When He Was Bad...

And now the book was staring up at him in that same accusing way it had in the studio. For an inanimate object, it was doing a pretty good job of generating a whole lot of guilt.

He sighed. Face it, Chandler. You screwed up.

The minute he’d seen those lines light up during his show, he’d responded as he always did, like some kind of Pavlovian dog with his tail wagging wildly and his mouth watering. As he pictured every one of those incoming lines jammed with callers, his heart had raced and his nerves had come to life, driving him to fan those flames until they burned as hot as they possibly could.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d fueled that bonfire at Sara Davenport’s expense.

Technically, he’d done things right. He’d entertained his listeners, stirred up a little attention-getting controversy, and plugged her book. Unfortunately, she hadn’t exactly gotten into the spirit of his show. And he was still stinging from her turning down his dinner invitation, too, because that meant she was holding a grudge, and he hated that. He’d been a lot of things to a lot of women in his life, but enemy had never been one of them.

He hadn’t been lying. She was a beautiful woman, which made her turning down his dinner invitation doubly painful. He glanced at her book again and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to have to do something to rectify the situation, but he just wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later, he pulled into his parking space next to his apartment and killed the engine, thankful that he’d moved to a new apartment only five minutes from the station. It was bigger than his last one, and the covered parking was a real plus in a city with an average annual snowfall of almost ninety inches. His recent salary increase had afforded him all kinds of luxuries: more space, more comfort, more convenience. All very good things.

Nick grabbed Sara’s book, got out of the car and trudged through the snow to his apartment door. Glancing through the window into his living room, he saw a familiar head sticking up above the back of the sofa. He checked his watch. No wonder. He was late getting home tonight, and the game started in ten minutes.

Nick unlocked the door, stomped the snow off his boots and walked inside to find that Ted, as usual, had let himself in and parked himself in front of Nick’s big-screen TV, which he said beat the hell out of the piddly twenty-six incher in his own apartment.

“Hey, man!” Ted said. “About time you got home. The game’s about to start.”

Nick closed the door and tossed Sara’s book down on the coffee table. “Let me grab a beer. Need another one?”

“Has the answer to that question ever been no?”

Nick pulled two bottles from the fridge and they sat down on the sofa. Ted looked as he always did, which wasn’t surprising since his wardrobe consisted of three pair of jeans and sixty-two concert and radio station T-shirts. And Nick knew that sixteen inches of snow was the only thing on the planet that could make Ted swap his flip-flops for the boots he was wearing now.

He and Ted had met for the first time when Nick had been an intern at KPAT in Colorado Springs. Ted had been their morning man along with another DJ, a guy who was a genius behind the microphone but had a reliability problem stemming from his close personal relationship with the whiskey bottle. When that guy got canned, Ted had lobbied for Nick to fill the spot, telling the station manager that he needed a pretty face to balance his own butt-ugly one because wearing a ski mask during remotes seemed a little too serial killer. It had been an unheard-of opportunity for someone who’d done as little dues-paying as Nick had, and he vowed he’d never forget it.

They’d been a great team on a show with great ratings, but eventually they’d been fired. Nick figured that the hoax they’d pulled on the mayor probably had something to do with it. They’d split up, Ted heading to Monroe, Louisiana, and Nick to Dallas, then Chicago, before finally landing in Boulder. Nick had learned his lesson. He kept the practical jokes to a minimum, stayed put and built a reputation, finally working his way up to his own show. Ted hopped from job to job, eventually ending up at a low-watt hole-in-the-wall FM station in Tupelo.

When he’d called three months ago to tell Nick that he’d been fired one more time, Nick hadn’t been surprised. There was always some stunt Ted wanted to pull, music he declined to play, or ass he refused to kiss. But this time Nick had heard a touch of desperation in his friend’s voice that had never been there before, so he pulled a few strings and got him an interview for a producer’s job at KZAP. At first, Ted had flipped out: I’ve been playing rock and roll across this great country of ours for the past twenty years, and you want me to produce a gardening show? But then he’d gotten real and gotten down to business, taking the job when it was offered and staying with Nick until he could get back on his feet again.

“Caught your show today,” Ted said. “Great stuff. Loved Amber, the pole dancing champion.” He drooped his lids and assumed a Madonna-like voice. “‘It’s, like, you have to become one with the pole. Feel the pole. Love the pole.’”

“Hey, everybody’s got their thing. I respect that.” Nick gave him a sly grin. “Her thing just happens to be slithering naked up and down a pole in front of a roomful of drunk men.”

And after her spot on the show, Amber had offered to show Nick the practice pole in her bedroom, complete with a private performance. When he’d declined, she’d given him an open invitation for the future. In light of Amber’s considerable physical assets, he’d surprised himself by feeling more turned off by her than turned on.

Then Sara Davenport had shown up.

He’d looked around to see her standing at the door of the studio, uptight and buttoned-down, but still considerably sexier than any psychologist he’d ever imagined. The nervousness she’d tried to hide had only made him wonder what other chinks there might be in the armor of rigid professionalism she wore. Only seconds passed before he was already thinking about pulling those glasses off her real slow, tossing them aside, then taking her in his arms and…

“But your best bit was that psychologist,” Ted said. “She really let you have it, didn’t she? God, that was great. The kind of guest you kill for.”

“Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, the lady didn’t think it was all that entertaining. She thought I humiliated her.”

“You kidding? She got her shots in, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she still didn’t think much of me by the time the interview was over. I tried to ask her out to dinner as a peace offering, but that didn’t fly, either.”

“Are you telling me a woman turned you down?”

“It’s hardly the first time.”

“Yeah, but it’s the first time since you were twelve years old.” He reached to the coffee table. “Is this her book?”

“Yeah.”

Ted thumbed through it. “Wow. Check out her bio. Education out the wazoo.” He turned to Nick. “Since when do you have a thing for the intellectual type?”

He didn’t. At least, he didn’t think he did.

Did he?

“I just didn’t want her to go away mad,” Nick said. “That’s bad for business.”

“So which was she? A six or a ten?”

Nick winced. He’d taken that bit a little too far. Sara wasn’t a mud wrestler or a Penthouse pet or the owner of a nudist resort. Those women were used to his kind of banter. They thrived on his kind of banter.

Sara didn’t.

“That’s just a stupid bit I do,” Nick said. “I’m thinking of trashing it.”

“No way. It’s that kind of bit that got you where you are. That show’s a cash cow, kid. Milk it for all it’s worth. If you don’t, one of these days you’ll be old and decrepit like me, and you won’t be good for much of anything.” He took a swig of beer. “Well, anything except producing a gardening show.”

“For God’s sake, Ted. You’re only forty-one.”

“In radio, I might as well be a hundred and forty-one.” He pointed his finger at Nick. “Take this as a warning, kid. This business chews you up and spits you out.” Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, hell, why am I warning you? You’re riding the wave. If they’re talking syndication for your show, you’re gonna be on easy street.”

“They’re talking. But I’m not holding my breath.”

“Nope. You’ve got what it takes. I knew it from the second I met you. Syndication will put you on top, so you do anything—and I mean anything—to get there. You hear me? Otherwise you’re gonna end up like me in ten years. Look how I was wallowing around at the bottom of the barrel when I called you a few months ago.”

“You were out of a job. Like that’s something new to radio guys?”

To Nick’s surprise, Ted’s expression turned solemn, and he stared down at his beer. “You know, when I got fired, I was at the end of my rope. I wasn’t quite sure where I was gonna go. I just hung around Tupelo for a few days, staring at the wall. Then I talked to you.” He turned his gaze up to meet Nick’s. “Thanks, kid. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Nick’s heart twisted a little. “Hey, it was purely selfish on my part, believe me.”

“How’s that?”

“At the rate I’m going, I’m never going to have a wife, but what do I need one of those for when I have you waiting for me when I get home? If I could just get you to have dinner ready and bring me my slippers, I’d be all set.”

Ted scowled. “Hey, you know the number of the pizza place as well as I do. And your big stinky feet can freeze for all I care. Now, just watch the game, will you?”

Nick grinned and picked up the remote, when all at once the phone rang. He tossed the remote aside and grabbed it.

“This is Nick.”

“Hi, Nick. This is Sara Davenport.”

His heart skipped. Hers was the last voice he’d expected to hear on the other end of the line, and for a moment he was actually speechless.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” he said, sitting up straight. “Not at all. I’m just…well, I guess I’m a little surprised. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

“I phoned the station and your producer gave me your home number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Nick’s mind was spinning, wondering why she was calling. “I just hope this means you’ve reconsidered my dinner invitation.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not calling about dinner. But there is something I’d like to discuss with you. A business proposition.”

Business? He could think of all kinds of business he’d like to get down to with her. Unfortunately, she sounded as if she meant, well…business.

“Can you meet me at my office tomorrow at ten o’clock?”

Nick ran through his mental to-do list for tomorrow and saw nothing on his schedule for that hour. And between now and then, if he remembered something, he’d cancel it.

“Sure, Sara. I can meet you at ten.”

“Good. My office address is 8442 Cavanaugh Court, Suite 214.”

Nick grabbed a pencil and scribbled the address on the cover of his TV Guide. “Care to tell me what we’re gonna be talking about?”

“I’d rather go into it tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Nick heard a click. He held out the phone and stared at it for a moment, then turned to Ted. “That’s weird.”

“What?”

He returned the phone to its cradle. “That was Sara Davenport.”

“The shrink on the show today?”

“Yeah. She wants me to meet her at her office tomorrow morning.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Her office, huh? Why there?”

“I don’t know. She’s says it’s business.”

Ted grinned. “Business? Right. Don’t psychologists have couches in their offices?”

“They do on TV.”

“Well, there you go, kid.”

“What?”

“I’d say she’s looking for a little afternoon delight. This way, you don’t even have to buy her dinner.”

“Will you give me a break? It’s nothing like that. Trust me. When she left the station, she was cold as ice. And I don’t sense that a whole lot of thawing has taken place since then.”

“Oh, yeah? Bet you can lock her office door, draw the blinds and get her naked in under two minutes.”

Nick gave him a deadpan stare. “Ted?”

“Yeah?”

“You really need to get a love life of your own.”

“Nah. What woman in her right mind is gonna want a washed-up bum like me? Just hand me a beer and let me live vicariously.”

As Ted picked up the remote and found the station the game was on, Nick glanced at the phone again, still wondering why Sara wanted to see him.

And why he wanted to see her.

It was crazy, after all. Sara wasn’t anything like the kind of women he usually dated. She’d probably never done a Jell-O shot in her life. Or picked up a pool cue. Or flashed her boobs during Mardi Gras, worn a thong or woken up in Cancun with a hangover and wondered how she’d gotten there. Instead, she’d been busy getting all those letters after her name and writing books, not to mention straightening out people’s minds and collecting a hefty paycheck for her services. Just being seen with a sharp, conservative, intellectual woman like Sara would make his bar-hopping, speed-dating, sports-crazy listeners wonder when he’d gone over to the dark side.

So why did he feel a hot little rush at the very thought of seeing her again?

He had no idea. He only knew that it had been a very long time since he’d met a woman who was any kind of challenge at all. Most of the women he encountered were either waiting in the lobby of the station to slip their phone numbers into his pocket, calling his show with various sexual propositions or tossing their panties into the booth whenever he did remotes. He tried to imagine Sara doing any of those things, and he almost laughed out loud.

He settled back with Ted to watch the game, but he had a hard time concentrating. Business? He had no idea if Sara ever mixed that with pleasure, but he sure intended to find out.

4

“NICK CHANDLER is coming here?”

Sara’s assistant stared at her with big brown eyes full of rapt disbelief, more proof that Nick’s notoriety was even more widespread than Sara had imagined.

She closed the folder she held and strode to the file cabinet. “Yes, Heather. He’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

“I can’t believe it,” Heather said. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, I saw the name on your schedule, but I had no idea it was the Nick Chandler. What’s the deal? Is he really messed up or crazy or something?”

“Heather, we don’t say crazy,” Sara said, refiling the folder. “Haven’t we talked about that?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll be careful not to say that to his face. I promise.”

“It’s a good idea to get used to not saying it behind somebody’s back, either.”

Heather nodded dutifully.

“And he’s not a client. We just have some business to discuss.” She glanced at Heather’s desk. “Did you get the filing done?”

“Yeah. And all of it’s in the right place, too.”

Sara smiled. “Good job.”

When Sara hired Heather two months ago, it had been like rescuing a homeless puppy from a snowstorm, minus the wet fur, the cold nose and the peeing on the rug. But the job wasn’t that demanding, and Sara had felt sorry for her. Like that little lost puppy, turning her away had been next to impossible.

Still, in spite of the fact that Heather truly needed a job, when she continued to cut clients off on the phone and misfile important documents, Sara had told her that perhaps this wasn’t the job for her. But as soon as Heather saw the ax falling, those big brown eyes had filled with tears. Then, like the Hoover Dam bursting and flooding half of Arizona, Heather had unloaded her entire employment history on Sara.

I broke the copier at that law firm and I spilled coffee on the chairman of the board at that manufacturing company and then there was that grease fire I started at McDonald’s when I was seventeen and ohmiGod I just know this means I’ll never be able to find a job again…

Sara had never thought of herself as a pushover, but suddenly she just couldn’t fire her. Heather had a two-year degree and wasn’t lacking in intellect. She was just painfully naive and woefully unsure of herself. Once firing her had been taken off the table, Sara was left with no option but to let her grow into the job. And day by day, she was doing better.

“And you’ll be proud of me for something else,” Heather said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to break up with Richard tonight.”

Sara’s heart skipped with hope. Heather had read Sara’s book, and after they’d talked about it, slowly she’d come to the conclusion that her boyfriend fit a lot of the criteria for the kind of man she needed to stay away from. Their relationship had been one of him promising her the moon and giving her nothing at the same time he couldn’t keep his hands off other women.

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Sara said.

Heather sighed. “I hope so.”

“He’s going to try to manipulate you again. You just have to be ready for that.”

“I know. I’m sticking to my guns this time. I swear I am.”

Sara smiled. “Good for you.”

With Christmas only a week from tomorrow, Sara was proud of Heather for taking this initiative right now. Making such a decision was especially hard around the holidays, when emotions ran high and resistance ran low. Sara herself had gotten a little flustered when Nick had interviewed her yesterday, so she knew how easy it was to succumb to the manipulation of a man like Heather’s boyfriend. Of course, now that she had a little distance on the experience and had had time to analyze her reaction, she was in control now. He wouldn’t be getting to her again. And she felt absolutely certain of that, right up to the moment when the door swung open and Nick walked into the office and her heart went crazy all over again.

He was dressed similarly to the way he was yesterday, only the sweater was a different color, and he wore a fleece-lined leather coat over it. He suddenly seemed taller. Bigger. She told herself it was just the coat, or maybe his boots, or…

Or maybe it was his larger-than-life personality that was oozing right off him, which included a smile so bright it could be seen from outer space.

“Hello, Nick,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “Come in.”

Heather, however, didn’t know the meaning of the word nonchalance, staring at Nick as if the untouchable dream man from her deepest fantasies had just come to life in front of her. And her thunderstruck expression wasn’t lost on Nick.

“Hi, there,” he said, turning that Day-Glo smile full force in her direction. “I’m Nick Chandler.”

Heather just looked at him as if her brain had shut down completely. And Sara had the most terrible feeling that she had an even dumber look on her own face.

But why? Why? He was just one man.

Okay, he was just one highly attractive man, but she knew what was beneath the surface. And she intended never to forget that, no matter how charming he seemed to be.

“Nick, this is my assistant, Heather.”

“Very nice to meet you, Heather,” Nick said.

“My boyfriend listens to your show all the time,” she gushed. “He just loves it.” Then she glanced quickly at Sara, her smile fading. “I mean, my ex-boyfriend.”

“Heather,” Sara said, “will you please hold my calls while Mr. Chandler and I talk?”

Nick gave Heather a little wink as they walked away, and Sara thought the poor girl was going to melt right there.

Once they were in her office, Sara closed the door behind them and sat down in the chair behind her desk. Nick took off his coat and tossed it onto one of her guest seats. He circled his gaze around the room.

“Nice office, Sara. Or should I call you Dr. Davenport? With this big old desk between us, I feel like maybe I ought to.”

“No, Sara will be fine.”

He walked over to her bookshelves and scanned the titles. “Hmm. No Freud? No Jung?” He turned back with a smile. “What kind of a psychologist are you, anyway?”

“Have a seat, Nick.”

“Hold on,” he said, glancing at her diplomas hanging on the wall. “Gotta check out the credentials.” He looked at them, then gave her a low whistle of approval. “Wow. Are you sure you’re only twenty-eight?”

“I’m thirty.”

He grinned. “Ah. Fibbed a little about your age, did you?”

“No. You said twenty-eight. I didn’t correct you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“It’s no secret.”

“Uh-huh.” He moved to the window and opened the blinds. “Great view of the mountains. The windows at the station look out onto parking lots and Dumpsters.” He sighed wistfully. “I knew I should have majored in psychology.”

“Nick? Can we talk?”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Business.”

He sat down in the chair in front of her desk, crossing one ankle casually over his knee and placing his elbows on the arms of the chair. With his fingers steepled in front of him, he lounged there as if he belonged there. She had a feeling that no matter where this man went, he instantly made himself at home.

“Okay, Sara. Shoot.”

She sat up straight, choosing her words carefully. “As you know, I’ve written one book. Now I’m in the process of writing another one.”

“Yes?”

“And I’m interested in your point of view.”

“My point of view? About what?”

“Well, my new book is going to contain the same kind of subject matter as my last one, but with a twist. I’m interested in investigating the subject from a man’s perspective. You seem to have strong opinions about man-woman relationships, so I thought it would be interesting to quote you.”

Suddenly the man who’d been bouncing all over her office went completely still, his cheery expression fading away. His eyes narrowed into a stare so intense that she had the sensation of being completely transparent.

“I didn’t think you were overly fond of my opinions.”

“The most thorough examination of any issue encompasses more than one point of view.”

“Even though mine is the wrong one?”

“Your words will speak for themselves.”

“True, but I won’t have any control over the spin you do in the next paragraph, will I?”

“I can only promise to quote you accurately. If you stand by your opinions, and those opinions are shared by your audience members, then any spin I do shouldn’t make a difference, should it?”

He was silent for a long time. Staring at her. Staring into her. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze locked on to hers. She forced herself not to look away. For a moment, she was sure he was going to say no. Then his tense posture seemed to relax, and a tiny smile crossed his lips.

“Sure, Sara,” he said. “I’d be happy to give you my point of view.”

Sara felt a rush of relief. “Good. That’s good.” She reached for her planner. “We can set a time for you to come back here and—”

“Nope. I don’t want to talk here. As I said, I’m not real crazy about this big old desk between us.”