by Kayla Perrin
His coanchor, and friend, Ashton Bolton, was standing over his shoulder watching the woman, Vivian Franklin, swing and sway across the dance floor in quiet concentration. She broke out in some popular hip-hop moves, adding the Dougie, and then did a few things that made both men rear back and look at one another in awe.
“Damn, man. She’s hot.” Quiet admiration streaked the baritone chords of Ashton’s voice as he glanced at the office door as if they were viewing porn on the company computer. “How’d you hear about this Vivian woman?”
“I found her on Twitter. She’s an award-winning dancer. Classically trained, sidelined by an injury—her career seemed over. But after choreographing a dance for a wedding party that went viral, she’s smokin’ hot. I want her.”
Ashton and Jay watched the end of the dance, and then Ashton picked up the controller and started shooting hoops. “So what do you want her to do for you? Teach you how to dance? ’Cause she don’t look like a miracle worker to me.”
Jay grabbed the controller he’d been using to play the Xbox basketball game and blocked the shots Ashton had been making. They began a heated game of one-on-one. Their NFL Lineup show was going on the air in ten minutes. They had twenty more minutes to goof off.
“When Troy and Destinee asked me to be the best man at their wedding,” Jay began, “I thought, no problem. Show up at a couple dinners, make a couple speeches, do the wedding thing and I’m done. But after going to six weddings last year, I realize now I have to bring my A game.”
“Man, you turn everything into a competition. Six guys in this office got married, and now you have to best them. You don’t. They’re not worried about you.”
Jay threw up his hands. “My wedding—” He stopped himself. “This wedding has to be the best, if I’m involved. We have to have the best wedding dance. Not some whacked-out, old-time Electric Slide, shake-your-booty thing my grandma made up. I’m talking first-class, top-of-the-line, choreographed stuff that knocks people’s socks off!” Jay banged on the controller knocking down four three-pointers.
Ashton answered by blocking his next two shots. “And you think Ms. High-Class-Ballerina Franklin can help you?”
“Definitely.” Jay stopped with the controller to study the face of the woman who looked like she was staring back at him. She sat on the floor, one leg folded beneath her, both hands braced on the floor in front of her. Her eyes were deep chocolate-truffles brown and her skin this soft-baked brown sugar that intrigued him. Her hair was pulled back into this bun caught low and tight at the nape of her neck, and her earlobes were bare.
He normally went for women who were the total put-together package. Tall, slim, with big earrings and long polished nails. But this woman was without nail polish, earrings and makeup, and still she made him want to strip her of her leotard and tights...and handle her. Jay was impressed.
This was a character she was playing. A role she’d taken on to convince people that her artistic performance was true. He patted his gut. Well...sold. He’d bought her entire act: hook, relevé and passé.
Those were the only two dance moves he remembered since taking the NBA-mandated dance class for agility and balance.
“Dude, quit looking at her so hard. You don’t know her like that, and you don’t even know if she’s going to say yes.” Ever the voice of reason, Ashton butted into his fantasy.
“She’ll do it.”
Jay dialed her number from the contact information that was on the bottom of the screen.
Uninterested, Ashton began to do his mouth rotation warm-ups. “Waah-oooo. Waah-oooo.”
“Shut up.”
“Hello?” The voice tickled his eardrum.
“Vivian Franklin, please. This is Jay Smith.”
Jay stood and began adjusting his clothes. For the next two hours he’d be on the air talking about sports. But that wasn’t what had propelled him out of his seat. It was the directness of her tone and his surprise that she’d answered.
The woman on the phone hesitated. “Ms. Franklin is unavailable, Mr. Smith. What is this regarding?”
The voice on the speakerphone was slightly rough and low, like the person on the other end had a cold. Jay felt his brow tick up. This was her. He’d put money on it. “I viewed Ms. Franklin’s video online, and I want her to teach me how to dance.”
There was a slight hesitation. “No.” The phone went dead.
Ashton’s laughter was slow to come but long to end. “You sounded like a real pervert.”
No lights blinked on the phone. “She hung up on me!” Jay exploded. “I bet that was her. How do you run a business by hanging up on people?” He was stunned.
Ashton pretended to pull up his pants, mimicking him. “I want you to teach me how to dance. You’re a nasty man.”
Jay would have laughed if the fool hadn’t been talking about him. Grabbing his jacket, he didn’t put it on. Who the hell did she think she was hanging up on? He had a championship ring! “I didn’t sound like that.”
“Yes, you did. Forget it, man. She shot you down. We’re live in fifteen minutes. Make up a dance. It’s going to be funny anyway because you’re the only black dude I know who ain’t got an ounce of rhythm.”
“Why do you think I was calling what I thought was a professional?” He picked up the phone then slammed it down again, replaying his movements in his head. He had been adjusting his clothes. Maybe he had sounded slightly pervish.
Jay dialed her number again and got voice mail. “Ms. Franklin, this is James ‘Jay’ Smith, anchor of NFL Lineup for CNN. I called a minute ago and asked you to teach me to dance, but what I need is for you to teach a dance to a wedding party. I’d like to invite you down to our studio, here at CNN, just so you’re comfortable in knowing I’m not a perv.”
Ashton shook his head.
Nervously, Jay wiped his forehead. The feeling was totally foreign to him. He was an award-winning broadcaster. Nerves hadn’t struck him since he’d met the members of the 2012 Women’s Olympic Soccer Team.
“Vivian, I didn’t mean that. What am I saying? I mean it! I’m not—” He punched his palm with his fist. “Just come down here so you’ll know I’m a stand-up guy, and not trolling the internet for women. I hope to hear from you.” He left his number along with the time for the meet tomorrow, and then headed for the studio.
Ashton sat in his coanchor chair, allowing himself to be prepped by the makeup team. “She’d be a fool to come here after that message.”
Jay kept his eyes closed. “Yeah, I know.”
Chapter 2
Pouting, and none too pleased, Vivian allowed herself to be pulled into the CNN building because her best friend, Kerri Vaughn, was in love with Jay Smith’s coanchor, Ashton Bolton.
Mr. Smith had left her three more messages last night apologizing for his previous messages, clarifying his message and the last one, restating his earlier messages. The man was a control freak from the word go.
The only reason she’d come was because she’d heard Ashton in the background telling him to give up, and because Kerri had insisted Ashton was the man for her.
Who was she to stand in the way of true love?
“I’ll buy you a steak if we leave right now.”
Kerri rolled her eyes and kept walking toward the security officer while Vivian matched her friend’s long stride. “I’m a vegetarian today,” she told Vivian, then turned to the guard. “Excuse me. Can you tell me how to get to Jay Smith’s office? Here’s the security pass he emailed Ms. Franklin.”
Security escorted them to the bank of elevators and sent them up.
“Will you relax? He sounded like he was nervous as all hell, but when you watch him on TV, you wouldn’t think anything rattles him.”
“I don’t watch sports talk shows.”
“I’m a sport
s nut,” Kerri gushed, making Vivian smile as they glided toward the sixteenth floor. Her feet were in perfect third position, a stance she’d become accustomed to standing in since she was six. “Ashton is gorgeous, and can you believe he’s single?” Kerri continued.
“No. I can’t believe a man I don’t know is single.”
Kerri, who was two years older than her twenty-five, regarded her with amusement.
“You’re always snarky when you’re scared. Pretend this is a performance, because then you would be quiet and composed.”
Suitably chastised for her bad mood, Vivi pulled the pins from the bun in her hair and felt her tresses fall past her shoulders. She swiped it behind her ears, then shifted the dance bag on her left shoulder. “I’m sorry. I won’t take this out on you. We’re just meeting so I can say no in person. Don’t leave my side, Kerri.”
The doors opened and dropped them off in a sports haven.
Photos of sports legends were everywhere, some in tall thick frames, others looping around on various screens.
Vivian linked arms with Kerri and they turned to see a man buttoning his jacket.
James Connor Smith—Jay—reminded her of a Jaguar car. Sleek, classy and...pretty. Were his eyebrows arched?
One inched up under her scrutiny.
Green eyes rimmed with black studied her with an intense fascination. Why, she wondered, didn’t she like him?
“You don’t like me,” he said. His voice was clear and crisp, Southern, yet educated.
“You’re full of yourself.”
Kerri gasped and pulled at Vivian, but Jay didn’t break eye contact.
“That’s all right. My niece didn’t like me, either. I had to win her over when she first met me.”
For some reason this amused Vivian, and as hard as she fought a smile, she lost. “I think I’d like your niece.”
His mouth was full and smug, his lips thick, confident. His jaw was hard and round and relaxed. Usually she made men nervous. She was eyeballing him hard, yet he hadn’t backed down.
“Woman, what are you looking at?” he demanded and Vivian finally backed up.
The crack in your shiny veneer.
“We can speak in my office.” He gestured down a long hallway, but she stepped aside so she had to follow him. No way was she going to allow him to watch her butt all the way up the hall.
“Where’s Ashton?” Kerri asked. Vivian gave her a rag-doll shake that nearly loosened her back teeth, and she fell silent.
Jay turned at the commotion, but it was over in a flash.
“He’s in his office.” Jay stopped at a door, knocked and kept going. “He’s coming. Right this way, ladies.”
Escorting them into his office, Vivian’s arm was locked on Kerri’s as they stared at the room. It was very interesting and smelled of cologne. There were sports journals, biographies, health magazines and newspapers everywhere. Everything had sticky notes on them. Including the video games.
“Do you have a secretary?” she wondered aloud. It was a nightmare. There was no place to so much as sit.
Jay laughed. “No. She quit. The cleaning lady empties the garbage and I...uh, use a Swiffer when it gets really bad in here.” He moved a bunch of papers off the guest chair in front of his desk and set them on the floor behind his chair.
“Have you thought about buying the Swiffer company and moving them in?”
“You’re funny. I like that.”
The question on Kerri’s face was obvious. Where was her seat?
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “You can have my chair,” he told her.
“Awesome,” Kerri said, not really meaning it.
Vivian chuckled as Kerri tiptoed around the desk and sat. “Why do you have so many toys?”
“Boys and toys go together,” Vivian and Jay answered at the same time.
Their gazes met and held.
Just then Ashton walked in and Kerri unfolded from the chair like a hothouse orchid. “Kerri Vaughn,” she purred.
He took her in.
Vivian read loud and clear his appreciation for her long, lean and lovely friend.
“You look hungry,” Ashton stated.
“I am,” she said, and walked out with him.
“Kerri? Kerri?” Vivian said softly, but Kerri didn’t answer.
“She’ll be back. He won’t go far, I promise.”
“I don’t even know you. How can you promise anything?”
“Well, get to know me. I need your help anyway.”
“So I gathered from your numerous messages. I believe I gave you an answer already.”
“No, you gave a stranger a message. I want to show you something. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
She hadn’t perceived the sense of danger, but one never knew. He could be crazy.
“Around other people. I want you to be comfortable with me.”
“But what if Kerri comes back?”
“Promise, we’ll be back before them.”
There was that word again. Speculatively, Vivian eyed the interviewer and decided to give him a little rope.
* * *
Jay’s tour ended at his boss’s desk with Ross Lincoln telling Vivian that Jay was a practical joker, he gave terrible wedding presents, ate out of everyone’s lunches in the refrigerator and never chipped in on the monthly birthday cakes.
Jay could do little to defend himself. Ross was charmed by Vivi’s beauty as was everyone who’d met her on the fifteen-minute-turned-half-hour tour.
The five guys surrounding her admired the view.
“You sound like a really terrible guy. Used gift cards for wedding gifts? Tacky.”
The guy who’d told that urban legend walked by, laughing.
“Why did you tell that lie on me?” Jay demanded, his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face.
“Lie? What lie? I plead the fifth.” His rival continued to walk by. He’d lost the show to Jay two years ago and was still a little bitter.
“I want that baby stroller back that I bought you and Tiera,” he told Rajid.
“Sorry, dude. We sold it. What?” the man smirked, observing the shock on Jay’s face. “It was really nice, and we already had one.”
The guys drifted away, and Jay and Vivi strolled back to his office. “I was trying to make a good impression.”
“I’m completely sure you didn’t,” she said, laughter in her voice. “Do you really eat out of people’s lunches?”
“Lunch in this building gets expensive,” he joked. “Are—are you judging me?”
He half closed the door and made room on the couch behind the guest chair she sat in. Vivian had to turn her chair to look at him. “No, I just think you’re a greedy—”
He grabbed his chest. “That hurts. Right here.”
She laughed. “Go to the food court. I’m sure there’s one in this huge building.”
“I already told you—too expensive. Those guys were terrible character witnesses. And my boss, Ross, he likes to tell lies.”
Regarding him, her gaze slid from joyful to peaceful. She was simply fine in that elegant way women weren’t anymore.
“So now that you know I’m not a serial killer, will you teach me to dance?”
Her slender shoulders slid up and down. A little pout tipped her lips up, and her eyes slid left and right.
Jay waited for her body to stop reacting. “I’m that revolting? I’ve left you speechless. It’s hard for me to do that. This doesn’t happen to Jay Connor Smith.”
“Jay, I don’t have a lot of time. I’ve got a big obligation coming up, and I don’t want to commit to something I can’t fulfill.”
Vivian had crossed her legs and clasped her hands together. Sh
e was shutting down.
He clapped his hands and closed the door. “Okay. I wasn’t going to go here, but you forced me.”
“Jay, open the door.”
“Not until I’m done.” He handed her his wireless phone. “Hold on to that. You can call security if I get out of line. But you forced this out of me, so if anything bad happens, it’s your fault.”
This time when she pouted, it was with attitude. “What are you talking about?”
“Obviously you need a dance demonstration.”
Her pout pulled inward, but she said nothing.
Jay turned on his internet radio to the hip-hop station, and he started bopping his head. “Yeah, this is good. Right?”
“It’s your audition. Do your thing.” She folded her arms.
“Okay.” He smiled. “I can go old-school and do the Running Man.” He started running, and she grinned and nearly hit herself in the face with the phone. “You’re laughing, but this is the dance. I’m doing it. I bet you don’t know this! Or the Dirt Off Your Shoulder. Hey! The Moonwalk! Or the Snake! This is good! I’m good, right?”
She burst out laughing. “Please tell me you don’t dance like this anywhere people can see you?”
Jay danced all around his office. “Yeah! All the time. I saw you do this,” he said as he moved crazily from side to side. “Come on. Do it.”
Vivi threw up her hands. “No, thanks.”
Jay grabbed them and tossed the phone on the couch. “Don’t be such a proper girl. Have fun! Throw your hands up!”
“Like this?” Vivi copied him.
“It’s not as good as mine.”
Her hands flew to her hips, and she glared at him.
“What?” He kept dancing. “I’m being honest. You gotta be free, you know? Like that shimmy thing I saw you do on the computer. That’s freeing.”
“I wasn’t shimmying, you ding-dong. I was belly dancing. You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”
