Tempting Taste

by Sara Whitney

  His thoughts were punctured by a voice from the wall-mount speaker broadcasting the station’s morning show. Dave Chilton, one of the cohosts, spoke over the tail end of a boppy rock song. “We got an email this morning, Mae,” Dave said.

  “Oh yeah?” His co-host Mabel’s disembodied voice had Jake sitting up straight, his partnership daydreams receding.

  Dave continued, “It’s the question we most often get from fans: are you and I husband and wife? And it makes me wonder why people are so interested in our relationship.”

  “Oh, our relaaaaaaaationship,” Mabel replied, her purr sliding along Jake’s skin like the softest velvet.

  “Mmmm. That woman has a fine radio voice,” Brandon said.

  “Shhh.” Jake didn’t want Brandon’s voice intruding as he listened to the blonde he’d met on Wednesday.

  Said blonde’s voice dripped from the speaker. “You’d think that two people who spend as much time together as Dave and I do have some kind of wild history. But the boring truth is, Dave and I are friends who met in college. We’re not married. We’re not dating. We never dated—”

  “I mean, have you seen Mae?” Dave interrupted. “She’s hella scary in that tall, blonde Valkyrie way. I was never attracted to her. Yuck.”

  “Then Dave needs his eyes examined,” Brandon muttered.

  “Dude.” Jake sent him an irritated glare, tilting his head toward the speaker, and Brandon raised his brows and held up his hands in a silent apology.

  “Yuck?” Mabel scoffed. “You were unattractive first! I wanted to not date you first! Folks, Dave dresses as a werewolf for Halloween every year just by wearing shorts and a tank top. Do you need the number of a good waxer, Wolfie?”

  Dave bellowed out a Chewbacca roar, then said, “You’re one to talk. Mae once sent a date to the ER with a rash when he got too close to that prickly ‘stache of her.”

  “My lady ‘stache is magnificent,” she shot back, and Jake tilted his head to revisit his memory of their first meeting. No upper lip hair, only a wide, expressive mouth and miles of tan skin. His heart beat a little harder.

  “What you listeners need to know,” she said, “is that when Dave sweats, it’s slightly radioactive. I once saw a droplet roll off Dave’s nose and land on a spider. Friends, that spider then bit a passerby, who immediately shot webs out of his wrists and crawled up the side of a building.”

  Jake chuckled softly as Dave countered, “Good thing I have a lovely wife who doesn’t mind my jokes—”

  “—or his radioactive sweat—”

  “—and Mae, while also lovely, hasn’t found that special someone. That someone who won’t mind that she doesn’t know that Spider-Man’s web-shooters are mechanical, not biological.”

  “Nerrrrrd,” she interjected, but Dave barreled on.

  “So if you’re interested in our gal here, send us an email with your bio, photo, and likely parole date.”

  Mabel gave a gusting sigh that traveled all the way down Jake’s spine as if she were actually in the room with him. “My special someone’s out there somewhere, and in my heart of hearts, I know he’ll get sprung early for good behavior. Aaaand after the break, we’ll run down the community events scheduled for this weekend, so stay tuned.”

  A classic Smashing Pumpkins song kicked up, and Brandon nodded to himself. “That girl is good. They’re gonna make me so much money.”

  There was a conversation Jake should be interested in pursuing. It’s why he was in Beaucoeur after all: to make this station profitable. Yet his brain refused to focus on the numbers.

  Mabel Bowen is single.

  The thought materialized like the sharp clang of a bell. Single. Then he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sucked in a breath, picturing that empty office on the 56th floor of his building, waiting for him to fill it. The promise of a partnership helped push the thought from his mind, and he exhaled slowly, calm back in place

  “Everything okay?” Brandon was looking at him with curiosity.

  “Yep.” Of course. He was reliable, work-first Jake Carey. The same as always.

  “So who’d you leave behind in Chicago?” Brandon spoke as if Jake’s thoughts were visible in the air above his head. “Wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

  Thumb, meet tender spot.

  “Not even a potted plant,” he said flatly. “The job keeps me busy.” Which was true, even if it wasn’t the whole story.

  Brandon just sighed. “God, you workaholics wear me out. At least I’ve got an ex pestering me about shared custody of the dog.” He pinned Jake with his sharp blue eyes. “Is it worth it?”

  Brandon’s suddenly serious tone was a 180 from his normal flippancy, and Jake didn’t even have to think about the answer. “For a partnership? Of course it’s worth it.”

  Worth not pledging a fraternity in college so he could take course overloads to help him graduate faster. Worth not investing time in his dating life to find a relationship with the potential for more. Worth every skipped vacation, every weekend in the office, every family holiday where he’d paid for the meal but hadn’t left the office in time to eat it while it was hot.

  Fuck, it had to be worth it.

  “What a drag.” The man across from him shook his head as he tucked his phone into his pocket. “In your next life, Jakehammer, I recommend being born rich.”

  Jake huffed a laugh. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

  Brandon’s reminder of what he was working toward kept him focused on the station’s financial files for the next two hours. He may not have been born rich, but he’d worked his ass off, and now he had a fat 410(k), a condo with a view of Lake Michigan, and enough in savings to allow him to sleep soundly at night. A BPS partnership would be the capstone in the life he’d been building from the moment he’d realized as a teenager that he wanted more than a broken-down, worried mom and a hungry, big-eyed kid sister in a shitty walk-up apartment in one of Chicago’s bleakest neighborhoods. And if that required spending a few months in an extended-stay hotel in downstate bumblefuck, so be it. Nothing was going to knock him off course.

  “Knock knock.”

  His shoulders tightened. How? How did the woman with the quick wit and the warm maple syrup voice make the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention with only two words? He dragged his eyes to the doorway to confirm that the cute blonde he’d met on Wednesday still vibrated with the same laughing energy he’d first glimpsed through the studio window.

  Single. The word resurfaced with another clang, and his palms started to sweat. Thankfully Brandon took up the talking banner while Jake wrestled his accelerating pulse back under control.

  “Well hello, Morning Show Mabel.” Brandon leaned back in his chair and looked at her like a predatory cat. “What can we do for you?”

  She stepped into the office, her eyes bouncing between him and Brandon.

  “Do either of you have jumper cables in your car?” She gestured over her shoulder, presumably toward the parking lot. “The station van’s dead again, and I usually use Kirby’s cables to jump it, but he’s gone, and Dave just left for lunch and Skip’s on the air, and all the ad reps are out of the office doing God knows what, so which of you is gonna be my hero?”

  She ended her flood of words with a smile-grimace that Brandon met with a grimace-grimace. “I’m sorry, did you say the station van’s dead again?”

  Now Mabel was full-on grimacing too, and she slanted another glance at Jake. God, she was pretty—and that was before she ran a tongue across her lower lip, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and resumed torturing him with her velvety voice.

  “Yeah, uh, we need to jump it on occasion,” she said apologetically. “Usually after it rains. Or snows. Or if it’s unusually dewy. Did that… not come up before the sale?”

  “It did not.” Brandon leveled a cool gaze at her, and she bit her lip. “Hopefully the human capital performs better under damp conditions.”

  “Everything but my hair!�
�� she chirped nervously, wrapping one long, wavy hank around her finger. “So, uh, cables?

  She glanced toward Jake again, and he forced himself to rally with a smile-smile. Brandon was being a dick, which meant it was his job to be the decent person. “I’ve got cables.” He surreptitiously swiped his damp hands down the front of his pants.

  “Well thank God,” she said with a breathy laugh. “Come white knight for me?

  No. Yes. Fuck.

  “Yeah, sort it out, Jakehammer,” Brandon said with a wave of his hand, blissfully unaware of Jake’s struggle to find his equilibrium. His eyes dropped to his phone yet again, and his thumbs started flying. “My ex apparently wants to start another text fight about whose weekend it is with the dog.”

  “Jakehammer?” Mabel tossed a playful look over her shoulder as they exited the office headed down the hall.

  “I beg you, do not.” Her voice was as decadent off the air as it was on. Only three days working on the periphery of the radio industry and he already understood why some people made this their career. Mabel was born to share that voice with the masses. The job-centric thought helped summon the calm competency he was known for in Chicago. Of course there he was examining audits, not servicing automobiles.

  “Where’s the van?” He stepped ahead to hold the door open for her, wincing at the slap of summertime heat.

  “Around back.” She pointed. “We always keep the spot next to it open in case it needs a jump.”

  She stopped short when they reached the far end of the parking lot and he hit the unlock button on his Jeep.

  “This is yours?” she asked as she clambered into the passenger seat.

  “Yes. Why?” He slid behind the wheel to find her eying the interior with unabashed interest. Although his Jeep was obviously a decade old, he kept it looking like he’d driven it off the lot that morning.

  “Huh.” She traced a finger over the immaculate dashboard.

  “What?” He fired up the engine and backed out of the spot, starting to suspect that his ride wasn’t impressing her overly much.

  “It just…” She flapped a hand toward his suit-covered chest. “It doesn’t really fit your whole ‘I earned a million dollars before breakfast and made three assistants cry’ vibe. Don’t you guys all drive, like, black Audis?”

  “I’ve never seen the point of spending money on a luxury car.” Three of his coworkers did in fact drive black Audis, but the thought of spending money like that physically pained him. Far better to funnel it into rainy-day funds for his mom and Finn.

  His mom and Finn. That’s why he was here. He needed to push away any other considerations, including the woman next to him smelling like a fancy garden, to get his job done.

  He circled the building and eased into the spot next to the van plastered with the Brick logo, then shucked his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and grabbed the jumper cables. But as he got to work hooking the clamps to the two batteries, Mabel’s words refused to stop echoing in his head. Once she got the van’s engine turned over and joined him on the sunbaked asphalt, they stood in silence until he blurted, “Is that really how I come off?”

  “Hmm?” She bundled her hair into her fist and lifted it off her neck. “Oh, the fancy-businessman-driving-an-old-Jeep thing?”

  At his curt nod, she dropped her hair with a shrug. “Your suit looks like it cost more than your ride. I made assumptions.”

  “I’ve never once made an assistant cry. Wouldn’t dream of it. That’s a hard job.” His voice was stiff, and he kept his eyes on the motor of his Jeep. When he was fifteen, his mom had answered phones for a slimy insurance agent who sent her home in tears at least twice a week, so he’d picked up a second after-school job bagging groceries. It added enough cushion to the household budget that she’d been able to search for a less stressful position. The day she quit the insurance job, the tears she cried had been happy ones, and he’d decided then and there that this was how he’d help his family.

  “So how are you liking the glamorous world of radio?”

  The echo of Brandon’s question jolted him back to the present. “Why does everybody keep asking me that? You guys sound like a cult.”

  She pressed her hands together as if in prayer and bobbed her head. “The cult of radio. You’re in it now, bub.”

  “Clearly.” He stepped forward to unhook the cables from the now-purring engine. “It’s fine. It’s a job. One that’ll land me a partnership, hopefully.” Then he’d be back in Chicago, and she’d be here using that voice to stroke the eardrums of everyone within the listening radius.

  “I hope you get it soon, then. You don’t want to fall behind on your car payments.” She patted his Jeep’s bright-green front quarter panel with a grin, and he bit back the urge to laugh. God, she was funny.

  “Careful,” he said. “That Jeep’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

  “Ooooh.” She caressed its panel again, then her phone pinged, and she fished it out of her pocket with a groan. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to be doing a live remote at the Beaucoeur Public Library’s north branch in forty.” She clambered back into the van and cranked down the window. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You bet,” he said. Then he shoved aside his detached professional competency for a second. “And hey, Mabel?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear as she leaned back out the window, blue eyes round with curiosity. “Yeah?”

  “Your co-host is right. Spidey’s web-shooters are definitely mechanical.”

  Her mouth dropped open for a split second before she tossed back her head with a bark of laughter. “Another nerd! Oh, you’re gonna fit in fine around here.”

  Then she slammed on a pair of sunglasses, reversed out of the spot, and roared away, leaving him staring after her on the boiling asphalt, the cables dangling from his hand and her laughter echoing in his head.

  2019 RWA© Golden Heart© finalist Tempting Talk will be available March 18, 2020. Preorder now!

  Acknowledgments

  In 2014, I began writing the book of my heart.

  * * *

  This is not that book.

  * * *

  No, that book is Tempting Talk, about a deejay and an accountant who fight falling in love every step of the way. And as I began making plans to unleash it on the world, an author friend made a suggestion: why not write a novella to lead into the new series?

  * * *

  A novella? Sure! That’ll be easy, right?

  * * *

  LOL, no. After months of edits, revisions, and chocolate, Tempting Heat was ready, and it was time to move on to releasing my heart’s book…until that same friend said, “Finn’s roommate’s fun. I bet you could write her a great love story.” And wide-eyed people-pleaser that I am, I said, “You love Josie? I WILL GIVE YOU JOSIE.”

  * * *

  Thus, Tempting Taste was born, and you know what? It is the book of my heart. I would stand down a pack of hungry badgers to protect Erik from harm, and I would follow Josie into any shopping expedition, marketing pitch, or public transportation throwdown she choses to involve herself in. Of course, I feel that way about all of the characters who live in my head, in my laptop, and now in your e-reader, but these two are special, and I hope you agree. I also hope you’ll pick up Tempting Talk, the third book in the series but the original book of my heart. (For the record, I would fight badgers for Jake and Mabel too. You’ll see.)

  * * *

  Special thanks to authors T.M. Cromer, Genevieve Jack, Kate Bateman, and Bria Quinlan, the trusted mentors who’ve became my dearest friends, and to Anne Victory, my partner in all editing matters and the person who emails me back at 2:00 a.m. And Sue Brown-Moore, Josie and Erik would be nothing but a string of unconnected quips if not for you. This book’s deepest emotional swings work because you helped me dig deep to make them characters to root for.

  * * *

  My days are forever brightened by Tanya M., Megan S., Sky M., Tabby M., Sophi
e B., and Rachel D. Thanks for never being too far from Messenger or too busy for my ridiculous gifs. And Jason, despite your love of cream cheese icing and my love of buttercream icing, we make it work. Good thing you’re not a fondant fan, though. That might’ve been a deal-breaker.

  * * *

  And finally to you, reader: You’re my favorite. Yes, you. Stay sassy, and stay in touch.

  About the Author

  Sara Whitney writes sassy, sexy contemporary romance novels packed with wit, heat, and heart. A 2019 RWA© Golden Heart© award finalist, Sara worked as a newspaper reporter and film critic before she earned her Ph.D. and landed in academia. She’s a good pinball player, a so-so karaoke singer, and an expert TV opinion-haver.

  * * *

  In a funny twist of fate, Sara’s married to a divorce attorney, and she likes to think that her happily-ever-afters keep their household in balance. She and her husband live in Illinois surrounded by books, cats, and half-empty coffee cups. Keep up with Sara by subscribing to her mailing list here.