On-Air Passion

“You should see this woman, y’all,” he said into the mic. “She’s in the studio looking like some sort of fairy-tale princess in her pink dress with a bunch of flowers on it.” He dragged his eyes over her, giving in to the urge to tease her even more, although he’d give away his closet full of classic Jordans to see—and touch—under that seductive dress. Ahmed continued, riled up by the fire in her dark crystal eyes that flamed higher with each word he spoke. “Her shoes are so tall they look dangerous to walk in, and even her name sounds like something unreal and out of a storybook. Elle.”

He rolled her name over his tongue, and it felt almost obscene. He hoped the listeners didn’t hear it the way he did. Not delicate at all, but rather the low groan of sound he’d love to make while pushing into her soft and welcoming body. Ahmed’s stomach muscles clenched with arousal. What the hell was he doing?

Elle wasn’t impressed by his words either. Anger glowed in her brown eyes, and the dress shifted over her narrow shoulders and pretty breasts when she straightened in her chair. Ahmed could see the rapid pulse beat in her throat, the quickening breath that made her chest rapidly rise and fall. She looked anything but kittenish now.

“Romance and the celebration of love are an escape from the narrow and dangerous worldview of people like you, Mr. Clark. At Romance Perfected, we’re not fooling anyone—we’re assuring people of a beautiful experience despite the ugliness the world keeps throwing at us. That doesn’t mean I live in a fairy tale, Mr. Clark. It means I’m human, and I have hope. Can you say the same?”

“Hope and delusions are not the same thing, princess,” Ahmed said.

And although he was tearing the entire idea of love to shreds, there was nothing more in the world he wanted in that moment than to kiss Elle Marshall’s red mouth and the thudding pulse in her neck to show her what the raw side of romance felt like.

Chapter 2

Ahmed Clark was an ass.

Elle sat stiffly in the chair across from him, her face burning and spine tight, desperately wishing for the whole radio-show ordeal to be over. Sure, he was as gorgeous in person as the pictures her business partner had forced her to look at before she left for the station. But his cocky attitude and rude dismissiveness scrubbed away anything she could have found attractive about him.

They were alone in the room except for the bodyguard standing with his back to the wall, and Elle felt the sudden silence all around her like thunder. She swallowed the thick humiliation in her throat, fighting the heat blasting through her cheeks and all over her face in vain.

“All right, Atlanta. For a chance to win what the fairy-tale princess is offering this morning, call in and tell me the number of points I scored during my last game. The fifteenth caller with the right answer will get the night or afternoon of their dreams.”

Of course his question would be something about him.

Elle gritted her teeth, hating his butter-smooth voice that was stupidly perfect for radio. When her business partner, Shaye, had begged her to be the one to go to the studio to talk about Romance Perfected, Elle had initially refused. Shaye loved basketball, was a passionate activist and also happened to be a huge fan of Ahmed Clark.

“I’d make such a fool of myself over him,” she’d said to Elle, her hands doing crazy things in the air—her version of excitement. “Can you imagine it, me being on the radio to promote the business and ending up tonguing down Ahmed Clark before he even got the chance to ask me anything professional?”

Unfortunately, Elle could imagine it all very clearly. Shaye was sexually voracious, outspoken and just about always got what she wanted. So, here Elle sat. She clenched her hand around her handbag and fought for patience.

Ahmed had barely finished naming the terms for the contest before the phone lines started lighting up. Somewhere out in the office, an intern or office assistant was answering all the calls that were not number fifteen and giving the caller the disappointing news.

The leather of Ahmed’s chair squeaked faintly as he leaned back, headphones still on, the “on-air” light above the glass partition a bright red that matched the heat in Elle’s face.

“Do you know the answer to the question, princess?” he asked into the mic.

She gave him her most contemptuous look. “I have better things to do than worry about the balls you play with.”

Laughter burst from Ahmed’s throat, and Elle hated how charming it actually sounded. “Now, that’s something I’ve never heard before, Atlanta,” he said. “Do you believe a word of what this delicate princess says?”

The pet name grated on Elle’s nerves with all the power of the insult it no doubt was intended to be. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting to it. Elle clasped her hands in her lap and sat back in her own chair, waiting for the moment when she could leave.

They hadn’t taken a commercial break to allow the calls to build up. In fact, it was hard to miss the station manager making the “keep going” gesture. He’d apparently changed his mind about cutting Ahmed off. The phones were blinking nonstop. Were both these men for real?

Before they’d gotten on the air, she could have sworn Ahmed Clark actually liked her. In the moments between her walking into the sound booth and starting to talk about the business, he’d looked at her with a familiar spark of attraction in his long-lashed eyes.

But now, he was practically going verbal gladiator on her, intent on hacking her to pieces with the sharp edge of his tongue. This wasn’t what she’d come here for, but she’d be damned if she backed out before Romance Perfected could get its money’s worth out of the radio spot they had paid for.

The phone in front of Ahmed beeped. He answered with the click of a button.

“Congrats on being the fifteenth caller. Talk to me.”

A laughing voice came on the air. “I don’t know the answer, but I wanted to say you two should go on a date together. I bet the fireworks would be off the chain.”

“Never,” Elle said before she could stop herself. She refused to cheapen something that was supposed to be romantic and turn it into a farce.

But outside the glass cage that kept her trapped with Ahmed, the general manager, Clive Ramirez, grinned with an alarming show of teeth, the look on his face clearly saying this was the best idea he’d heard all day.

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Ahmed said to the caller. “But I think the princess would prick the air out of all my balls if I even thought of asking her out.” Ahmed’s grin was infuriating, his tone meant to irritate her.

Elle barely stopped herself from giving him the finger. After all, it was radio not TV. But she had a business to promote. She’d show him a damn princess. She’d be the very picture of poise and graciousness until she got the chance to escape and never see his stupid face in person again.

“Very astute of you,” she said past clenched teeth. “And here I thought you were just another pretty face.” So much for being gracious.

Clive Ramirez made another motion from his side of the glass. Beside him, his assistant frantically answered call after call.

“All right, thanks for calling with your input. I’ll keep it in mind in case I don’t plan on having children in the future.” He hung up on the caller. “All right, since that number fifteen wasn’t it, let’s hear some Bruno Mars before we get to that next fifteenth call. Ring me up and tell me something good. I’m ready.”

As soon as the song started playing, Elle yanked off her headphones and stood up. She very gently put them on the chair, grabbed her purse and walked out, quietly closing the door behind her. She didn’t get two feet before Clive Ramirez was on her, grabbing her hand to shake with an enthusiasm she found more than a little unsettling.

“That was great, Elle!” When had they gotten on a first-name basis? “That spot was awesome. The phones were blazing even before we told listeners to call in. Nice work!”

Nice work? It had taken everything inside her not to cuss out Ahmed. Was that all it took to get a pat on the head from another random man these days? Elle pulled her hand back from Clive and shifted her feet to conceal her single step back from the man. “Um, thank you. I’m glad you think it went well enough.” She made a show of looking at the slender silver watch on her wrist. “I have to get to another meeting. Thank you again for inviting me on the air.” And for humiliating me six ways to Sunday in front of all of Atlanta. Or at least the half that listened to the Ahmed Clark morning show.

“It was my absolute pleasure. We’ll call you with the name of the contest winner so you can make arrangements for them with the prize.”

She tried to make it look like she wasn’t gritting her teeth. “Great. Looking forward to it.”

He tried to shake her hand again, but she shifted her purse to hold it in both hands. “Have a great day,” she said with her best fake smile.

Elle waited for Clive’s nod, a semblance of politeness remaining despite her immediate desire to walk very quickly away from the station and never return, then she turned on her heel and practically ran out the door.

* * *

By the time Elle got back to her office, she was ready to spit nails. Or kill Ahmed Clark with her bare hands. On the drive from the radio station, she’d tried to calm down, but it didn’t work. Every time she remembered the things the man had said to her on the air, for all of Atlanta to hear, she wanted to scream.

With a clenched jaw, she pushed open the door that led to a row of small ground-floor offices in a plain beige brick building in Kirkwood, not far from her house. The white door rattled as it settled in its frame, and she stood with her back against it, breathing evenly and trying to get her thoughts, anger and embarrassment to settle.

Despite their office building’s plain exterior, or maybe because of it, she and her business partner had decided to make their offices anything but. The hardwood floors were gleaming oak, while the walls shimmered from the sumptuous jade green silk wallpaper she and Shaye had picked out together. The wallpaper was as detailed as a painting. On it, a thick and leafless tree spread across all four walls. One branch held a brilliantly colored peacock hovering protectively over his peahen. A graceful and soft peach-colored sofa sat against the back wall of their reception area, and a coffee table with a few artfully scattered magazines waited for idle hands. It was meant to be a very welcoming and subtly sensual space.

Elle inhaled deeply and exhaled, her eyes tracing the plain brushstrokes on the wallpaper that made up the gray of the peahen and the contentment in her eyes while she lay beneath the wing of her beautiful mate. The sight of it, of love as Elle imagined it, usually calmed her. But not today.

“Shaye!”

She shouted her business partner’s name and pushed herself off the door, starting toward her own office then nearly colliding with Shaye when she came barreling around the corner. Thick curls spilled over her shoulders and surrounded a face that easily belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. As usual, Shaye was gorgeous in her club-girl chic. Today’s outfit was a flesh-colored and skintight dress that showed off every voluptuous curve. She wore the royal blue Jimmy Choo heels—a lucky thrift-store find—Elle had given her for thirtieth birthday two years before.

“No need to yell,” Shaye said with a roll of her eyes. “I heard you from all the way in my office. The sound of your voice could shatter our champagne glasses. Chill, mama. That stuff was expensive.”

Shaye was the only one who could talk to Elle like that. Growing up mostly together in the foster care system with no one to care for but each other made the two of them even closer than siblings.

“Better the glasses than that damn man...” Elle made a sound of frustration. “Did you listen to the radio spot?”

Shaye snickered. “As if I’d miss it.”

When Elle kept going toward her own office, Shaye fell in step, her longer legs easily keeping up with Elle’s furious pace.

“The whole thing was pretty hilarious,” Shaye continued. “Even though you were obviously pissed.”

“He made me come off like some idiotic child, like I don’t know anything about the real world and the crappy things in it.”

Elle stepped into her office and dropped into the small love seat under the window while Shaye perched on the corner of her desk, ankles crossed and smiling. Elle wanted to shove her partner off the desk and onto her ass.

“Calm down, sweetie,” Shaye said. “Ahmed was just doing that for a laugh and to make the whole advertising give-and-take seem more interesting. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You weren’t there. He meant every damn word—”

The sound of her desktop phone ringing cut Elle off. “Who is that?” she asked, too irritated to bother getting up to look herself.

Shaye peeked over at the phone’s display. “It looks like the radio station.”

“Jesus... What now? They want to humiliate me some more today?” Elle clambered to her feet and answered the phone, putting it on speaker so Shaye could hear, too. She sat down behind the desk. “Romance Perfected. Elle Marshall speaking.”

“Elle, long time no chat!” Clive Ramirez’s booming voice rang through her office, and Elle exchanged a pained look with Shaye. “I wanted to tell you the latest developments myself.”

“What, nobody claimed our prize?”

“Just the opposite, my dear girl! Our phones rang off the hook even after we had a winner. They loved you and Ahmed together.”

Elle rolled her eyes. Those people must love a train wreck, because that’s all that was. “That’s good, I suppose. If the business gets some of that love, too.” She grabbed a pen and notebook. “So, who won the prize? I’ll reach out to them today.”

“Well, an interesting thing. The woman who won the prize gave it back to you.”

“What?” Elle exchanged another look with Shaye as her stomach sank. They paid all that money for the radio ad for nothing? “She doesn’t even want to use us for free?” Shaye looked just as horrified as Elle felt.

“No, no. It’s not that.” Clive’s voice rose in a way that did not put Elle’s mind at ease. “Everyone who called in loves your business idea. This woman included. But she wants you to use the service yourself. For a date with Ahmed.”

Elle blinked at the phone, sure she wasn’t hearing Clive correctly. “You’re joking.”

“Nope!” He sounded far too happy with that one word. “I think it’s a brilliant idea that has the potential to work out even better for your business and for the station, of course.” When Elle didn’t say anything, Clive made a low sound of disappointment, obviously tempering his excitement for Elle’s benefit. “Listen, I can tell you’re reluctant, so why don’t I give you the rest of the day to think about it?” Elle glanced at her watch and saw that it was only a few minutes past noon. “Keep in mind how much free publicity this will be for your business,” Clive said. “And, to sweeten the deal, I’ll even give you back half of the fee you paid for the radio spot.”

Shaye started to make frantic motions at Elle from her perch on the corner of Elle’s desk. “Tell him you’ll do it,” she whispered, waving her hands to get Elle’s attention, as if Elle could ignore her. “Just say yes.” Shaye mouthed the words over and over, looking like a fish trying to breathe fresh air.

Elle swiveled in her chair, turning her back to her business partner. “Thank you for the opportunity, Clive. I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“I understand. Call me back before five to let me know.” He gave her his direct number before hanging up.

“Are you crazy?” Shaye practically shrieked once the call was disconnected. She jumped up from the desk, curls and breasts swaying, hands on her hips. “Call him back right now and tell him you’ll do it.”

“Are you serious right now?” Elle refused to make herself a target for Ahmed Clark’s bitterness and cynicism again. Once was enough.

“Oh, please!” Shaye paced in front of Elle’s desk, hands on her hips, high heels sinking into the plush carpeting with each step. “It’s just a date. And a date with a rich, hot guy at that. You won’t suffer by going out with Ahmed Clark, Elle. Not like how our business is suffering. You know we need this.”

Shaye was right. And Elle knew it, but...

“Did you hear how he talked to me on freakin’ live radio? He dismissed our business like it was some sleazy... I don’t know, like a hookup service or something.”

“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Shaye said, her voice pleading and soft. She stopped pacing and fixed a plaintive look on Elle. “Once we get Romance Perfected noticed by people who follow and maybe even socialize with Ahmed Clark, the date you went on to make this all possible will be nothing but a distant memory.”

“A bad memory,” Elle said, already feeling her resolve weakening.

She crossed her arms and dropped back into her chair, softly cursing. Romance Perfected was a dream she and Shaye had had together for years, a dream that finally materialized in the form of a small business still toddling along on trembling feet. Over a year ago, they’d had to file for Chapter 11. After a lot of hard work, she and Shaye had managed to save their four-year-old business from going under, but they still needed a boost to get fully in the black.

If this small thing was what it took to get Romance Perfected finally where it needed to be, then... Elle spat another string of curses and refused to look up at the triumphant smile she knew Shaye was already wearing.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter 3

“What’s got your boxers all twisted this morning?” Sam’s question, delivered in his driest tone, followed Ahmed into the back of the town car as he settled into the leather seat in preparation for the ride to the airport.

After a quick glance at his watch to make sure they were going to be on time for the rally, he shrugged at his cousin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bull.”

Sam had a point, though. At the radio station, Ahmed had been too much. He’d mercilessly teased Elle. But it hadn’t come off as teasing. Instead, his behavior had come dangerously close to bullying. Good thing Elle could take care of herself. When she’d growled back at him, refusing to back down in the face of all the crap he threw at her, Ahmed had nearly combusted from the heady cocktail of lust and admiration.

The only thing that had saved him from completely losing his mind was a firm mental reminder that this was his job. He was at work, and this was supposed to be all business.

However, that reminder hadn’t completely stopped his eyes from gluing themselves to her backside the moment she jumped up from the chair and started to walk away from him.

Satisfied his momently lapse was at an end, he put Elle Marshall firmly out of his mind and himself back on track with the conversation with Sam. “Anyway, it was just entertainment for the folks listening to the show.”

“Since when did you give a damn what entertains the people listening to your show?” Sam asked, sprawling on the opposite seat of the town car. “The whole point when you started this gig was to be yourself and give voice to the politics and social issues that matter to you. Not become another kind of mindless clone.”

A sound of irritation rumbled from Ahmed’s throat. He could never fool Sam, not since they were kids. He didn’t even know why he tried. “She got under my skin, and that’s all I’m going to say.” He leveled a warning glance across the small space. The conversation was over.

But that wasn’t the way it worked between them.

Three hours later, Ahmed and Sam stood near the front of a crowd of hundreds in Mississippi, both of them dressed in jeans and T-shirts, while a congressman from Georgia, a nationally respected education advocate, rolled his tremendous voice through the crowd, chiding the state for letting down some of the most vulnerable members of its population.

Ahmed was doing what he could for the kids in Georgia who’d lost their schools and been consistently denied equal educational opportunities. The kids in Mississippi and many underserved parts of the US needed help, too. And he planned on doing what he could to make sure that they got it.

Ahmed shifted and brushed shoulders with a pretty woman crowding him on one side and a taller man, his arm protectively curved around the shoulders of a girl who looked enough like him to be his daughter. The crowd surged with excitement, a mixture of anger and determination, while Congressman Oliver Wilson spoke, his voice loud and moving, from the podium set up in front of City Hall.

Incredibly, reporters had followed Ahmed from the radio station, although it was in an entirely different state. The manic clicks of their cameras, the bursts of flash and their shouted questions grated on his nerves, irritating him more than usual. As always, Ahmed wanted to use his celebrity to draw attention to the things he cared about, but sometimes he wondered if his celebrity status was overshadowing the real work. Still, with the business of making money out of the way, there was nothing else that deserved his energy more than helping his community.

Nearly a thousand people flowed around them, a security nightmare for Sam, but he bore the trials Ahmed put him through with his nearly superhuman patience.

Ahmed didn’t need any security. Not really. Ever since his retirement from professional basketball nearly a year ago, the media’s interest in his life had died down. Without the team and the games, and the spotlight that came with it, the groupies had disappeared as had any danger Sam imagined. But Sam had been the only male cousin close to Ahmed’s age when they were growing up, so they’d become tight and maintained a brotherly bond. Even when Sam had gone off to fight in Afghanistan in tour after tour, they’d kept in touch through email and occasional Skype calls.

After a close encounter with an IED that left Sam with a Purple Heart and honorable discharge, it only made sense to Ahmed that he invite his cousin to live on his sprawling compound, which already housed Ahmed’s mother and two sisters. This time, Sam had come back from overseas even quieter than before, his eyes haunted by things only he could see. Offering and then insisting his cousin take the job as his head of security, and eventually solo bodyguard, gave Ahmed the chance to take care of the cousin who’d been there with him nearly his whole life.

The crowd exploded into applause, its roar of approval at the congressman’s words dragging Ahmed back to the present, and he winced. He hadn’t been paying attention at all.

Sam nudged him. “Your mind still on that Marshall woman?”

“No, but yours obviously is,” Ahmed said. Although it only took a few words to bring “that Marshall woman” squarely back to center stage in his mind.

Ahmed squirmed at how right it felt for her to be there. “She may be sexy, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s got stars in her eyes and lives in a world that doesn’t exist outside of a storybook.” He gestured around them to the other protestors and activists. “This is what’s important, not setting people up to have unrealistic expectations of each other.”

“I doubt she’s as naive as you think.”

“If you like her so much, why don’t you ask her out?” Ahmed muttered.

While on the radio hours before, he’d taken the call from the winner of Elle’s contest and been blindsided when the woman insisted on giving up the prize of her “perfect date” to him and Elle. Once the surprise wore off, irritation settled in its place, but he’d held his tongue during the phone call, bantering with the woman until the commercial break when he’d politely asked her to reconsider the so-called donation. The woman insisted, saying her husband laughed at the thought of cynical Ahmed Clark on a date with a fairy-tale princess named Elle.