She felt his hands on her shoulders. It was like pushing a button; at his touch, her eyes blurred. Christie closed them tight. She was starting to shake, and it wasn't from any EAS alert. She set the book down on the counter before she could drop it.
"Hey," he said softly. "It's all right." Gently, he squeezed her shoulders. "You did a great job."
Christie stiffened at his soothing touch, and a thought hit her with violent force: she never again wanted to hear Rick tell her what kind of job she'd done. "I don't care." Her voice was choked.
"You don't mean that," he said. "You're exhausted. And you're fed up. I know." Hands still on her shoulders, Rick gently pulled her backward to lean against him.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice, trying not to accept the firm support of his body against hers. Rick's arms came up around her, and she didn't know what to feel-frustration, exhaustion, anger. She tried to feel anything but the warmth that enclosed her. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just let it go."
What did he expect her to do? Cry? Melt into his arms? She knew where that led. She'd spent the last several weeks dealing with the fallout. He turned her to face him, drawing her head toward his chest.
Christie started to pull away. "We can't-"
"Hush. It's three-thirty in the morning." He stroked her hair, and she let him, the gentleness of his fingers smoothing away her resolve. Once again he drew her closer, and this time she settled her cheek against his chest. He held her firmly, as if he would hold her up all night if he had to. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes tight, holding it in. Trying not to give in completely.
"Breathe," he reminded her. Christie drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out, shuddering. Some of the tension went out of her. She let her body slump, too tired to fight any more, too tired to hide any more. She allowed herself to feel the warmth of his arms, the firmness of his chest. And then she became aware of the sound of his heart, beating much faster than his soothing words would indicate. "I've got you," he said. "It's all right."
Nothing's all right, she wanted to say.
Peripherally, almost like a sixth sense, she became aware that the song was ending. Christie's hand shot out to the control panel beside them to start the next CD. Her hand bumped into Rick's as he reached for the same button. Christie wasn't sure which one of them actually started the song.
As the music started to play, he took her hand, twining his fingers through hers. He studied their hands for a moment, then looked straight into her eyes. Christie's heart hammered at the naked, exposed look in the gray eyes that searched hers. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly. "Rick, I have to-"
"Don't say it," Rick pulled her against him, and this time she didn't pull back.
He kissed her. She didn't respond, not at first, but that didn't stop Rick. His lips were insistent and persuasive. The night of the Christmas party might have been an impulse, a fluke, but this was no impulse. This was-something else. A gentle onslaught. Christie tried to hold rigid against it, but she was losing the battle. The pressure of his lips sent a warmth through her that made her weak.
Her resistance faded, then melted. As she dissolved against him and returned the kiss, she felt something loosen inside her. Weeks of holding back seemed to fall away, bit by bit, leaving her emotions stripped bare. She put her arms around his waist, just for something to hold on to, and the space between them closed once again. That other embrace had been tender, melting. This one had a growing urgency, almost a desperation. And again, in the back of her mind, she knew there was going to be a heavy price to pay. Christie brought her arms up, clinging to the taut muscles over his shoulder blades.
Rick felt the pressure of her fingers against his back and wrapped his arms still more securely around her. He heard the sound he remembered so well-that low, tiny moan that seemed to come from somewhere far back inside her. It filled his ears, and it echoed somewhere inside him. She fit so perfectly in his arms, soft, firm and delicate all at the same time. He barely broke the kiss before he started on a new one, determined to keep her fastened to him. If he didn't let go of her, she couldn't leave. It felt that simple.
There would be no going back after this, and he knew it. But he didn't want to go back. He couldn't. No more happy talk in the hallways, no more pretending to be just pals. This was all or nothing. He was going for broke.
Because, for all he knew, he was kissing her goodbye.
When the kiss was over, Rick pulled her close, and Christie felt his cheek rest on top of her head.
"Christie, I know."
She hardly recognized the husky voice as Rick's. One of his hands tangled lazily through her hair. "I know about the job in Tucson." This time he was the one who let out a shuddering breath. "And I don't want you to go."
It was like having two bombs drop in her lap at once.
He knew. And he was asking her not to leave.
She hadn't known until now how badly she'd wanted to hear that. And it didn't do her a bit of good. If she stayed, what then? Quit her job? For a moment, standing with the support of Rick's solid warmth, she found herself considering it. But it should be a happy choice, one she could make with a full heart, and she didn't know if she could do that.
A strange, heavy silence filled the room. It took Christie a moment to figure out why. The last song had run out. And Rick Fox, the man who loathed dead air, didn't move.
After a second or two, Christie couldn't stand it any more. She wrenched away and hit the console to start the next CD player. It was in CD-2, back from the shop once again, and she was paid back for her efforts by the familiar thrumming noise as the song stuck. Christie clenched her teeth, advanced CD-1 to another track, and fired it off instead. She scrambled to load the next song, trying to get things back in order. If she could just deal with things here in the studio-things she had control over-she'd be all right. But her heart was racing.
Rick laughed raggedly. "So who doesn't care any more?"
She didn't want to turn around. It meant facing Rick, and that meant facing the turmoil she was in. So she didn't turn around. She tried to keep her voice steady, even though she was still shaken from the intensity of his kiss. "Rick, I need you to go."
"That's it?" His voice was closer now. She was cornered in the tiny counter area, with Rick behind her and the bank of CD players in front of her. "Just go?"
Christie crossed her arms tight in front of her, clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms, trying for some external pain to battle what was going on inside her. She felt as if she were filled with broken glass. Everything hurt.
"Come on, Rick, what do you expect?" She forced herself to turn and face him. He was closer than she expected, but she still managed to avoid his eyes. She fixed her gaze instead on the rumpled shoulder of his shirt, where her head had rested a few minutes ago.
He seemed to have recovered from their embrace; his tone was insanely reasonable. "Look, I know it hasn't been easy-"
"Hasn't been easy?" She'd never heard more outrageous words. "It's been easy enough for you."
"That's not true." She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and her heart thudded faster. They looked so earnest, so sincere. She reminded herself how sincere he could sound when he was advertising yet another never-to-be-repeated offer on the car of her choice. The voice was good, but those eyes could sell a whole fleet of cars. Christie made herself look away again, watching Rick's arm instead as he passed his hand through his hair. "Christie, if you could just wait a little while longer before-"
She shut out the calming voice before he could sell her another bill of goods. "Wait for what? Why wouldn't I leave? I can't keep doing this." She'd wanted to keep the emotion out of her voice, but now she couldn't even keep up with the words. They rushed out ahead of her, while she just watched and listened. It was like an out-of-body experience. "What am I supposed to do? Risk my job so we go into another hot clinch for five minutes every month? Or sneak off to the transmitter room for-"
"I never said anything like that."
"You never say anything." She looked at him again and tried, as hard as she could, to feel nothing but the anger and frustration she'd been cycling through for the past several weeks. "You just click on and off like a light switch, whenever it suits you."
"Christie, stop." He took her by the shoulders. She backed up against the counter, ramrod straight. He closed his eyes briefly, and Christie watched him draw in a long breath. "There might be another way."
"I know." Her eyes burned. She spoke around the huge ache in her throat. "I know what your other way is. One of us quits. Let's see-who would that be? The one who's been at it all these years? Or the one who just started a few months ago?" He started to speak, but she cut him off. If she didn't, she knew she'd cave in. She flailed for something to fight him off. "Even if I did, how do I know you'd even be around a month later? You've chucked one relationship for radio already."
It was a direct hit. Rick's hands dropped away from her shoulders. His face changed. He'd never looked at her so coldly, not even that first day he'd interviewed her. That look had been preoccupied and slightly annoyed. This look was ice. She felt that chill all the way through her-the pit of her stomach, the tips of her toes, but most of all, her heart. And she knew she'd destroyed everything.
He turned and walked out before she could say anything more.
She didn't move again until she heard the outside door close behind him. Christie looked at the clock. It was a quarter to four. Against Rick's long-standing order, she cracked open the blinds. It was dark outside, so she barely caught a glimpse of his rapidly retreating figure walking toward the parking garage. She'd fought him off, all right.
From the speakers behind her, the singer whined out yet another lovesick ballad.
Back at his apartment, Rick dropped onto the couch, his arm over his eyes. So much for going for broke. He'd stuck his neck out, been about to stick it out the rest of the way, when she'd ripped his head off.
Masochistically, he'd listened to her on the short drive home, as Christie recapped the earthquake and the evacuation with smooth competence. There was nothing in her voice to suggest what she'd just been through, unless it was a certain fierce effort to sound just as professional as ever. He recognized that trick from the days after his marriage broke up. The more miserable he got on the inside, the more defiantly cheerful he got on the outside. At least while he was on the air.
You're turning into me, girl, he thought. And it's not a good idea.
Rick reached for the phone on the end table by the couch and called the station. He recorded a message at the front desk, explaining the overnight emergency, and said he'd be in later. He'd never called in sick in the five years he'd been there, and he couldn't remember ever calling in late. But he'd better get some rest, even though sleep sounded impossible.
Rick shut his eyes and tried to shut out his thoughts. Christie's last words to him-that final, verbal slapstill burned there. He could try to tell himself she'd just been trying to put the brakes on a hopeless situ ation. Because she knew it was hopeless, knew it better than he did. But he knew the price of putting a job before a relationship. Knew it better than she did. Maybe, like him, she'd learn the hard way.
Whatever made her say it, one fact was inescapable. It was more true than she knew.
Sylvia's affair had made him angry-furious-and it had hurt. But underneath, there was the sneaking suspicion that it didn't hurt quite the way it should. It was what had made it easier, if not to forgive Sylvia, at least to get back on civil ground. He knew he'd failed at the marriage, too. Not as visibly or dramatically as Sylvia, and maybe not as badly. But he'd been single-minded and more than a little self-centered. His passion for the job, and that ambition to take L.A. by storm, had been all-consuming. He hadn't gone to someone else, but then, he hadn't needed to. If he was honest, he had to admit that his heart was somewhere else to begin with.
But no. He'd been wronged, and he'd practically worn it like a badge, because it put everyone on his side. He could magnanimously say he'd made mistakes too, and still look like a hero by comparison. And when it came to getting close in relationships, it was a comfortable cop-out. Sorry, can't do that, I've been hurt.
It was easy. Or it had been, until Christie.
That was all moot now. Because she had an interview in Tucson on Monday, and he had no way to stop her even if he wanted to.
Definitely not the pink one, Christie thought.
She stared into her closet at the dress she'd worn for her first interview with Rick. That appointment had been a near disaster, and the dress held too many associations for her now anyway. She knew she'd never wear it again. The navy one she'd worn for her second interview wasn't looking like a good choice, either.
Get a grip, she told herself.
It was really too soon to pack for Tucson, at any rate. She wasn't leaving until the day after tomorrow. Her plan was to drive out there Sunday, sleep there that night, and go in fresh for her morning appointment. Afterward, she could make the eight-hour drive back to Santa Moreno and still have time to get several hours of sleep before her air shift.
If Rick still had her on the schedule.
Whether or not she got the job, whether Rick made the official decision or she did, she had to leave KYOR. After last night, that was crystal clear. She would stay out her two weeks' notice, if that was what Rick wanted; by now, they'd both had plenty of practice politely avoiding each other.
She rested her head against the open closet door and refused to cry. She'd managed a few fitful hours of sleep when she got home, only to wake up and remember everything that had gone so wrong last night. Diving under the counter was probably the last smart thing she'd done. Too bad she couldn't have stayed down there. If she had those few hours in the studio to live over again, what would she do differently?
If she had the past few months to live over again, what would she do differently?
Not to have known Rick? Impossible. Not to have been his friend? It was hard to picture. Never to have kissed him? She closed her eyes hard. It hurt, but she wasn't going to cry. It was Friday, so she didn't work tonight, since Friday night was actually Saturday morning. The time between now and the Tucson interview weighed on her. She didn't know what to do with herself. But the one thing she was determined not to do was cry over a nonexistent relationship.
She finally decided what she should be doing: writing her letter of resignation.
Yvonne picked up the phone in the studio. "KYOR."
"Yvonne, it's Christie. Do you need me this afternoon?"
There was something wrong with Christie's voice. Yvonne turned down the monitor speakers, to the point where she could keep track of the music without being distracted by it. "Nothing crucial." Fridays were always a madhouse at the station, but she'd manage. The strain in her friend's voice took priority. "What's wrong?"
"Rick and I were up half the night for an emergency, and-things got bad."
Yvonne had been wondering about that ever since she heard Rick would be late. "The earthquake? I know. Rick called in too. I thought it was a sign of the apocalypse."
"Rick called in?"
"Uh-huh. He told Karen at the front desk he'd be in later. What happened, sweetie?"
"Oh, Yvonne, everything blew last night. He hates me."
"No way," Yvonne said. "I never thought Rick would ever call in. Not unless he got laryngitis so bad he had to tap out a signal in Morse code. That's not hate, honey. That's love."
"You weren't there last night." Christie's tone was flat, dead.
It was time to back-announce the last song. Yvonne cued the next one, instead of interrupting their conversation. "Are you okay, sweetie?"
"Not very. But I will be."
Stubborn. "Well, listen, take it easy. And call me later on. We'll do something tonight, okay? Maybe rent a chick flick."
"That sounds nice." But Christie's voice was still faint. "I'll be down at the
station for a few minutes later on this afternoon. I've got something to take care of first."
Christie went back over her resignation letter one more time. Her official reason for leaving-"to pursue other opportunities"-took up the least time and space. She spent the rest of the letter acknowledging both Rick and Yvonne for their encouragement and support. She even included a friendly word about Rob. She didn't know if anyone ever read these things, once they were dropped into a file, but she wanted to put it on record somewhere. She'd done several drafts, until she'd said everything she could think of to say. Still, she wasn't satisfied, and finally Christie admitted to herself why.
What she wanted to say most, she couldn't.
She loved Rick. Loved him as much as she'd ever loved the job, and now she couldn't have either one. She'd made sure of that last night. That cold look when he left told her she'd burned her bridges, but good. And it was just as well. She couldn't stay. It had only been a matter of time before it all fell apart.
Now she could go somewhere else and pursue her dream with a clear head. And if a handsome boss ever looked at her sideways, she'd never look back. She'd keep her eyes straight ahead, on the controls where they belonged, and ignore any possible temptation. But Christie knew there was no danger of that.
She'd never again, in her life, meet another Rick Fox.
Finally, she cried.
A little after one o'clock, Yvonne peered down the hall and saw Rick heading for his office with a bundle of mail tucked under his arm, one letter already open in his hand. He went inside and, for the second time she could remember, closed the door behind him. The plot thickened.
A minute later, her phone lit. The extension number showed that the call was from inside the building. She picked it up. "Studio."
Rick said, "Yvonne, have you heard from Christie?"
"She called a little while ago." Yvonne stood up and leaned over the console, craning her neck to see Rick's door. It was still closed. "I think she might be coming in later."
Love on the Air Page 13