by Sara Whitney
“Let’s save us all some time,” Brandon said, all traces of his smile gone. “This is a done deal. It’s got the most financial upside, and the station’s earnings are going to come under far more scrutiny now that you’re owned by a company that actually exercises fiduciary oversight. And don’t think I don’t know why you two had to leave the Gainesville station. This place has been good to you when you didn’t have many other choices available to you.”
Cold horror trickled down her spine, and she snarled and leaned forward in her chair, ready to launch herself across the table.
But Dave dropped a steadying hand on her shoulder and spoke in his most even tone. “Brandon, you’ve been in radio for years. You know a morning show works best with two people.”
“I agree.” Brandon beamed as if Dave were the brightest student in a class of dullards. “And that’s why we’ll rotate the Brick Babes through the show as revolving cohosts.”
“What?” Now Dave was the one yelling. “You want me to host with the Brick Babes?” He pronounced the last two words as if he were saying “fungal infection.”
“Damn right,” Brandon said. “You can have different ones on the show until you find one who clicks. That pairing of host and hot girl drove our Pennsylvania morning show to number one in its market.”
Helpless rage overwhelmed Mabel, and even though fury was making her hands tremble, she forced herself to address Jake, who was now visibly sweating in the air-conditioned room. “You’re awfully quiet. Anything to add?”
He winced as if her voice was a lash against his skin, but he clenched his jaw and said nothing.
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not lying. You and Dave are the biggest draws by far compared to the other on-air talent, and the new Babe cohost at the Pennsylvania station has been immensely successful based on their ratings and ad sales numbers.”
Mabel’s lungs squeezed as Brandon’s net closed around her, and she fought to keep her tears at bay.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Dave said. “Neither of us has ever hosted on our own before. We’re better together.”
Brandon shrugged, bored and above it all. “It’s either this or option B.”
“It can’t possibly be worse than this,” Dave said grimly.
Brandon smiled that not-quite-a-smile again, and his overly jovial voice should’ve warned her that they were going to hate what was coming next.
“I’ve looked at the Beaucoeur market. You’re a rock station, but you’ve got competition from others in the area with similar programming. There is a major programming niche that’s been entirely ignored so far, so while option A is to remain a rock station and maximize our most valuable on-air assets by splitting up the two of you, option B would be a complete format conversion to a light-rock station.”
Dave inhaled sharply, and honestly, if this wasn’t her life being scattered to the winds, Mabel would find it all hilarious. This was karma kicking them in the teeth for always joking that playing Celine Dion for a living was a fate worse than death.
She could practically hear the hamster wheel of Dave’s brain spinning away as he tried to puzzle out the least-horrible option, so she took the choice from him. Resting her hand on his arm but not daring to look at him for fear of breaking down, she addressed Brandon. “What you’re saying is, I move to afternoons or the station goes light rock?”
“Smart and pretty. No wonder Jake’s so smitten.” Brandon smirked, Jake paled, and Mabel’s skin prickled as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I’ll give you a day or two to think on it.”
“No need.” Mabel exhaled slowly and willed herself to treat this like any other public appearance where she needed the protective armor of her radio persona. “If Lowell Consolidated needs me on afternoon drive to keep this a rock station, then I’ll be delighted to make the move.”
“Mae, you don’t have to do this,” Dave said in a low voice. “We can figure something else out.”
“Good luck finding a job in this market.” Brandon sounded bored. “Oh, and don’t forget those noncompetes.”
But Brandon’s horrible smugness faded to background news when a realization hit her like a sledgehammer to the midsection.
“You knew.” She gasped and turned to Jake. “Asking me if I’ve ever done a solo show, wondering if I’d be happier with a later shift. You dropped hints, and I was too stupid to catch on.”
Jake flinched at her furious tone, and suddenly she didn’t want to hear another word from anyone in that room.
Sparing a last glance at Brandon, she ground out, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, and you can both go to hell.” Then she fled from the room, raced down the hall, and slammed through the front door of the building. Fifteen seconds later, the door crashed open behind her and a strong hand closed around her elbow, pulling her around to the side of the building so they were out of sight of curious onlookers.
As soon as they rounded the corner, she wrenched her arm out of Jake’s grip. “How could you do this?” She didn’t shriek it, but it wasn’t too far down the volume scale.
Jake retracted his hand immediately, and although he spoke through a clenched jaw, his voice was gentle. “I tried to change his mind, but he’s the owner. I’m just the numbers guy, and I don’t even work for Lowell. Mabel, you have to know that I didn’t want this for you.”
But she was thinking back to the conversations she and Jake had shared, those stolen lunch hours that had been the bright spots for her over the past several weeks. The suspicion that had surfaced in the conference room unfurled in her brain. Had he been softening her up for Brandon’s announcement? Lulling her with his jokes and his smiles, sure that she’d happily agree to whatever his boss wanted? The idea curdled in her stomach and soured every happy memory she’d made with him.
“I trusted you! You made me trust you!” She blinked away tears, refusing to cry in his presence. “You touched me. You kissed me. You…” The thought of making herself so vulnerable to someone plotting against her turned her stomach, and she shook her head frantically, wishing she were anywhere but right there.
He spread his hands in front of himself in a helpless gesture, his eyes pleading. “I had to keep his plans confidential. I had no choice. My job requires—”
She laughed bitterly, cutting him off. “You had choices. You could’ve told me. Or better yet, you could’ve stayed away from me, could’ve kept things professional. That news was always going to be devastating for me, but this? Us? This makes it so much worse.”
He started to reach for her, but she sidestepped him and backed away, unwilling to endure his touch when she was hurting so badly.
“I knew how bad office relationships are, but I liked you. I fell for you, like an idiot. And now?” She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself to calm down, modulating her voice to mask the pain in her heart. “This is over, Jake. Too bad you didn’t fuck me when you had the chance.” Then she lifted her chin and let him glimpse the cauldron of disgust boiling away in her chest. “Then again, I guess you kind of just did.”
Ignoring his stricken expression, she turned and walked away to fall apart in private.
Fourteen
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Jake stood paralyzed behind the radio station, listening as Mabel’s car roared out of the parking lot.
“Fuck!” he roared in frustration, pivoting to slam his fist into the brick wall of the building once, twice, three times. Pain exploded across his knuckles, but he welcomed it. The throb and sting chased away the memory of the loathing he’d seen in Mabel’s eyes before she left. Panic crawled up his spine at how badly this had gone.
He was cradling his hand to his chest, not caring that his torn knuckles were oozing blood onto his favorite suit, when Dave found him a few minutes later. Without a word, he joined Jake in leaning against the sunbaked bricks.
“Any idea where Mabel was headed?” Dave asked without preamble.
Dave cut him off. “Save it. I’m pissed, but not at you.” A beat. “Mostly.”
He nodded in understanding and offered Dave the explanation he’d tried to provide to Mabel. “I wanted to give her a heads-up. Of course I did. But I’m legally bound by the confidentiality clause in my contract, and the Lowell account is huge for us. Which I realize sounds like a bunch of excuses, but…”
“No, I get it,” Dave said. He was as placid as Mabel had been murderous. “You did what you had to do for your job. Nobody can blame you for that.”
“Mabel sure did.” God, why hadn’t he made her listen?
Dave shrugged. “She’s a tiger, that one.” Then he dug into his back pocket and produced a handkerchief, which he handed to Jake. “Do something about your hand, dude. I can’t handle that much blood.”
“Thanks.” He wrapped the clean white cloth around his screaming knuckles, the pain momentarily distracting him from the shitshow of his life. “Why do you have a fucking handkerchief?”
“Because I’m a fucking gentleman,” Dave replied calmly.
Jake laughed weakly and rubbed his uninjured hand over his eyes, then answered Dave’s initial question. “I don’t know where she went, and I was left with the very strong impression that I won’t be privy to that information again. Ever.”
A childish part of him, the part that had briefly hoped Mabel would be understanding about today’s announcement, now longed for Dave to tell him that it was all going to work out. That she’d call him tonight and ask him over for a drink or plan to meet him for lunch the next day so he could apologize and explain.
But Dave didn’t say any of that of course. Because they lived in the real world. Because Jake had let himself be distracted by Mabel. Because this was what he deserved for trying to prioritize something other than work.
“This change is going to be hard for her,” Dave said, apparently unaware of Jake’s frantically churning mind. “And not just because she’s apparently being replaced on the morning show by a rotating cast of bimbos—which I’m not at all excited about, if Brandon ever cares to ask. But hosting afternoon drive solo, when her whole career she’s been part of a morning duo? That’s a huge change. And with you wrapped up in the Lowell side of things…”
Dave trailed off, flopping back against the wall. They were roughly the same height but couldn’t have looked more different: Dave, whippet thin and clad in jeans and a Zoso T-shirt, and Jake, in an athletic-cut suit to accommodate his shoulders and arms. Yet they were both torn up about the same woman.
“You know her better than I do. What’s my best option?” He needed to figure out his next step. “Does she go for the big gesture, like apology flowers? Or does she reassess after a cooling-off period?” When Dave didn’t answer right away, Jake grudgingly added, “I like her, man. I don’t want to walk away from that. She’s not just some hookup—”
Dave held up a hand with a grimace. “Oh God, please stop. I’m not her father, and I’m definitely not getting into the middle of this.” He slanted Jake a look before continuing. “I don’t know how much she’s told you, but you should know that we had to leave our last station after the only major romantic relationship in her life imploded and made things uncomfortable for us on the job, so she was already gun-shy before all this went down.” He rolled his head against the bricks to meet Jake’s gaze, pity in his eyes. “I don’t know that there’s much you can do at this point to fix things.”
His heart hurt to learn that Mabel had been burned by a man she trusted in the past, but somehow he managed a nod. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Hey, Spider-Man’s web shooters. Biological or mechanical?”
Everything was too shitty for Jake to process or even care about the abrupt change of topic, so he answered on autopilot. “Biological’s cooler, even if they’re mechanical in the comics.”
Dave shook his head as he pushed off the building. “Too bad. You guys were perfect for each other.” He ambled back toward the entrance, calling over his shoulder, “I don’t want that handkerchief back, by the way.”
Jake stared after him in miserable confusion, then sighed and followed him back inside, heading straight for the spare office. Brandon was there, tapping away at his computer. Other than raised eyebrows, he didn’t acknowledge Jake’s poorly wrapped fist.
“Not a great meeting,” Brandon said, “but they’ll come around. It’s always rocky at first, but once you implement the changes and give it some time, everyone falls in line.”
“Yeah. Great,” Jake ground out. He crossed the room to grab a banker’s box from the stack in the corner and started tossing his laptop, notes, and file folders haphazardly into it. Time to cut his losses.
“Going somewhere?” Brandon asked mildly.
“Back to Chicago. I’m done here.”
Brandon laughed. Jake was really starting to hate that sound.
“I don’t think so. We have an agreement that you’ll be here until the transition’s over. And it’s far from over.”
“Right.” He slammed the box down, not caring that he was crushing the sides. “I can do all that work from Chicago.”
Brandon crossed his arms. “No, I need you here.”
Jake picked up the box and slammed it down again just for the violence in the motion. Better the box than Brandon’s jaw. “And I need you to treat the staff here with a little more respect, maybe give them time to process everything without dumping every single change on them at once.”
He brushed aside Jake’s concerns. “They’re pissed now, but I made the best choices for the station, and they’ll be humming like a well-oiled machine by Christmas. You’ll see.”
Brandon’s smug calmness infuriated Jake even more. “Then I guess it was all worth it.” He snatched the box and moved toward the door. “You’ve got my cell phone. Call me in Chicago the next time you need me to help you justify an unpopular decision.”
He’d almost made it when Brandon’s voice stopped him.
“Thing is, I strongly prefer that you do the Lowell work here since this is where I’ll be.”
Jake paused in the doorway and clenched his hands around the battered box, then gritted his teeth and slowly pivoted to find Brandon tiredly running a hand across his forehead.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Brandon’s sigh deepened the creases across his brow, and if Jake weren’t ready to vibrate apart in rage, he might be more sympathetic to the toll this seemed to be taking on the other man. “You got caught in the crossfire of a personnel decision, and for that I apologize. But I want us to work together for the next few months so you can get a feel for what Lowell needs from your firm moving forward.”
His firm. His partnership. The reminder was as painful as Jake’s knuckles hitting that brick wall. The partnership was what mattered, was the only thing that ought to matter.
As if sensing his hesitation, Brandon offered a small, conciliatory smile. “Hey, better in Beaucoeur than at Lowell’s Michigan headquarters, right?” His eyes flicked over the cramped office before returning to Jake. “Honest to God, I prefer it here most days, even if every last employee hates me.”
Brandon’s whole body seemed to deflate for a moment, but just as quickly he straightened his posture and looked at Jake with the usual shrewd calculation in his eyes. “Whaddya say, buddy? Give me a few more months here to get a lock on the accounts, and then we’ll both head home?”
Jake shifted the box to his left hip and plunged a hand in his hair. What a clusterfuck. His unwavering work focus had shattered into a mess of emotions at the worst possible time in his career. He blamed Brandon—was fucking furious with Brandon—but he blamed himself too. No matter what, he knew without a doubt that he couldn’t keep working in this building, where he’d be reminded of Mabel and the hurt he’d caused her every day.
“Fine,” Jake said slowly. “I’ll stay in Beaucoeur, but I’m renting an office where I can wo
rk without distractions. You and I can meet whenever you want to discuss progress, but I need space to manage my other accounts too. And don’t worry; I’ll send Lowell an invoice for the rent each month.”
Both of them knew the real reason Jake was asking for an off-site office, but Brandon simply inclined his head. “Sure thing, Jakehammer. Shit, sorry. Jake.” He leaned a hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know that you and the lovely Mabel had gotten so serious or I—”
“Oh, fuck right off if you think we’re ever discussing that.” At Jake’s growled words, Brandon wisely fell silent. “You have my number. Text when you want to set up our first meeting.” Without another word, Jake snatched up the battered box, turned and left the office. On his way to the exit, he passed Skip in the hallway. The man’s jowly face held none of its usual affability as he took in the blood-soaked cloth swaddling Jake’s fist and the crumpled banker’s box in his hands. How closely had Skip followed the farce that was his apparently not-so-private dance with Mabel over the past months?
Probably pretty closely, so he might as well hold nothing back. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he said, “I’m headed out for the day. If… if anybody asks, please let them know how sorry I am that things unfolded the way they did.”
Skip’s stern expression didn’t twitch, but his voice was warmer than Jake expected. “If it comes up, I sure will.”
Jake made it two steps before Skip’s voice stopped him. “Oh, and I’d skip the flowers. She’ll just stuff ’em down the garbage disposal.”
Jake froze with his back to Skip, shutting his eyes against the hurt the words summoned. Without turning around, he said hollowly, “Thanks for the advice.”
Anger and regret battled in his chest as he drove back to his hotel, navigated the parking lot, and entered the lobby.
