobs, babe, and you know it. You’re playing with your listeners’ hearts, and their lives.”

  “I take what I say seriously. I’ve got a PhD in human sexuality. I’ve dedicated my life to this work.”

  “But you don’t even date! You can’t tell us you understand what we go through if you’re safe inside your radio station. It’s time to put up or shut up, Dr. Jamie.”

  Chase watched Jamie look through the window as she abruptly gave the station identification, not even trying to respond to Darlene’s diatribe. Fred Holt stood with his nose practically pressed against the glass. He didn’t look happy. The woman—what was her name?—the producer, was freaking out. She was yanking on Fred’s coat sleeve. Chase’s old buddy Cujo was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Chase knew why, of course. Ratings. This little experiment would be a ratings monster. The Arbitrons would go through the roof.

  He hadn’t been involved with radio since he was a teenager, despite his father’s wishes—but he knew the game. He knew what it took to be successful. His father had never understood that he found it all boring. He would never be at the mercy of numbers. Chase needed physical challenges. Excitement. The unexpected.

  He turned to the lovely doctor. She still looked flushed, but the pink in her cheeks was fueled by anger now. She was trapped, and she didn’t like it. It would be a challenge to get through her defenses—to weaken her resolve. Of course, he could do it. There was no doubt. Not because he was Don Juan, but because women wanted to be seduced.

  He understood the game, and he was an excellent player—probably because he knew he had nothing to lose. It was never going to develop into anything more than some hot sex and some laughs.

  This was a dumb stunt, and he shouldn’t have agreed to be part of it. He still wasn’t certain he shouldn’t back out. But going for it would accomplish several things. He’d have something to do while he waited for his next race. He’d help the station, sort of a tip of his hat to his dad. And he’d get Jamie into his bed.

  Okay, so he didn’t give a damn about the station, and he’d never been bored a day in his life. The reason he’d said yes was that he wanted to sleep with the sex doctor. His motive wasn’t so different from Darlene’s—he wanted to show Jamie her theory was all wet.

  He didn’t listen to the radio often, but he did tune in to Jamie’s show whenever he had the chance. He liked the sound of her voice, the way she laughed. In fact, after he’d seen her the first time, the talk show had taken on a whole new level of meaning. He’d never failed to get turned on by Dr. Jamie. Something about her stirred him up, made him hard. She was a fantasy, and soon she’d be a reality.

  Jamie threw her headphones on the desk as the second commercial began. She didn’t say a word as she yanked open the heavy door. A moment later Chase saw her approach Fred. Man, she was one angry lady. Of course, he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could read the expressions and the gestures. Jamie didn’t want to play.

  “I’ve got her,” Darlene said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Chase wondered if she realized she’d spoken aloud. “What do you want her for?”

  She jerked around to stare at him. “What?”

  “You’ve got her. But what for? What’s the point?”

  “Come on. You see her. Love guru? She’s barely out of her teens and she’s become the expert on love in New York? I’m sorry, but that’s bull. If she’s an expert, then I’m the Queen of England.”

  “Maybe she’s gifted. People are, you know.”

  “Gifted? I’ll tell you how she’s gifted. She doesn’t get embarrassed about body parts. She has this sweet little voice, and this angelic little face, and she talks like a biology teacher on steroids. That doesn’t mean she knows a thing about love or relationships. She’s a fraud, and I’m going to prove it.”

  He nodded. “Nothing personal, though, right? Just doing the noble thing to protect the innocent ears of Manhattan youth?”

  “Laugh if you want, but you know what? I am doing the noble thing. A fraud is a fraud is a fraud. She may look great on billboards, but she’s a menace on the airwaves.”

  “And you’re going to stop her?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t fall for my charms?”

  Darlene’s eyes narrowed. “You won’t let that happen. I know some things about yo
u, Chase. You didn’t say yes for me. You want to prove her wrong just as much as I do.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Which means I probably shouldn’t do it. I don’t have anything against Jamie.”

  “Come on, Chase. This kid is a flash in the pan. She’s a marketing trick. She’ll only be around until the next fad comes along.”

  The door behind them opened. Jamie walked in, her whole demeanor spelling out her defeat. This stunt could take her to the top, could make her a household name. And he held all the cards.

  Chase wasn’t crazy about that. She seemed like a nice kid. And damn, she was pretty. But what the hell? It was only radio. Just a stunt, like all the other stunts he’d pulled. In the long run, it didn’t matter.

  Despite what he’d said to Darlene, he would play fair. Of course, he’d use all the weapons in his arsenal. But if Jamie said no, it would stay no.

  He knew he sounded like an arrogant bastard. But he didn’t care about that. The truth was the truth. Women wanted to be appreciated; to be admired for who they were, not just what they looked like—although he didn’t ignore that, either. Women wanted to be swept away. They wanted a man to run the show. They wanted to get well and truly laid.

  What the hell. It was all just a game, right?

  JAMIE HELD IT TOGETHER just long enough to finish the show. The moment she was off the air, she shot out of the booth and found Marcy and Fred in Fred’s office.

  She walked in and planted a fist on her hip. “I’m not doing this.”

  Marcy got to her feet, moving between her and Fred, a human blockade. “I’ll handle this, Jamie.”

  “There’s nothing to handle. I refuse.”

  “Ladies, take a seat.”

  Marcy sat, and once Jamie caught a glimpse of the expression on Fred’s face, she sat down, too. It didn’t mean she was going to budge.

  “Do you have any idea how many people have called the station in the past hour? More than a thousand, and that’s just the number we logged. Most people couldn’t get through. I’ve gotten calls from the Post and the CBS affiliate, both of whom want to do stories on this.”

  “That doesn’t make it right, Fred.” Jamie leaned forward, putting her hands on his desk. “I won’t subject myself to this kind of humiliation. No job is worth that.”

  “Really? That’s surprising coming from you. Didn’t you tell me last week you’d do anything to get national syndication?”

  “I didn’t mean it literally, for God’s sake. Fred, the witch wants me to go out with that…that…man.”

  “That man is going to save your butt,” Fred said. “You do know that his father built this station—that Chase himself could have owned the station, if he’d wanted to.”

  “So?”

  “So you think he’s going to let you fall on your fanny? The man is his father’s son. He’s going to do what’s right.”

  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.