by Olivia Logan
“Are you even old enough to be hosting this show?” Scorn poured from his every pore.
Removing her finger from the microphone button, she arched one eyebrow. “Aren’t you old enough to know better than to lead someone on?”
At the sound of rapping on the glass, she narrowed her eyes at her producer, then turned back to her new guest and gestured for him to sit down. She wasn’t used to sharing her booth. He was too big, too full of himself, and she rolled her chair back as he sat down, removing his jacket. An unexpected tingle coursed its way down her spine as his arm muscles bunched and flexed at the movement.
This close, she could sympathize with why Ms. Shoes thought about him for months after they broke up. In addition to the arms, when he spoke, damn dimples came out of nowhere.
No, back up, CJ. They did not break up. He dumped someone after leading her on. At least CJ’s ex had had the decency to be honest with her. Yes, it hadn’t been the fairy-tale ending she had envisioned. But it had been a whole, solid five months together. And besides, he had been a guy who hadn’t come from her society world, unlike Jack Harper.
“Thanks for having me, Ms. Stratt. So let’s talk about the reason I am here, shall we?”
So much for being an amateur with the head mic. “I’m sure you know that voice, listeners. Welcome, Mr. Harper, and as for the reason you’re here, that’s simple. You are the reason you’re here. To talk about you.”
“If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one who started this charade. You did.”
“Okay, if we want to be technical about it, your ex did. I was simply responding to her question and comments.”
“By defaming my character in the process.”
“And here we go again. You know, without sounding like a broken record, if you don’t want to do the time then ...”
“Don’t do the crime. Yeah. We got that,” he said, his smooth drawl filling the small space around them.
She twisted her skull ring around her finger and studied the flashing screen in front of her. Why did his voice sound so familiar? It was a strange mix of an American and London accent melded together, creating one intriguing combination.
She blinked as the lights on the switchboard flicked on. Just a few at first, then more, and she glanced up to find her producer grinning widely.
Clearing her throat, she pushed her glasses further up her nose, swiveling around to face her guest. “So, Mr. Harper ...”
“Jack, and you, I take it from your show’s introduction, are CJ. Short for ...?”
Short for none of your business, but she pasted a saccharine smile on her face. “Well it’s nice to meet you, Jack, and it’s just CJ. So are you telling us, London that is, that Ms. Shoes was wrong and you are a loving, devoted guy after all?”
Ha! That got him. She smiled victoriously, pleased to see his mouth open then shut firmly again. “And just so I’m not accused of missing some facts, how long did you and Ms. Shoes date?”
“One month.” This time the smooth drawl belied his tightening jaw.
“So let’s say four weeks in a month, average that to about one date a week ... that is a reasonable enough time to get to know someone.”
Her heart skipped in her chest as his eyes, a deep navy she could see now, narrowed.
“In this busy, modern world of dating, I believe that is the only time people have available. In addition to which, Ms. Stratt, in that one sentence, you have solved the dilemma for anyone wondering if they should get married or not.”
“And by that you mean?”
“If they don’t know them after four dates, they never will.”
“I never meant that,” she replied. If she could, she’d give her whole monthly paycheck to wipe that smirk off his face!
“So what did you mean? Just for the clarification of your listeners,” he prodded, moving forward. The rough softness of his trousers grazed the bare skin of her knee through the ripped denim, sending sparks of electricity shooting through her, and she pushed the creaking chair back, its soft clunk against the desk mobilizing her thoughts out of the physical and into action.
She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to discredit her on air. She could feel the blood thunder through her body at the victorious look on his patrician features.
“People can fall in love after four dates as well as they can after forty,” she began, hurrying on quickly at his raised sandy blond eyebrow. “Depending on the individuals involved. Don’t you agree?”
“No.” She pressed her lips together tightly at his laconic answer. “However, let’s run with your idea of knowing true love after four dates. What then is your professional opinion of passing judgement on an individual based on a 140-character tweet from a third party and, in your own words, based on roughly an average of one date per week for a total of one month, each date lasting only a few hours?”
Grrr! Darn him and his quick comeback. She was going to have to be quicker than she thought with this one.
• • •
Her full lips opened then closed almost immediately, her eyes widening to expose fathomless black pools in their centers. What he had pictured driving here and what sat before him were definitely not the same thing. He drummed his fingers lightly against the wooden desk, reminding her he was still waiting for her answer.
This agony aunt was threatening the business reputation he had fought for. A reputation his ex-stepmother’s accusations had shredded once already—the same woman who made sure to strip Jack’s legitimate place as CEO, as well as his father’s trust. Despite knowing Jack’s genius behind the corporate table from a young age, his father gave the CEO position to Jack’s older brother, whose only wish was to remain in the architectural designing process. Some mentor and friend the elder Mr. Harper turned out to be.
Now was not the time to remember the funeral cortege carrying his brother. A brother who, despite their father’s hatred, still secretly sought Jack’s counsel in business matters. The bond between them had prevented Jack from allying himself with his father’s enemies; his loyalty to his brother lured him back after Brice’s death. That and the insistence of the board. His father was still unwilling to acknowledge him but unable to deny his business acumen.
This deal with Nasser to incorporate the Nasser Hotel chain in the Middle East into the Harper Hotel line was what he needed if he wanted to break the company free from its archaic chains. A deal that would show his father—no, not just him, but the corporate world—why Jack Harper was fit to be CEO of a global business.
A deal that, if it failed in any way, was the fall he was sure many were waiting for.
He couldn’t allow that fall to happen, even by a petite blond in ripped jeans.
Stormy blue eyes lightened under the heavy framed glasses. “I would say the person making the judgement was very wise to make it so quickly and accurately,” she said, a pithy look accompanying her statement.
“Rash judgements are not accurate judgements in my experience, CJ.” Her name rolled off his tongue, surprising them both guessing from a light flush of pink creeping from her cheeks lower to her neck. What made him say her name? Stratt. Ms. Stratt. It was professional, businesslike. And this was very much all about business. Though why was he surprised he used her name? Judging from her appearance and comments to him so far, he wasn’t sure she knew the meaning of professional.
The pastel strands of her hair stuck out like a sore thumb against her dark top, making her seem younger than what he guessed were her true years. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Yeah, right. He inhaled, unprepared for the scent of sweet vanilla to sting his nose. Her. It was her scent. So she really was sugar.
• • •
Lights began to flicker on the equipment in front of her. That probably meant they had an audience. An audience it was her job to advise; an audience that apparently included the head of his PR, a woman he once “dated” and potentially everyone known in his ex-stepmother’s circle or this coveted Harper Inc.
deal. An audience he had to reach through her.
Her chin was tilted up toward him, her eyes looking down the petite length of her nose. A memory stirred to life, but he couldn’t do more than grab the fleeting will-o’-the-wisp image before it disappeared again as his eyes raked over her face to rest on the pink lips. Lips that made him think of things he shouldn’t, considering he was here under duress.
Jack gave himself a mental shake. He needed her—for work. That was it. Nothing more.
What he needed was a foolproof strategy to push back the negative personal PR tide he predicted would come with his ex-stepmother’s nuptials in just under a month’s time. A tide that was also looming over the deal he had sweated blood for and needed. Two birds, one stone.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
So, did he have the courage to carry out an idea so crazy, it may work? Yes, he could leave it to his PR team, but no. What he had in mind needed the personal touch. His touch.
“In fact, being the fair businessman I am, and you seem a reasonable person, how about a wager? A dating wager to be exact. On the opinion of a third-party140-character tweet and after less than a handful of dates, you labeled me untrustworthy and selfish. How about we go on more than four dates and then I get to clear my name? Unless of course you’re afraid to stand behind your advice for a reason?” he said, lowering his voice, his gaze fixed to hers as her eyes widened at the challenge.
• • •
“You and I date?” Why was her voice suddenly so high? Probably because this was not what she had expected. Being sued, maybe, but definitely not this.
“That is what I said.”
“To clear your name? With whom? I doubt the people you are concerned about listen to my show at two in the morning.” Honestly. The man was plain ludicrous!
“Maybe, maybe not. I didn’t get where I am by taking unnecessary risks, and you tweeted my company handle, which affects my business and the people involved. Unless of course you are concerned your significant other might get upset.”
“Presently, I am taking a sabbatical from dating.” A long sabbatical.
“A relationship advice agony aunt not in a relationship? What a way to connect with your audience.”
“I don’t see how that is relevant. Besides, what is in it for me?” She was careful to keep her voice neutral. She’d watched nature programs. She knew that once they smelled fear, all predators, no matter two-legged or four-, would take advantage.
“The same reasons I suggested it. Work. And you get to see those lights you keep looking at in front of you fill the switchboard, which I’m guessing from your producer’s happy expression actually means something.”
The little ... Biting back a string of words that would make her mother’s face turn blue, CJ raised her chin in defiance. Two could play at this game. She could do this. She had to do this!
“Fine, so let’s put a number on it, shall we? As you pointed out earlier, even in this busy, modern world, four dates, in your opinion, are not long enough to get to know someone, so let’s double that number. Eight dates, and furthermore, since we have started this thing on air and social media, then it’s only fair to ... to ... blog or tweet about our dates after they happen. Deal?”
“Deal.”
She must be mad. But he had thrown down the gauntlet live on air. Refusing to look at the rising numbers on the screen in front of her, she smiled determinedly at the mic.
“And there you have it. Eight dates, one month for Mr. Harper to show us what he’s really made of. The first of which will be taking place in ...”
“Three days.” She quelled the temptation to max up the interference volume on his headphones.
“You heard it, folks, three days time. So, knowing how busy Mr. Harper is, I think it is best we wish him a fond farewell and I’ll leave you with a slow, jazzy number,” she finished, quickly punching the red button to start the song before slamming down her headphones and standing.
She pushed past him to open the door, her head spinning as he stood up behind her.
“I’ll meet you on Thursday at the studio at six, CJ. You might want to wear something a little more formal for where we are going.”
She watched sullenly as he strode from the room, her stomach dropping as she saw the completely lit switchboard. Figures didn’t lie, and this was the most callers she’d had in the last two months of her year and a half running the show.
Damn!
Chapter 2
Strappy heels, check. Formal dress, check. Chignon, check. Dangly earrings, check. Loosening her white-knuckled grip on the sequined clutch bag, CJ pushed aside the vintage winter coat, glancing down at her outfit. She had everything, so why did she feel something was missing? Possibly because that something was her sanity.
One step at a time, CJ. Get through this evening first. He might give up after this. After all, men like Jack Harper went only so far as their egos could carry them. He may even acquiesce to her earlier view of him and admit live on air to her audience that he was wrong. Yeah, right! And pigs might fly. She snorted inwardly at the folly of her own thoughts, sidestepping a passerby and inhaling the cool, crisp air around her.
She refused to wait in the station. At least then she could avoid the open-mouthed gawking from female occupants of other stations in the building and potentially hearing admiration from the powers that be who had already dragged up in-house cover for those nights she was to be on her “dates.” The same powers who had called her at 7:00 a.m. the day after that show to organise the press for the event, congratulating her on her quick thinking.
Damn it! This was her show, not a stand-in’s! A show that, thanks to her advice and her listeners’ word of mouth coupled with her expertise on the decks, had turned itself into something big. It was a life, a career, freedom she had worked for, and she would not give it up easily.
So she’d have to ignore the fact she was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea. She dragged her eyes from the pavement and squinted at the sight of a long limo rounding the corner. You have got to be kidding me. She blinked—god, make this a hallucination—making her contact lenses slide down before popping back into place, and she stepped forward as the car pulled to a stop in front of her. The familiar, sleek lines of her family’s favourite mode of transport made her cringe, and she straightened as the glossy, black door opened.
Her breath caught in her throat when a single, deep red rose emerged, closely followed by the man of the hour himself, her heart tripping at the sight of the bright, white smile. She curled her fingers into her palms, trying to ignore the alien tingle that made its way rapidly down her spine.
“Good evening, CJ. This is for you.” His smooth, husky tones whispered over her already sensitive skin as he stepped closer. His fingers brushed across hers as the rose swapped hands, making her nerves jump with ... what? Anticipation, excitement? Whatever it was, thank god for the cool air keeping her head focused and her feet on the ground.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She touched the soft, silky petals. Since when had any date ever brought her a rose? The short answer would be never. Not that this was a date-date. This man was the embodiment of everything she didn’t want. Everything she had avoided.
Pushing back the dark thoughts, she brought the rose closer, inhaling the sweet aroma, her nose twitching at another scent there. Mint? Him. That was the only possible answer. Would it be rude to hold her nose so she wouldn’t have to smell the minty goodness? Possibly.
She dropped her head down to a nod, the stifled movement not the flirtatious thank you he was probably used to, before maneuvering around him to the open door of the limo. She made sure to keep her distance and ignore the goose bumps skimming up her arms at his nearness. Looking back, she tilted her head at his own lack of movement. “Shall we go, or is this our stop?”
“Oh no. I have somewhere much more interesting in mind for our first date.”
Ignoring the manic fluttering of her heart
, CJ ducked her head, sliding across the soft leather, the plush seats dipping at his arrival. Her breath caught as she found herself a hair’s breadth away from him, a small tingle unfurling itself in the pit of her stomach before sliding through her. Making herself turn, she locked her gaze on the sights of London she hoped, she prayed would soothe her dancing nerves.
A loud quack from nearby made her start, followed by more loud quacks. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her phone, her stomach sinking. She knew this would happen, even expected it.
“What do you have in there? An aviary?”
The deep voice rippled over her senses, the sound too close, too intimate, and she shuffled sideways, her shoulder hitting the limo’s window. The next date they went on, she was taking her own transport. “It’s my Twitter.” Short and simple. He asked, she answered. The end.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. In fact, you should be pleased. That flock of quacks shows how popular your idea was. Thanks to your little stunt, my producers have been over the moon and pasted it across the website.”
She frowned at his shrug. The knowledge didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. She, on the other hand, had been livid. “The hashtag for all of this, just so you’re aware in case you wanted to follow, is 8dates1month. Let me repeat that for you in case you didn’t hear the first time. Hashtag 8dates1month. This,” she said, her hand reaching up to encircle the entire contents of the limo, “even has its own hashtag.”
You would think the stupidity of his suggestion would have hit him by now, so what was the deal with his look of boredom?
“Are we trending?” His voice was just as bored as his expression.
“Are we trending? There is no we about this. This isn’t a team effort. This was all you.”
