7 Days and 7 Nights

by Wendy Wax

  Matt asked, “What about Guy Talk?”

  “You’ve come out of this smelling like a rose. Your P1’s are totally with you, and 85 percent of P2’s like you.”

  “So, what does this mean in terms of who stays on the air?” Ben wanted to know.

  T.J. leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “That’s the best part. I just got off the phone with Detroit.” He smoothed a hand over his head. “In view of the research, the anticipated numbers, and the expansion of both your audience demographics, Olivia and Matt both win. The company has decided it can afford Gravy Train and Alpo.”

  “What?” Matt, Ben, and Diane sounded like a Greek chorus.

  “Matt’s Gravy Train, I’m Alpo,” Olivia bit out. “But you’re wrong, T.J.” She looked directly at Matt. “Regardless of what the numbers say, if I’ve lost the trust and respect of my audience, I’ve lost. Period.”

  Feeling every bit as betrayed and angry as her core audience, Olivia slung her purse over her shoulder and stood. “That would make you the winner and reigning champ, Matt. Congratulations. You worked hard for it.”

  T.J. stood, too. “You’re missing the larger picture here, Olivia,” he said. “You and Matt are no longer just local celebrities. Detroit’s convinced your audience will stick with you. They want to put Liv Live and Guy Talk on the rest of the company-owned stations; that’s nineteen more markets apiece.”

  Olivia stared T.J. in the eye. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. Those P1’s and P2’s aren’t just numbers to me. They’re people with issues and problems, and I’ve let them down. Now I have to figure out how to make them understand something I don’t even understand myself.” She shook her head in disgust. “I’m not interested in hearing what Detroit wants right now. My agent will be in touch when I am.”

  “Olivia, please,” T.J. called out, but Olivia marched across the room and out of the office without a backward glance.

  For a tense moment no one spoke, and then the recriminations started.

  Diane glowered at Matt. “Everything would have been fine if you’d fought fair.”

  “Me?”

  “We all heard you bragging about how you’d have her flat on her back. I never thought you’d be able to do it. I should have warned her.” Diane wrung her hands.

  Matt shook his head. “That was just talk. I’m not the one who told us our shows were at risk and locked us in a peanut-sized apartment for a week.” He stood and crossed over to tower over Charles and T.J. as realization dawned. “This was bullshit all along, wasn’t it? You just used the budget thing to get us in there.”

  Only Charles was stupid enough not to look shocked at the accusation.

  “And then you turned on a camera and let us perform.” Matt’s anger grew, and he focused all of it on Charles. “Ben told me you were always fooling with that camera, Crankower. I should have paid more attention. You were just waiting for your chance, weren’t you? I assume you’re the one who told the press about Chicago?”

  “It’s not a state secret. It’s right there in your résumés.” The Promotion Director sounded smug.

  “Now, gentlemen.” T.J.’s tone was conciliatory, but Charles didn’t seem to perceive the danger.

  “You are a piece of shit, Crankower.”

  “I wouldn’t be so self-righteous, Ransom,” Charles sneered. “We just got you into the apartment. What happened there was your own doing.”

  The feel of his fist connecting with Charles’s chin afforded some satisfaction, and it did stop the words. Unfortunately, Matt reflected, as he stepped over Charles’s inert body and headed out the door, it didn’t make them any less true.

  28

  At seven-thirty Tuesday morning, Olivia backed her car down her driveway, past the waiting group of reporters, and on to WTLK with all the enthusiasm of someone about to face a firing squad.

  After watching Jay Leno poke fun at her expense, she’d spent much of the night nursing her anger at the station and its corporate parent, and the rest of it trying to understand her feelings for Matt. She’d hoped for a healing night’s sleep. Instead she’d spent it tossing and turning and attempting to gain some understanding of what had happened to her.

  As she alternately pounded her pillow and paced the rooms of her home, she told herself she hated Matt Ransom, that this whole mess was entirely his fault, and that what had happened between them belonged in the category of really great sex, not serious lovemaking. But a part of her wanted to believe she hadn’t imagined the connection she’d felt, that there’d been something real between them—something she could understand and somehow find a way to explain to her audience.

  She would have liked to whip herself into a frenzy of indignation, but her conscience wouldn’t allow it. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny how alive she felt when she was with him. Or how much she’d enjoyed sparring with him, eating with him, even cleaning up after him. Getting to know him over a meal had been a gift. He wasn’t the same man he’d been in Chicago, even though he kept trying to act like he was. And when he’d had the chance to ruin her completely, he hadn’t taken it.

  Leaving her car in the underground garage, Olivia took the elevator to the station lobby. During the ride up she teased herself with fantasies of breaking through Matt’s defensive armor to the rich bed of feeling she suspected lay underneath. And then she chided herself for being such an optimist, because really, what were the chances that he’d ever let her or anyone else in?

  Diane met her in the control room with a smile, a hug, and a box of Krispy Kreme donuts.

  “Still off the wagon, huh?” Olivia asked.

  Diane shrugged. “Just think of it as the Dozen-Donuts-a-Day Diet. I figured we could both use a little pick-me-up.”

  Olivia helped herself to a glazed chocolate donut. “Today I’ll take my comfort any way I can get it. How about you, Di? Are you ready for whatever comes?”

  “I think so. I fielded some pretty hostile calls yesterday. You have a lot of listeners who aren’t at all happy about what happened with Matt.”

  “I can’t say that I blame them.” Dread pooled in the pit of Olivia’s stomach. “I’m not too happy about it myself.”

  Diane studied her. “Did you hear what happened after you left the meeting yesterday?”

  Olivia bit into her donut and tried to appear disinterested.

  “Matt punched Crankower and knocked him right out. He accused him of framing up that final shot and telling the press you and Matt had a thing for each other in Chicago.”

  “He knocked him out?”

  “Oh, yeah. Charles made one last snide comment, and Matt coldcocked him. And he told T.J. off, too.”

  “Well, what do you know?” Olivia marveled. “Maybe Matt has a few heroic bones in his body after all.” She tucked the thought away for future consideration and turned to the business at hand. “All right, Diane. Stash the donuts and let’s do radio. You find me a good first caller to set the tone, and I’ll take it from there, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Olivia tuned out the bustle around her as she sat down in front of the microphone.

  In the wee hours of the morning, she’d finally decided that for this show she’d have to go with the flow; not exactly her forte, and something that would have been out of the question a week ago. She wondered if Matt would tune in as he had during the last week, and the mental picture of Crankower crumpled on the floor brought a reluctant smile to her lips.

  Her theme music played itself out, but when she checked the monitor to see how many callers were waiting, the screen was blank. Her smile disappeared, and her heart plummeted as she looked through the plate glass at Diane. Her producer grimaced and shrugged in apology. Taking a deep breath, Olivia went on the air alone.

  “This is the Liv Live Thank-God-we’re-back-in-the-studio edition. And I’m waiting to hear from you. For those of you who may have forgotten, the number is 1-555-LIV-LIVE. While you’re dialing, I’d like to take a minute to try
to explain what happened during my week of captivity.

  “The bottom line here is, I’m only human.” She paused to let that sink in. “I’m a trained therapist, and I think as an uninvolved third party, I bring new insight to your problems and issues.” She caught Diane’s eye and shrugged as her tone turned wry. “It’s not always so easy to do the same for myself.”

  Olivia wanted desperately to stand and pace the small space, but she was tied to the microphone and through it to her audience. As she spoke to her listeners, certain basic truths that she had avoided facing during the long, grueling week became clear. She doubted anyone was more surprised than she was at the words that came out of her mouth.

  “I have feelings for Matt Ransom that are not easily defined. I first knew him when I was way too young, and it ended badly. The only feelings I could admit to before this week were hurt and anger. But there’s more than that.”

  Olivia saw Diane take a call, and as she talked, additional phone calls came in.

  “It occurs to me that I keep urging you, my listeners, to be honest and follow your hearts even when it’s difficult.” She laughed ruefully. “Especially when it’s difficult.”

  She folded her hands on the table in front of her as she continued. “I haven’t cut you one inch of slack. But when it came to myself, well, I took a lot of rope and hung myself with it. I couldn’t admit that what I felt for Matt could be anything more than righteous anger and disdain. And ultimately lust.”

  She saw Diane go still in the control room and imagined a hush falling over the station. She wondered where Matt was and wondered, again, if he was listening.

  “What you saw Sunday night was my totally misguided attempt to force Matt Ransom to own up to his feelings for me. You see, I wanted and expected him to do something I couldn’t even do myself. Denial is an incredible thing. I focused on his shortcomings, his walls, his methods of coping, and I found them unsatisfactory. But I refused to take a look at my own.”

  All the phone lines were lit up now. Diane typed frantically on her keyboard, but Olivia couldn’t stop talking. She had to come clean.

  “So you see, I’m a fraud. Not because I couldn’t resist Matt Ransom, but because I couldn’t follow my own advice.”

  The truth hit her then like the proverbial ton of bricks. She was in love with Matt Ransom. Still. Always. Her mouth snapped shut as the realization sank in. All the anger, all the jealousy, all the mind-numbing sexual tension were obvious indications of the intensity of her feelings for the man, and she had managed to deny or rationalize every single reaction.

  Stooping to his level, and in the most inept way possible, she had tried to force him to admit that she was more important to him than the other women who’d wandered in and out of his life.

  “Matt Ransom is juvenile and completely annoying.” She paused, and when she continued, she could hear the horror in her voice. “And I seem to be in love with him.”

  Olivia fell silent as the ramifications of what she’d said began to sink in. She was in love with Matt Ransom. She was in love with a man who treated women as conveniences, a man who had erected walls around his heart that were all but unscalable and then topped them with twists of barbed wire to discourage even the most foolhardy.

  Was she really that foolhardy? Olivia scanned the list of waiting callers, hoping against hope that Matt’s name would be among them. In her little fantasy world, he would hear her admission of love and, zing, he too would realize that they were destined to be together. Right. And then he’d propose to her on the air. And carry her off to Never Land to play with the other lost boys. She’d have to change her name to Wendy. And move to London.

  “So.” She finally noticed Diane’s frantic hand signals. “So I guess I’ll take a call while we all let that little bombshell sink in. Let’s see . . .”

  She noticed JoBeth’s name on the monitor and put her on the air.

  “Gee, Dr. O.” JoBeth sounded almost as uncertain as Olivia felt. “I kind of hate to interrupt.”

  “No problem,” Olivia replied. “I just, uh, needed to clear the air.” Too bad she’d used a sledgehammer to do it. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Well, I’m still trying to decide what to do,” JoBeth said. “I mean, both you and Matt said that if I wanted to get married and Dawg didn’t, that I should move on.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yep.” JoBeth sounded far too resigned for a woman contemplating marriage. Olivia could still remember settling for James when all she’d wanted was Matt. Today, of all days, she didn’t want to see JoBeth make the same mistake.

  “You know, JoBeth, when you peel everything else away, there’s really only one thing that matters: Which is more important to you, being married or who you share your life with? When you know the answer to that, you’ll know what to do.”

  “I was hoping for something a little more specific.”

  “I know,” said Olivia. “But I think I’ve already given you more answers than I should have. It’s time to start trusting your gut.”

  Of course, it was her gut that had prompted her to make such an outrageously public confession, and all she had to show for it was a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach and a dim ache in the region of her heart. The potential for even greater humiliation loomed on the horizon.

  At the signal from Diane, Olivia ended the call and waited out the scheduled commercial break.

  She knew that if Matt hadn’t been tuned in when she signed on, someone must have clued him in by now, but although lots of callers were waiting, not a single one of them was Matt. She thought about the baggage he carried with him, about the loss and pain he’d buried so deeply, and wished he’d let her help him through it. More than anything, she wanted him to be free to love her back in a way she could accept.

  Coming out of the break, Olivia considered how she would have counseled a caller in her predicament. She’d told JoBeth and countless others to pursue their dreams and go after what they wanted.

  It was her misfortune to want Matt Ransom, but want him she did—all of him, on a permanent basis, and in every possible way. It was time to start scaling a few walls and long past time to start practicing what she preached.

  In a healthy relationship both parties shared their thoughts and feelings. Expectations were to be . . . expected. She was entitled to know how Matt felt about her.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  “As I mentioned earlier, I, uh, seem to be in love with Matt Ransom.” She paused. “And I think the time has come to find out how Matt feels about me.”

  Her hands shook, but it was too late to turn back now. “If you’re out there, Matt, you need to pick up a phone and give me a call. And you need to be ready to share.”

  Olivia did another scan of waiting callers, but Matt’s name still wasn’t among them. Her mouth was dry, and she felt strangely light-headed, but in her heart she knew she owed it to both of them to be clear about what she wanted.

  Taking a deep breath, she issued a final challenge. “Come on, Matt. Pick up the phone and give me a call. Let’s see if you have what it takes to leave Never Land behind.”

  29

  Matt considered calling Olivia for all of five seconds. He’d been in the shower when she signed on, toweling off when she first uttered the L-word, and breaking out in a cold sweat by the time she challenged him to call.

  Tucking a towel around his hips, he wiped steam off the bathroom mirror and caught a glimpse of his face. Grooves of panic sliced across his forehead, and his eyes were those of a cornered animal. His usual expression of detached amusement was nowhere to be found. Olivia had turned the tables on him so neatly, he had no idea what he felt or how to respond.

  Matt covered his cheeks with shaving cream and jerked the razor downward, nicking an ear in the process. He couldn’t imagine what Olivia was thinking, but if she expected him to call and “share” his innermost feelings on demand, sh
e was living in a fantasy world screwier than the one she’d accused him of inhabiting.

  He’d call her when he was good and ready and had some earthly idea of what to say. And not a moment before.

  In the meantime, he’d put some miles between them. He was way overdue for a trip home to Chicago. This was an excellent opportunity to catch up with his mother and sister and spend some quality time with his nephews. The station could go find some other trained monkey to fill in for him. After the shit they’d pulled, he didn’t owe them squat.

  Matt added clean clothes to the duffel bag still sitting on his bedroom floor and called the station, refusing to talk to anyone but T.J. Then he backed the car out of the garage and headed toward I-75, where he pointed the nose of the Corvette north and applied his foot firmly to the accelerator.

  He spent the next 422 miles trying to fathom the turn his life had taken. He still couldn’t believe Crankower and T.J. had pulled off such a sordid little scheme, any more than he could come to terms with the whole mess between himself and Olivia. Once again she’d managed to scale walls he’d spent years erecting, and once again she wanted to drag him to a place he’d sworn he’d never go.

  She’d made him talk about Adam, forced him to share feelings he’d kept locked away for a lifetime, and no matter how hard he tried, she refused to let him slide back to his comfort zone. Olivia Moore expected more of him than any woman ever had, and it annoyed the hell out of him that some perverse part of him wanted to give it to her.

  He stopped for the night at a Holiday Inn just north of Louisville and was registered by a smiling, pink-cheeked college student who seemed younger than he’d ever been. She actually blushed when she asked him if he was traveling on his own, and he told himself it was only fatigue that stopped him from inviting her to join him for dinner.

  Letting himself into his room with the key card, Matt dropped his bag on the bed. He’d made good time, first on 75, then jogging west on 24 around Chattanooga, and under other circumstances he would have driven straight through, but now that he’d put Atlanta behind him he was strangely reluctant to reach his destination. Maybe he’d take a couple of extra days before he faced his past, not, he hastily assured himself, that that was the reason for this trip.