When He Was Bad.... Jane Sullivan

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      BY THE TIME Thursday came, Sara’s brain was still holding on to her conviction with the tenacity of a bulldog with a bone. Unfortunately, her stomach wasn’t faring so well. For the past hour, it had been doing funny little flip-flops that were making her a little nauseous. On top of that, the snow predicted for that afternoon had come through with a vengeance, snaring her and Karen in traffic. They were now almost late, so Sara didn’t have time to stop and compose herself, which meant she was pretty much a nervous wreck.

      They walked into the lobby of the radio station and told the receptionist who they were. Sara shook the snow off her shoulders, then took her coat off and held it in front of her in a death grip.

      “Stop looking so uptight,” Karen said.

      Sara squeezed her eyes closed. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.”

      “Just don’t let him see you sweat.”

      “I used extrastrength antiperspirant this morning. Think that’ll do the trick?”

      “Will you take it easy? It’s time to let your hair down a little. Get your message out, but have fun with it.”

      Fun? She felt as if she were heading to her own execution.

      A few moments later, a man came out to the lobby. He was balding, in his midforties, wearing a scruffy pair of khakis and a sweatshirt.

      “That must be the producer,” Karen whispered. “You’ll be on in a minute. Just be sure to stick to English when you talk.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Whenever you get nervous, you slip into geek speak.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Big words nobody cares about. Just talk to people.” She patted Sara on the arm. “I’ll be waiting for you out here.”

      Take it easy, keep your cool, stay on message, she told herself. How hard could that really be?

      The man introduced himself as Butch Brannigan. He hung Sara’s coat on a nearby rack, then led her down a long hall. As he swung open the door that led to the studio, her heart beat wildly. She thought she was ready for her first glimpse of Nick Chandler. Unfortunately, his photo on the Web site had barely given a hint of the man in the flesh.

      He wore jeans. A ragged V-neck cotton sweater over a white T-shirt. Boots that looked as if they’d been to a war zone and back. He hadn’t seen the business end of a razor that morning, or maybe the morning before, either. Few men could pull off the shabby look without appearing unkempt, but Nick merely looked careless and uninhibited. And those eyes. Dear God. In the war between men and women, they were lethal weapons.

      He stood up as she came in. “Hi. You must be Sara.”

      “Yes,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      “No,” he said, his lips easing into a captivating smile. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

      He enveloped her hand in a warm, solid handshake, sending goose bumps crawling all the way up her arm. Then he pulled out her chair. “Have a seat. We’ll be on in just a little bit.”

      His deep, resonant voice meshed perfectly with his seductive smile and his incredible good looks, creating a package of pure temptation that could turn СКАЧАТЬ