Girls' Guide to Flirting with Danger. Kimberly Lang

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      “What?”

      “The pessimism you dish out. Anyone listening to you would begin to believe that all marriages end in divorce.”

      He arched an eyebrow. “Wonder where I got that idea?”

      She shouldn’t have started this. They were already falling back into bad habits, and they hadn’t even been around each other a full fifteen minutes yet. At this rate, they’d be at each other’s throats by the time they went on the air. Time to be a professional—and the bigger person—and make a graceful retreat. “I tell you what—let’s not make this personal.” Dev’s other eyebrow joined the first, and she quickly amended her statement. “Or more personal than it has to be, at least.”

      He nodded his agreement. “That’s my plan.”

      “Good. I’m glad you have one. Why don’t you fill me in on the details of this plan?”

      “It’s not too complicated, but if we’re lucky it just might work out for you.”

      “And for you?”

      That seemed to amuse him. “Megan, this actually has very little to do with me. I’m fine no matter what you say or do.”

      “In other words, you’re doing me some kind of a favor?” She did not want to be indebted to him on top of everything else.

      He just shrugged again.

      “But you’ll get a boost to your ratings, too.”

      “I’m number one in my time slot. My ratings don’t really need a boost.”

      “But Kate said—”

      “Kate’s obsessed with our ratings. You know, maybe you could help her with that.”

      “If this works, and I get to go back to work, then I’ll give her all the free counseling she needs.” Biting her tongue to keep anything else from coming out, she faced him again. “So. The plan?”

      “Simple, actually. First you’ll need to bottle some of that hostility.” Megan felt her jaw tighten. “Be friendly, but not too friendly. Polite. Noncommittal. Kate culled some of the more inflated speculations from the tabs and the blogs—we’ll have a good laugh over that.” That was an instruction, not a prediction, so she nodded. “The trick is to describe to the listeners how boring and mind-numbingly average our marriage really was and then make our divorce sound even more so. We’ll take calls for a while, and then it will be over.”

      Over. She’d thought she and Dev were over long ago, but here they were. And to hear Dev describe their marriage as “boring” and “mind-numbing” felt like a slap across the face. Granted, they’d had problems—obviously—and that last year had gotten pretty ugly at times, but the early days had been far from boring or average. At least for her.

      They’d been living on little more than love, but they’d been happy.

      Dev obviously felt differently.

      All her education and training had given her insight into why their marriage had failed, and she’d come to terms with that. She even knew what to say to couples going through the same things that split up her and Devin. She had perspective. She had distance. She had closure.

      But hearing Dev dismiss their good times opened up all kinds of old wounds she didn’t realize could hurt anymore.

      Until right now.

      Thankfully, Kate choose that minute to return, giving Megan a much-needed moment to get hold of herself while Kate and Devin discussed show-related things she didn’t understand.

      If she was smart, she’d back out of this crazy idea and go back to Plan A: lie low and ride it out. Plan B—changing her name and moving to Canada—was starting to gain traction, as well.

      But then something beeped, and Kate and Devin were gathering up the few papers and bottles of water.

      Kate turned her supermodel smile on Megan. “You ready? It’s showtime.”

      Devin held the door open, waiting for her, and when she didn’t move, that eyebrow arched up again. Irritation crawled over her, forcing her feet into motion.

      She was walking to the gallows out of pure spite.

      Dr. Lowe’s official diagnosis? She was certifiably insane.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE’D MISSED THE FOURTH-grade field trip to the radio station, so Megan had spent last night trying to find out what she could about radio stations and how they worked. A couple of movies, so hopelessly out of date the disc jockeys were spinning vinyl records, some video clips posted on the internet … she still didn’t have a clue. And she hated not having a clue. Research was her friend; it made her feel comfortable and confident. But the how-to’s of radio were still a mystery, and she felt at a distinct disadvantage going into this.

      That bothered her a lot. She didn’t want to be at a disadvantage—of any kind—when it came to Devin. She needed to feel like an equal. She was, she reminded herself. She wasn’t the same person she’d been all those years ago. She could hold her own—intellectually, professionally, sarcastically—against Devin Kenney.

      She squared her shoulders as Devin opened a door marked Studio A. I can do this.

      Two chairs facing each other across a small desk, two microphones, some computer screens—the booth looked a lot like what she’d expected from her research. Kate was on the other side of a large glass window that ran perpendicular to their table, settling into her chair and sliding large headphones over her ears. Somehow Megan knew Kate wasn’t the kind of woman who would have “headphone hair” two hours from now. She, on the other hand.

      Dev’s “ahem” brought her back to the present. He was indicating a chair. “You’ll sit here. That’s your mic—be sure you get close to it, or folks won’t be able to hear you. Here—” he handed her a set of headphones “—put these on. And don’t touch anything.”

      Megan bristled. “I’m not five. I think I can handle that.” Trying to look as if she did things like this all the time, she settled into the chair and smiled through the window at Kate.

      “This is your last chance to back out, Megan. We’re going to be live, and while there’s a five-second delay, I won’t be able to walk you through one of your panic attacks.”

      She almost let a sarcastic comment fly before she realized Dev had every right to be concerned about his show. It was the sign of a professional. She needed to respect that—at least while they were on the air. She’d keep her tongue behind her teeth if it killed her in the process.

      She tried for a noncommittal tone. “I haven’t had a panic attack in years, but thanks for your concern.”

      Dev looked surprised. “You haven’t? That’s a surprise.”

      “Do you think I could help other people if I couldn’t learn to help myself first? I wouldn’t have lasted long in this business if I couldn’t talk to people.”

      “That’s СКАЧАТЬ