by Sara Whitney
He pushed past her into the office, setting an armload of papers onto Jake’s bare desk. Mabel felt like she’d been caught sneaking the last donut from the box, but she had to know.
“What do you mean? Is he back in Chicago?” Her heart jumped to her throat at the thought that he was gone. He’d been here yesterday. Had she missed the chance to say goodbye by pointedly ignoring him and the devastated look on his face?
Brandon smiled thinly. “Luckily for you, he rented an office downtown.”
Oh hell, why’d she have to be so relieved to hear it? She should want him safely out of her city. What was wrong with her?
“Good shows this week.” Brandon dropped into his office chair and eyed her speculatively. “Very professional, both of you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes. You may have noticed that we are, in fact, professionals.”
He lifted his hands in a “down, killer” motion. “I’m aware. It’s why I was so surprised about you and Jakehammer. I truly thought you’d both be smart enough not to get… tangled.”
He twined his fingers together to illustrate his point, and her throat threatened to close up. Bad enough that things with Jake ended. Worse to infinity that her boss knew about it. Memories of her dismissal from Gainesville made her hands ball into fists at her sides. “That’s not what—”
He cut her off. “No harm done. You and Dave are both doing exactly what I need you to do. Oh, and speaking of things I need you to do, you guys and Skip will need to knock out some voice tracking this week. Tracy quit this morning.”
“What?” Mabel’s mouth dropped open, all other thoughts vanishing. Surly, spiky Tracy had up and left? “Why?”
“You, I think,” Brandon said. “She was anticipating a promotion to the afternoon-drive slot, and I had to tell her she wasn’t ready. So she’s gone on to greener pastures.”
Oh, Tracy. Here’s hoping the younger woman had something else already lined up; radio was a rough market these days, what with corporate consolidation and competition from podcasts and streaming services. If you were lucky enough to have an on-air job, impulsively quitting wasn’t smart.
She spoke slowly as an idea percolated. “I’d happily stay on mornings and give her the afternoon slot if that would bring her back.”
But That Arrogant Asshole picked up on the hesitancy in her words and smiled his snaky smile. “No. You think Tracy on afternoons is as bad an idea as I do.” He pursed his lips as he studied her. “You don’t want the slot, but you know Tracy’s too edgy for the corn-fed commuters who just want to make it home in time to eat a casserole, watch the local news, help their spawn with homework, and drop into bed so they can do it all over again tomorrow.”
He raised his eyebrows but kept his expression impassive as she rocked back on her heels, equal parts disgusted and impressed. Because he was right; Tracy wasn’t a good fit for afternoon drive. But why why why did he have to be so awful about it?
“Is there anyone you don’t feel superior to?” she finally asked.
“None that I’ve found yet.” He straightened one snowy shirt cuff. “By the way, lover boy’s a CPA.”
Holy non sequitur, Batman. “Yes. And?”
“Well, you should be aware that CPAs are legally obligated to keep any information about their accounts confidential. If my company’s accountant had told you any details about my plans, he could’ve been fired, could’ve lost his license. We could’ve sued his company even.”
The breath froze in Mabel’s lungs at the suggestion that Jake’s career might be harmed because of her. “H-he didn’t! He didn’t say anything that—”
He cut off her stammered defense. “I know. You weren’t faking that reaction. Just saying, be as pissed at your man candy as you want, but his hands were tied. Now be a darling and hunt down Dave and Skip so you can divvy up the evening shift while we look for a replacement monkey to cover for Tracy.”
He tilted his head toward the door, then turned his attention to his phone. She stood motionless for a long moment, turning Brandon’s words around and around in her mind. Not the asshole stuff about Tracy; she’d deal with that later. But Jake had tried to tell her, hadn’t he? He’d said something about the requirements of his job, but she’d been too furious to listen. She’d cut him off, and he’d punched a building, and now they were both miserable. Well, she was miserable; she could only hope he was too.
That got her feet moving, and she stumbled out of the office to find Dave. But he was nowhere in the building, and a glance at the parking lot showed his car was missing. Before she turned away, a flash of green caught her eye. Jake’s Jeep.
Weird. All his stuff was gone from the office, and Brandon said he had a new office downtown. But why was his Jeep still here? Unsure what she’d say if she actually found him, she poked her head into the recording studio, the kitchen, the conference room, the advertising suite. No Jake.
She wandered back to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, crossing her arms in thought. Of all the things she had to accomplish today, locating the guy she was pissed at—was she still though?—should take a back seat. She chewed on the last of her remaining nails, which had taken a beating over the stressful few days she’d endured, and reasoned with herself. He was probably fine. He was a grown-up and she wasn’t his mommy. Then again, Jake was new to Beaucoeur. What if he somehow ended up in the wrong part of town? Anything could’ve happened to him: robbery, assault, hit and run. People even got stabbed sometimes, or shot. Was he okay? Should she… No. She shouldn’t text him.
“You are being ridiculous.” She said it out loud, hoping the words would banish the unease in her stomach. No luck though, and she spun out of the room to pace down the hall. Jake’s absence had apparently activated the mutant strain of worry-itis that she’d inherited from her mother. After all, he didn’t know anybody in town, so who else would care enough to look out for him?
Not that she cared, of course.
“Morning.”
She looked up to see Robbie’s impressive frame wedged behind the front desk. How had she managed to miss him before, looming over his keyboard like a steroidal gargoyle? She pressed pause on her hunt for Jake to talk to the new guy, hoping like hell he’d gotten all the fanboying out of his system after the day before.
“Hi, pal! How’s the first week going?”
Robbie flashed square white teeth the size of domino tiles. “Just trying to stay awake. Jake and I had a wild night last night. Not smart with a new job.”
Mabel stared blankly at him for a beat. “My Jake?” Something flickered in Robbie’s eyes, and she quickly waved her hands in a decisive “no no no” gesture. “Not my Jake. I just mean… the Jake that I know?” Making it worse, Bowen. “Where is he? Is he okay?”
Robbie’s face took on a distinctly pitying look. “He’s fine. He Ubered home. I’m guessing he’s sleeping it off.”
The worry in her stomach dissipated, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Ah. That explains the Jeep.” Well, so much for any pretense that she didn’t care if Jake lived or died. She did care, way too much. And that wasn’t good.
While she’d been working through every stop on the wheel of emotions, Robbie’s position had shifted to the sympathy head tilt. Did he know the deal with her and Jake? Before she could think better of it, she blurted out, “So did he hook up with anyone last night?”
Good Lord, Robbie’s head now tipped so far to the side in sympathy that his ear was practically resting on his shoulder—impressive for someone with a neck that thick.
“I mean, I’m asking for his sake. He’s new in town, so it would be good for him to meet people, um, outside the station.” She looked heavenward, hoping a stray bolt of lightning would crash through the ceiling to end her time on Earth. “Gah! Forget I asked!”
“He didn’t,” Robbie finally assured her. “It was a big group of guys. He was pretty wrecked by the end of the night.”
She sniffed and refused to feel bad for him. She was the victim here,
not Jake and his cold accountant’s heart and his frustrating accountant’s code of ethics.
Robbie shifted in his seat, then cleared his throat. “Hey, so do you know how this fax machine works? Apparently Brandon’s father prefers his financial updates via hard copy, not emails.”
Grateful for his change of subject, Mabel came around the desk to help the least likely receptionist in the universe get acclimated to the WNCB way of life.
The week had moved too quickly. Mabel kept telling herself to cling to the memories and savor every moment and other Pinterest-worthy clichés, but despite her best efforts at slowing time, here it was Friday, her last day on the air with Dave. They’d spent the week gamely pitching the changes, pitching the Brick Babes, pitching the Jamaica trip, pitching her new afternoon gig. My God, had they been cheerful. Perky. Downright chipper. The unsuspecting listener would never have an inkling about the eye rolling and vomit faces happening behind the microphones.
On Friday, Mabel arrived at work at five a.m., a little earlier than usual, only to find that Dave was already there and with a box of still-warm donuts, no less.
“You, I may or may not miss,” she told him. “Your delivery of early-morning breakfast pastries? That I’ll miss.” She selected a strawberry fritter dripping with thin white icing.
“Such a pastry slut.” Dave folded her, sticky fritter fingers and all, into a quick hug. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. Neither of us is being shipped overseas. We’ll still be working in the same actual building.”
She nodded and took a bite of her now slightly smushed pastry. She wanted to believe Dave, but her private fears were too loud. This split was actually going to work well for the station. Dave would thrive in a show with a rotating cast of hot cohosts while she settled into a new afternoon-drive routine all alone. Alone at work, alone at home, alone forever. Poor lonely Mabel.
Sadness threatened, so she selected a cream-filled long John and ate her feelings.
And then they did their last show. They laughed all the way through it, teasing, bantering, and taking occasional phone calls from listeners excited about the upcoming changes. Even That Arrogant Asshole would have to admit that they’d been the perfect corporate drones for him.
In no time, a slightly bewildered Mabel was thanking the listeners for five amazing years, telling Dave she loved him, and instructing them all to tune in at four p.m. starting Monday.
As soon as Dave shut off their mics to hand the show over to Skip, she burst into tears. She gave herself exactly sixty seconds to cry, then she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, offered Skip an apologetic smile, and threw herself onto the couch in the greenroom.
“Skip says the Brick Babe applications are already coming in,” Dave said gloomily, flopping down next to her. “Apparently Brandon’s making Robbie take a photo of each one and printing them out as part of their application packet.”
“Chaaaarming,” she drawled. “How’s he going to pick the on-air candidates?”
Dave shrugged. “That Arrogant Asshole works in mysterious ways. But I’m guessing it’ll be an ineffable combination of hair height and cup size. I do know that they’re going to do some sort of audition at a bar in a couple of weeks.”
Mabel wilted a little at the thought. “Is it too early for a drink?”
Dave checked his watch. “It’s 10:16.”
“So… that’s a yes on the drink?”
He snorted. “That’s a hell yes. The Elephant? We can get burgers to go with the booze.”
“Hear, hear. Let’s drown our sorrows in catsup.”
On their way out the door, Dave told Robbie, “I’m taking this one for some beer and grease therapy.”
“Smart.” They were almost out the door when Robbie’s gravelly voice stopped them. “Oh, Mabel, would you be willing to drop off some station paperwork? It needs to get delivered sometime before Monday morning.”
“Sure.” She reached for the manila envelope. She occasionally ran errands for the ad reps when they were busy, and frankly, she’d welcome any distraction from her job woes. “Where’s it—” Then she read the address and immediately thrust it at Robbie. “No way.”
“Nuh-uh. No take backs.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Besides, Brandon specifically asked for you to do it.”
“Did he?” She forced the words past her clenched jaw.
Dave peeked over her shoulder and snorted. “Yeah, that’s all you, kitten.”
Mabel groaned and tucked the envelope under her arm, embarrassed at the maneuvering that had just taken place.
“Fine. But you’re buying lunch,” she said, pointing at Dave as they walked to their cars.
Twenty
After the boozy disaster that had been his Wednesday night out with Robbie, Jake decided to lie low in his new apartment for the last two days of the week, feeling miserable and making major inroads on the piles of work that were accumulating as he waited for the furniture to arrive at his new office. As part of his back-on-track mandate, he resolutely kept the radio off for Mabel’s final show. It killed him, but not having her lush voice in his head was imperative to finding his equilibrium again.
On Friday afternoon, he took a break from reviewing a new file for one of his bigger Chicago accounts and laced up his running shoes. After six hard miles of nothing but the burn of his lungs and the slap of his shoes on the cement, he thundered up the five flights of stairs to his door, scoured out and the closest to peace that he’d been all week. Chest heaving and sweat dripping from his drenched hair, the only thing he wanted in that moment was a shower. While he was fitting his key in the lock, the door next to his swung open and Thea emerged in a fluttery, flowery dress.
“Oh hi!”
He collapsed against the door and employed his precious remaining oxygen to gasp out, “Hey. How’s it going?” The smile he offered her was probably more of a grimace, but at least he made the effort.
“I’m great! You?”
“Great,” he panted. He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and swiped it across his damp face so the sweat would stop stinging his eyes, but when Thea’s gaze zoomed to his exposed stomach, he immediately let the material fall. The person he wanted ogling him had been full of cool indifference the last time he saw her.
So much for his runner’s high.
Thea’s eyes widened, and she blinked a few times before dragging her gaze back up to his with a broad smile. “Hey, so I’m headed to a winery with some friends. Want to come along? Be a chance to meet some people in town.”
God, no. “That’s a nice offer, but I’ll have to pass.” He tried to sound regretful.
“I can wait if you want to get cleaned up first.”
Her eyes flitted down to his chest, then popped back to his face, which needed another wipe-down, but he’d be damned if he’d give her another show. “Thanks, but still no. I’ve got a ton of work.” That even had the benefit of being true.
Her disappointed frown was there and gone in an instant. “Your loss! Oh hey, you’re working with the radio-station people, right? So do I apply to you?”
She tilted her head while he frowned at her in confusion.
“The Brick Babes!” she clarified. “I’m great with people, obviously, so I’d be perfect if you need someone to talk about the station at bars and things like that.”
Hell. This was actual hell. “Actually, I’m not the one—”
She leaned in. “Between you and me, it sounded like what the station’s looking for are girls to flirt with guys at public events. And that’s something I do anyway, so I thought it’d be fun to be officially sponsored. Plus you get free drinks and free shirts! What’s not to like?”
Would this conversation be as painful if every part of Jake’s body wasn’t drenched with sweat? Probably. “I know lots of women are excited about it, but my boss is the one who—”
“And I’d love to meet the deejays! Dave, on the morning show? He sounds soooo cute when I listen!”
Even in his weak
ened state, he didn’t have the heart to squash the hope in Thea’s bright, eager eyes. “Tell you what, I’ll put in a good word for you, but I’ll have to shower first to do it.”
Another lightning-bolt smile. “Oh! Ha! Sorry to hold you up. Rude of me. I’d hug you, but you’re super gross. ’Kay, the wine is calling. Enjoy your night! Thanks for the reference.”
With a little wave, his Energizer Bunny neighbor turned and bounced down the hall. Brandon was going to love her.
He finally let himself into his air-conditioned apartment, pulled off his shirt, and walked straight to the kitchen sink, sticking his head under the faucet to rinse the sweat out of his eyes. He grabbed a clean towel to mop up his face and was headed toward the shower when someone knocked on his door. Suppressing a groan, he pulled it open.
“Listen, Thea—” he began, but the words died on his lips.
“Hi— Whoa.” Mabel leaned back to take him in. “Bad time?”
He couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d opened his door to discover the ghost of Abraham Lincoln standing there, and his heart rate accelerated as if he were still sprinting uphill. “No. Uh, no, it’s fine.”
Her eyes snapped to his chest, and her teeth dug into her lower lip. Right. Fuck. Shirtless and glistening was no way to talk to someone he couldn’t be in a relationship with, so he hurriedly tugged his shirt back on, wincing as the clammy fabric met his chest and back. “What are you doing here?”
“Right.” She snapped her gaze back to his face, and fuck yes, her cheeks were glowing pink and her eyes were glassy. Not so indifferent now, was she?
But no. He’d left his Mabel feelings behind in the hotel, remember? The emotional ones and the sexual ones. He was focused on getting back on track now, even if he had to shut down a part of himself to do it.
“Um, Brandon asked me to deliver this.” She brandished a manila envelope. “Station stuff. He oh so helpfully provided your address. I’m not a stalker, I swear.” She laughed weakly, but he didn’t join in. Having her in his new space was seriously throwing him off his game plan.