Going For It

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.

Chase almost thought of Rupert as his stepfather, which he could have been if he’d only asked. But his mother couldn’t or wouldn’t urge him on, preferring the romanticism of an unrequited lover to anything real. It was an odd drama, played out over the years, one which he’d learned to accept.

“…I want to roll the CDs over. I’ve done some investigation about GF Labs, and it’s risky, but I think it might be worth it—at least for a few hundred thousand.”

“Do it.” Chase looked at his coffee. It was on the ebony-and-teak coffee table, out of his reach. He’d have to move to get it, and he’d just gotten comfortable. So what was more important? The way the chair molded perfectly to his back and shoulders? Or caffeine?

“Have you read the prospectus?”

“I don’t need to. I have you.”

“Dammit, son, don’t you think it’s time you accepted some of your responsibilities? Even one? You’re thirty-one. You can’t keep living like this forever.”

Chase disagreed, but he didn’t say so. He grabbed hold of the phone and leaned forward, bringing his coffee back with him. He tried to find the same position as before, but it was gone. He sipped the Kona blend, disappointed to find it was lukewarm. “Rupert, do we have to talk about this now? It’s not even nine o’clock. I promise I’ll call this afternoon, and we can fight all you want.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Right. You just want me to do things your way.”

“Not my way. The sensible way.”

“Rupert, you’re the most goddamn sensible man in New York.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He liked Rupert, in his old-fashioned suits, with his antiquated sense of honor and obligation. He was refreshing, in an odd sort of way.

“How long are you here for this time?”

“A couple of weeks. Just till the racing season starts in Europe.”

“You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And not just for an hour. She was hurt by that, Chase.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the last visit with his mother. He loved her, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to like her. To say she wasn’t thrilled with his lifestyle was an understatement. She wanted him to be like her, like his father. To get married, have some kids. She’d told him he embarrassed her. That he was disgracing his father’s name.

“I’ll try, Rupert.”

“Don’t try. Do it. She’s the only mother you’ll ever have.”

“Okay, Yoda. I promise.”

“Yoda?”

“Never mind. You go ahead and put my money where you think best. I trust you, Rupert. You’ve never steered me wrong.”

“Thank you, Chase. But I’m not crazy about doing so much without your input.”

“I know about fast cars and women, old man. You have a question about either one, I’m the guy you come to.”

“Amusing. Very amusing.”

“You take care, Rupert. And, for God’s sake, propose to my mother already, would you?” Chase smiled as he heard the sputtering on the other end of the line. He decided to do Rupert a favor and hung up.

Cars and women. He’d said that last night, hadn’t he? It was true. He’d put restrictions on his life just like his mother had put restrictions on hers. No wonder they clashed. They were too much alike.

He got up and went to the window. He liked to watch Manhattan wake up. His suite was on the top floor of the Four Seasons hotel, and he stayed here every time he came to New York. They knew him here, and they made sure he was comfortable. It was easier this way. Maids, room service, desk clerks. That’s what he was used to. He had a place just like it at the George V in Paris, and another at the Chateau Marmont in L.A.

His gaze moved to the park. He loved it there, with all the kids on roller blades and the pigeons and the women with their strollers. Central Park always made him feel better, regardless of the season. Some of his favorite walks had been in the snow among the naked branches.

As he stared at the blanket of trees, ripe green at the height of summer, he thought about Jamie. He’d decided last night to call off the ridiculous stunt. He didn’t need the aggravation, or the publicity. Sure Jamie was hot, but there were a million hot women in the city. He would call her today and tell her. She’d be relieved. He would be, too. Although, there was one thing he’d regret. He wanted to understand why he scared her so. Animals and children liked him. So what was she afraid of?

Such a paradox. The way she spoke was at complete odds with the way she looked. In fact, she was full of contradictions, and that certainly had its appeal. He enjoyed peeling back the layers. Not his own, mind you. But an interesting woman—that was something to be grateful for.

Those eyes of hers. One minute, radiating confidence enough to take on the world. The next, as frightened as those of a little mouse. Which was it? It occurred to him that he wanted to find out.

So okay, maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he’d go in person. She’d probably be up by now, right?

JAMIE STRUGGLED OUT of her dream and realized the banging she heard wasn’t a demented jailor pounding on her cage, but someone knocking on her door. She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Eleven-fifteen. Odd, she never slept in. Her routine was to finish up her show at eleven, be home just after midnight, in bed by one, and then up at nine the next morning.

Another round of knocking spurred her out of bed. She padded across her wooden floor from the bedroom to the living room, then to the door with its five locks. Up on tiptoes, she looked through the peephole.

No one was there. That was weird. She undid each of the locks, poked her head outside the door. Nope. The hallway was empty. Had it been her nightmare? Her dream about being locked into something from which she couldn’t escape had obvious connections to real life. She’d think about that later. Right now, her mind was on other urgent business. She closed the door and locked the dead bolt, then scurried to the bathroom.

Just as she was lifting her mouthwash to gargle, she heard the knocking again. She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, then returned to the front door. This time when she looked through the peephole, the hallway wasn’t empty.

Her heart thudded as she recognized the man standing at her door. Oh, God. What in heaven’s name… He wasn’t supposed to be here. She rocked back on her heels and ran her hand through her hair, which, thank you, made her look more like a porcupine than a person when she first got out of bed. To say nothing of her caked eye makeup, or the nightshirt that may have been snazzy back in 1994 but had gone straight downhill after that Laundromat incident in college.

She wouldn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He should have called. Because there was no time to shower, let alone buy a new outfit.

He knocked again. Then just as she thought he was leaving, she heard voices and she cringed. What if he knew she was here? That she was completely undone by his presence?

She lifted herself to peephole level again. Mr. Wojewodka, the super, stood next to Chase. He had out his master key chain. The thing was monstrous, and when hooked, it pulled his belt and his pants down a good inch. Why was he searching through them now? Mr. Wojewodka was always harping on her to lock her doors, to carry pepper spray, to call him if she was ever in trouble. And now—

With a familiar squeal, the key entered the door. He was letting Chase into her apartment!

She’d never make it to the bedroom. Was the living room clean? No. Not important. Hiding was more important. Oh, God, the closest hiding place was the closet, and she made it there in two seconds flat. After a few more spent flailing about the knob, she pulled the door closed behind her. She forced herself to stand perfectly still, even though she was shaking with adrenaline, and listen as the two men entered her living room.

“She’s a good kid,” Wojewodka said in his thick Polish accent. “Gives me no trouble.”

“Not even with her men friends?”

“What men friends? The girl is like a monk. She doesn’t see anyone, except her crazy brother.”

“Really?”

Jamie rested her forehead on the cool wood of the door as she plotted ways to kill her superintendent and Chase Newman. If she couldn’t kill them, she’d sue their tails off. Talk about invasion of privacy! Or breaking and entering. Yeah. That was worse. But she didn’t think they did any breaking. Just entering. Was entering against the law? Had to be.

“I really appreciate this, Max,” Chase said. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving this outside.”

“I just hope she doesn’t get mad at me.”

“She won’t.”

Like hell. Jamie hadn’t noticed Chase carrying anything. What was he leaving? She tried to see through the crack between the door and the frame, but that was useless. Maybe if she could get higher. She reached for the doorknob to get some balance, but even on tiptoes she couldn’t see squat.

She gripped the knob with her hand as she flattened her feet, noticing something as she did so. A big, scary lump formed in her chest. The knob hadn’t budged. She closed her eyes and said a short prayer, then she wiggled it. The knob didn’t wiggle. It didn’t do a damn thing.

Locked. How? Why? No, no, no. This wasn’t funny. Wait. There had to be a way to unlock it, right? She ran her hand under the knob, over the wood, her movements growing faster as the repercussions hit her. No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. She’d be trapped. Better trapped than caught by Newman, though. The thought of how she’d look set her cheeks on fire.

Wait a minute. Maybe she should let him set her free. Then he’d have to explain what he was doing entering her apartment. But first, she’d have to explain what she was doing in her closet. Or would she? A person had a right to be in her own closet.

She lifted her hand to knock, then let it drop again.

“That’s a big box,” the super said.

“Yep.”

“You gonna tell me what’s in it?”

“Nope.”

So Chase hadn’t been putting on an act last night. He really did talk like Gary Cooper.

“I get it,” Mr. Wojewodka said. “It’s a surprise.”

“Right.”

Footsteps, followed by a creak of the front door. They were leaving. If she didn’t do something now, she’d be locked in here for who knows how long—which would have been okay if only she hadn’t decided to brush her teeth before taking care of her…other business in the bathroom this morning. Clenching her teeth and vowing revenge, she knocked on the closet door.

“Did you hear something?”

She didn’t hear a response. Mr. Wojewodka must have shaken his head.

She knocked again, louder this time, cursing Chase, Darlene Whittaker, Fred Holt and everyone else connected to this malarky.

“Wait a minute.” That was Chase’s voice. “It’s coming from the closet.”

“Nah, couldn’t be.”

“Just hold on.”

His boots sounded terribly loud on her floor. It was like listening to the firing squad take their positions. She wished like crazy that she’d at least had time to brush her hair.

He pulled on the door, unlocked it, pulled again—and this time the door swung open. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Chase looked at her with a completely calm face, as if finding her in the closet was the most normal thing in the world. But after a few seconds his head tilted slightly to the right. “Are you trying to tell me you’re gay?”

“No, I’m not.” She stepped around him, making sure they didn’t touch. Wondering if anyone had ever died of embarrassment. Perhaps she would be the first.

“I mean, if you are gay, that’s all right.”

“I’m not gay,” she said, not daring to look at him.

“Ah. So actually being in the closet wasn’t symbolic or anything.”

“No. I was…” She cast about for an explanation, any explanation. “I was looking for my cat.”

“You got a cat?” Mr. Wojewodka asked.

She whirled around to find the building superintendent at the front door. Great. A witness to her humiliation. It would be all over the building by rush hour.

“Did I say cat? I meant hat. I was looking for my hat.”

Mr. Wojewodka looked at Chase. Chase looked back.

“Which,” she said, raising her voice, “is completely beside the point. Care to tell me why you broke into my apartment?”

“I didn’t.” Chase nodded at Max. “He was nice enough to let me in.”

She frowned. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“Because I didn’t want to leave that outside.”

She turned to where he pointed—to a long, gold box perched on her couch. Flowers. It had to be. Because what else would be in a flower box?

Quelling her urge to race over and rip off the top of the box, she faced Chase again. “Sometimes when a person doesn’t answer the door, there’s a reason.”

“Right. I should have figured you were locked in the closet.”

“I wasn’t.”

His right brow rose.

“It doesn’t matter where I was, or what I was doing. My home should be private.” She marched over to the door and Max, her bare feet slapping on the hard wood. “Mr. Wojewodka, I’m surprised at you.”

He had the decency to look embarrassed as he leaned toward her. “Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I do. Do you?”

“Yeah, sure. He’s the top-seeded race-car driver in America. In the world.”

“And this makes him able to enter any apartment he wishes?”

“He was your friend. I did him a favor.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Right,” Chase agreed. “I’m just supposed to seduce her. That’s all.”

Jamie winced. “About that…”

Chase moved over to the couch. It was a normal couch, but when he sat down it looked very small. She’d gotten it at an estate sale four years ago, along with the matching wing chair. She’d had them reupholstered in a cheery floral print, which Chase’s presence also changed. She’d never realized the material was so feminine.

“About last night—” she continued.