Tempting Talk (Tempt Me Book 3)

by Sara Whitney

  Wait, what was she doing? He. Was. Off. Limits. She had to get out of there before she forgot that and blew up her work life yet again. She couldn’t risk that for herself, and she definitely couldn’t risk it for Dave and Ana.

  Time to go. Way past time to go.

  “I marked up that ad copy like you asked,” she told Brandon stiffly. “If you want anything different, let me know.” She backed toward the door, not wanting to give him the same twirling fashion show she’d given Jake. “Okay, uh, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  She slid out without waiting to see if Jake looked up from his work again to acknowledge her departure.

  Six

  “Is Brandon around?”

  Jake looked up from his screen, blinking a bit as his eyes adjusted to take in Mabel’s head poking around the doorframe. “Nope. He’s in Detroit all week.”

  “Excellent. Got a second?”

  No. Absolutely not. He was swamped, and the last time they’d talked, she’d somehow extracted truths about his life that he never talked about—plus he’d made a dick joke, a lame one, to the funniest woman he’d ever met, and now all he could think about were her long, tan legs in those shorts from the day before. Smart, funny, pretty? He’d recognized that on day one. Sexy? Sexual? Someone he was attracted to? Those feelings were rapidly climbing the charts, to use a metaphor she might appreciate. And there was no denying the bolt of pleasure he experienced to know that, unlike last time she’d come to the office, this time she was here for him instead of being on an errand for Brandon.

  Don’t overthink this, Carey. He waved her in, and she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

  “When I crashed your lunch yesterday, you made it clear that you’re not usually a stop-for-lunch guy”—she looked pointedly at the day’s shake poking out of his bag—“so I brought you a sandwich.”

  She held out a paper bag and said coaxingly, “Roast beef. Lots of protein. Something best enjoyed with both hands.”

  Surprise at her gesture kept him from reaching for it right away. Nobody had ever brought him lunch unprompted. But she must’ve misinterpreted his expression as displeasure because she rushed to add, “It’s cool if you’re busy. And you don’t have to eat it or anything. I can always give it to Dave the human garbage disposal.”

  Let her give his two-handed protein sandwich to Dave? No way.

  “Thank you. That’s so thoughtful.” If he wanted to, he could wolf this down just as quickly as his usual protein shake and be back to working on the stack of reports for Brandon, no problem. But he found himself pointing to the chair at the other desk. “Join me?”

  She hesitated, indecision on her face. “I mean, we’re at work,” she said. “It’s just coworkers having lunch, right?”

  Interesting. Did she feel the need to justify spending time with him the way he did her? And were they actually coworkers if she worked for the station and he worked for BPS? He didn’t think so but didn’t want to chase her away by debating the point, so he just nodded.

  Her brow smoothed, and she grinned. “Okay then. I’ll go grab my salad.”

  That day marked the first in a string of lunches with Mabel that left Jake with a feeling of bone-deep contentment he hadn’t experienced in… well, ever. For the first time in his professional life, he didn’t hesitate to put aside his work to enjoy some company in the middle of the day. Sure, the station’s financial records were still the most disorganized clusterfuck he’d ever seen, Brandon kept throwing new projects his way that added to his never-ending workload, he was struggling to juggle his existing Chicago-based clients from a distance, and every night he fell asleep on scratchy sheets that smelled faintly of bleach in a hotel room with drapes that never quite closed enough to block out the streetlights. But he was also spending an hour every day with a woman who made him laugh, whose syrupy voice made him shiver, and it felt like wading into a warm ocean after years of frigid self-denial on the shore.

  On a rainy Thursday afternoon in early September, Brandon was occupying his desk over the noon hour when Mabel strolled into the office, a first since Jake had started sharing lunch with her. Dave had joined them a few times, and occasionally so did Skip, but so far they’d dodged the Brandon bullet.

  Today, however, instead of vanishing at the stroke of noon, Brandon shocked them both by asking, “Mind if I join your little lunch club?”

  Fuck yes, Jake minded. This was his Mabel time. But that was clearly not an acceptable response, so he slanted a glance at the blonde in the doorway, who smiled weakly and said, “Um, sure?”

  When Brandon turned his attention to his phone, Mabel shot Jake one of those comically exaggerated grimaces that he saw her and Dave exchanging often, and an ember sparked to life in his chest at the realization that he’d become the recipient of one of those conspiratorial looks.

  Once they were all settled at the desks, Brandon surprised them both by providing nonstop entertaining stories about Lowell’s other stations while they ate.

  “No way,” Mabel gasped, setting down her turkey wrap. “They did not have a live alligator mascot.”

  “Hand to God,” Brandon said placidly, smoothly selecting a California roll with his chopsticks. “I made them relocate it to a gator preserve as a condition of the purchase. Alabama’s wild, man.”

  “And here I thought our nonstarting van would be a deal breaker.” Mabel giggled.

  “Child’s play,” Brandon said. “Have I ever told you about our Idaho station? Talk about crazy.”

  “Idaho,” Jake said skeptically.

  “More like Ida-whoa.” He grinned and popped more sushi into his mouth as Jake and Mabel groaned over the painful pun.

  After Brandon polished off his bento box, he stood and gave them a jaunty salute. “All right, plebes, I’ve got a round of golf with the mayor.” He glanced at the window where rain spattered against the glass. “Or maybe just a round of drinks at the clubhouse. Anyway, thanks for letting me crash today.”

  After his exit, Mabel cocked her head toward the door. “I had no idea he was funny.”

  Jake balled up his sandwich wrapper. “He keeps it under wraps most of the time. As I recall, Lowell Senior doesn’t appreciate much levity from his son.”

  “Poor guy.”

  She held out her paper bag, and Jake tossed the remains of his lunch into it, then took the whole bag from her and chucked it into the garbage. “Yeah, I don’t know if I’d go that far. I doubt he’s crying himself to sleep on his monogrammed pillowcase every night.”

  Mabel’s pink lips formed a delighted O. “He does not.”

  “Cry? I can’t confirm or deny. But he definitely had his initials embroidered on his bedding when we were roommates freshman year.”

  The revelation had Mabel doubling at the waist in laughter. “Noooooo!” she howled.

  “Don’t you dare tell him I told you,” Jake said as she shook with mirth. “That strikes me as something he doesn’t want his minions to know.”

  “Oh my God, amazing.” She straightened to wipe tears from her eyes, and as she moved, an angry red scrape on the inside of her wrist caught his eye.

  He moved to look closer. “Did you lose a fight with Dave?”

  “What?” She twisted her arm to examine it herself. “Oh this. No, I lost a fight with the greenroom couch. A nail worked loose in the frame again.”

  She pulled her sleeve back down, but the long scratch still filled his vision, bothering him in a way that he wasn’t able to articulate. Then he was bothered that it bothered him in the first place.

  Life was so much simpler when he stuck to work.

  Mabel, though, seemed unburdened by any tangential thoughts. She grabbed her phone, shot him a broad smile, and chirped, “Well, I need to record some new ads, so I should bail.”

  “Okay,” he said. Then a horrifying scrap of truth came spilling from his lips. “You make me wish I had a healthier work-life balance, woman.”

  She froze in the doorway. “O
h yeah? Well, you make me wish…” Her voice trailed off, and though every part of Jake was on alert for how she’d finish that sentence, she disappointed him, lifting one shoulder with a small smile. “You make me wish I didn’t have commercials to produce this afternoon.” And with that she was gone.

  In truth, his work-life balance right now was healthier than it had ever been. He could attribute it to the slower pace of life in Beaucoeur, but the two months he’d already spent at the station was only part of the equation. The other part—a big, big part—was Mabel herself. In Chicago, work kept him so busy that he rarely got to know anyone well enough to build the emotional connection he needed to pursue a sexual relationship. Here though, he had the luxury of time to spend with Mabel, the woman who made him laugh, who made him tongue-tied. The woman who made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. Years. His excitement over that potential almost made him dizzy if he thought about it long enough.

  Still, he had a job to do and a partnership to chase, so he pushed the upheaval of his thoughts aside and returned to his numbers. But no matter how diligently he applied himself over the next hour, the rows refused to cooperate. His mind kept wandering back to Mabel. Why couldn’t he let their last exchange go?

  After a frustrating two hours, made even more frustrating when Brandon returned to conduct a loud phone call with the home office from the desk next to his, he realized what was pecking away at his brain: the station furniture. He’d grown up in a house with a couch that would tear a hole in every pair of pants you owned if you weren’t careful to avoid the spring poking out of the cushion. No amount of duct tape had been able to contain it, and his mom couldn’t afford to replace it. He’d been devastated at sixteen when he’d sat down on it without thinking and ruined his only decent pair of jeans, the ones he’d saved up forever to buy. That scratch on Mabel’s arm had brought back all the helpless anger over his situation that he’d felt growing up.

  The station furniture might check a childhood-trauma box for him, but a decade and a half later, he was in a position to do something about it. He looked across his desk to Brandon, who was tapping away at his laptop on… honestly, Jake had no idea what occupied Brandon’s days.

  “Mind if I take the Lowell credit card out for a spin?” he asked. “Your new employees are in dire need of decent furniture in that biohazard they call a greenroom.”

  Brandon’s brows arched, but he fished his wallet out of his back pocket without hesitation and tossed a shiny black card on the desk next to Jake’s coffee. “You really are a full-service accountant. Knock yourself out.”

  “Thanks.” Jake pocketed the card, glad Brandon hadn’t pressed him on the issue. He wasn’t ashamed of how he’d grown up, but he didn’t particularly enjoy discussing it either.

  He had a corporate card and carte blanche. The most efficient option was to pick a few things out online and get them ordered. But he wasn’t able to focus on his laptop screen, so he pushed it aside and set out to find Mabel. If he was doing this, he might as well go all the way.

  He walked down the hall to stand outside the secondary recording booth, where he tucked his hands into his pockets and enjoyed the show as Mabel spoke animatedly into a microphone. Her expressive face and broad gestures pulled a smile from him, and she grinned back when she caught sight of him on the other side of the glass. As soon as she flipped a switch and the Recording sign in the hallway snapped off, he crooked a finger to summon her into the hallway. She wrinkled her nose at him in adorable confusion but slid the big headphones off and stepped through the heavy door.

  “What’s up?”

  “Come furniture shopping with me tomorrow.”

  She looked at him like he’d suggested they rob a bank. “Furniture shopping?”

  “Yes. Furniture shopping. For the greenroom.” It was an odd request, but for reasons he’d rather not explore, he wanted to buy the damn stuff in person, and he wanted her with him when he did it.

  “Why me?”

  Because I like you the best. And he didn’t just mean out of all the deejays; he meant out of all of them. Everyone he’d met in Beaucoeur. Maybe everyone he knew in Chicago, even. But that was a bit too fucking honest, so he deflected. “Because I didn’t want to pick out furniture with Dave.”

  That satisfied her. “Smart. He’s got lousy taste.” Then she narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Wait, what’s wrong with the furniture we have?”

  “I won’t abide a couch that draws blood,” he said, eyes falling to her wrist. And this time he gave in to temptation and touched her, grasping her wrist with one hand and brushing the fingers of his other hand along the skin next to the scratch on her arm.

  Instant electricity. It leaped from her skin to his, and his nerves jangled to life as if they’d been jump-started with the cables he’d used on the station van that first week. His breath caught in his lungs as everything about Mabel was suddenly magnified by a thousand. The sweet scent of her skin, the golden glint of her hair, the heat of her arm in his hand. He felt the snap of the molecules around them surging to life and pulling at him, whispering that this woman who’d so enchanted him with her voice and her mind was also the person he wanted to kiss. Undress. Claim.

  Unaware that a whole new galaxy was unfurling in his mind, Mabel nibbled on one corner of her lip before slanting a smile at him. “Let’s do it. You’re in good hands with me.”

  His fingers involuntarily tightened at the implications, and he abruptly broke contact.

  “After your show tomorrow. Be ready.” He clipped off his words and spun away from her, striding back to his office to give himself some distance. He powered down his laptop and shrugged into his suit jacket, desperate to get out of the building and wrestle his body under control. But there was Brandon, lying in wait.

  “Hey, before you go, I reviewed the analysis you did on revenue during the different on-air shifts, and I based this proposed schedule revision around it. What do you think?”

  Brandon slid a colorful grid across the table, but Jake shook his head. “I’m a numbers guy, not a radio guy. I have zero useful input on your programming decisions.”

  Brandon tapped a finger on the paper. “Yeah, but you’ve been looking at trends for the different shows and know where the weak spots are. Just take a quick look.”

  He impatiently scanned the sheet. What he saw at first made no sense, and then Brandon’s plan clicked into place and drove every last distracting sexual thought from his mind. “You’re separating them.”

  Brandon slouched lazily in his chair. “I am.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Jake frowned down at the paper. “Mabel and Dave seem like a pretty great team.”

  “Not sure about anything yet, but consider the numbers, Jakehammer.” Brandon offered him a patient smile.

  His analytical mind whirred into motion, and he nodded slowly, working it out. “They’re the most popular show by far. You think that splitting them up and moving Mabel to afternoon drive will keep the good ratings going all day.”

  Brandon shot a pair of finger guns at him that set Jake’s teeth on edge. “That’s the hope. I want all my plans in place before I announce any changes, but right now it seems like the best solution to shake things up.”

  Jake kept staring at the grid. “Are you sure about this? They seem stronger as a duo.”

  Brandon flicked his fingers, brushing away Jake’s words. “Your only job here is to tell me if I stop making money. And I don’t want any unnecessary drama before the announcement, so not a word to anyone.”

  Jake clenched his jaw. “I’m aware of my professional confidentiality requirements, thanks.” Fucker. He let the paper slip between his fingers to land on the desk in front of him. “I’m out. See you tomorrow.”

  Before he left the building though, Jake was drawn back to the recording studio, where he discovered that Dave had joined Mabel in the booth. He watched through the glass as they spoke into the mics, making goofy faces and fee
ding off each other’s energy. A whisper of envy curled through his brain. Sure, he had friends in Chicago. Work friends and friends from school. His sister and her social circle. Milo. But Mabel and Dave had the most natural partnership he’d ever seen.

  Then his envy vanished in a wave of unease. Brandon wanted to pull these two apart? These good partners and good friends? The thought was monstrous. His chest clenched, and he spun away from the window. He needed to get a grip on himself before their outing tomorrow.

  Seven

  This was a bad idea. She should put up a token effort to get out of it.

  “Honestly,” she said when Jake arrived in the greenroom to collect her, “the furniture’s fine. There’s no need—”

  He shot her a censorious look and, without breaking eye contact, walked up to the desk and applied the lightest bit of pressure to the front corner. It tilted crazily, and all the contents started to slide toward the edge. “Fine, you say?”

  “Ugh, point taken.” She snatched up a pen that rolled across the surface on the way to the floor. “Let’s do it.”

  Not like this was a punishment. She was playing hooky on a sunny Friday in September, and she was doing it with a gorgeous guy. A gorgeous, off-limits guy, but still.

  “Want me to drive?” She jangled her keys at him, but he shook his head.

  “Driving helps me learn the city better, but I’ll take a furniture store recommendation if you’ve got one.”

  “Sure,” she said, snapping her seat belt on as the Jeep roared to life. Skip’s voice poured from the radio, introducing the next set of Brick music, and she turned to him with a grin. “Aww, you listen to the station in your car?”

  He slid on a pair of sunglasses, hiding his eyes from her. “Of course. What did you expect?”

  She rooted through her mess of a bag in search of her own shades. “I don’t know, NPR maybe? Or, like, aggressive jazz?”