Not at Eight, Darling

by Sherryl Woods

  He chuckled at her reaction. “You bet I am. Think you’re up to it?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting hers with a question that had nothing to do with challenges and everything to do with romance and the very real male-female pull that had been playing tug-of-war with them since the moment they met.

  A perfectly manicured, very masculine finger reached out to the tear in her hose and slowly traced the path it had taken from ankle to knee.

  Barrie gasped softly. “Now we get to the part where you ask for my cooperation,” she murmured shakily, fighting the heat that had swept through her at his touch.

  He shook his head. “Not everything in this business comes down to sex.”

  She glanced down at his hand, which was still resting lightly, provocatively on her leg. “I wonder where I got the idea that it did?”

  He chuckled and removed his hand. “Oh, I want you, Barrie MacDonald. I’m not about to deny it. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you in that studio this afternoon. We’re two of a kind, and I think we’d be very good together.”

  He paused to let his words sink in. Barrie gulped, wet her lips and waited breathlessly for what was to come. She couldn’t have managed two sensible words had her life depended on it.

  “But I won’t ever ask anything of you that you’re not prepared to offer,” he promised in a voice that tantalized her with its rough huskiness. “And it will never have anything to do with Goodbye, Again.”

  He paused again, and his blue-green eyes locked with hers. Finally, after several long seconds in which Barrie could feel each contraction of her pounding heart, he asked softly, “Do you believe me?”

  Oddly, despite her thundering heartbeat and the wildfire that blazed through her, heating her blood to a glorious warmth, she did believe him. She believed she could trust him. She certainly believed he wanted her. And she also knew with absolute certainty that she’d better get the hell out of there before she made him that offer he’d just sworn to wait for.

  “I think I’d better be going,” she announced firmly.

  “Stay.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Does it matter? I’m leaving?”

  “Okay, producer lady,” he said quietly, surprising Barrie with his complete lack of anger, his ready capitulation. “If that’s what you have to do. But I’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m sure,” Barrie said dryly. “You’ll probably decide you want that sheepdog in the show, after all.”

  “Now that you mention it…”

  “Forget it, buster,” she said emphatically, unable to prevent the small grin that tugged at her mouth and softened the effect of her vehemence. “Heath Donaldson is going to flip out when he hears about the time change. If I have to tell him to incorporate a sheepdog, as well, he’ll quit faster than you can say demographics.”

  “In that case, I’ll hold off on the sheepdog…for a few days,” he said, his eyes taking on the sort of caressing, speculative masculine gleam that usually precedes a kiss.

  “Good night, Mr. Compton,” Barrie said firmly, ducking past his descending head.

  “Good night, Barrie MacDonald.” The words were softly spoken and tinged with tolerant amusement.

  As she walked to the elevator, Barrie wondered idly what it would be like to hear those perfectly innocuous, ordinary words murmured in her ear as she fell asleep each night. Probably wonderful. She pressed the Down button and leaned weakly against the wall while she waited.

  MacDonald, you are crazy. Certifiably insane! You are going to get yourself in over your head on this one yet. She shook her head. Going to? Lady, the water’s already up to your eyebrows!

  Chapter Three

  The door to Barrie’s tiny nondescript office crashed open at barely 8:00 a.m., and Danielle breezed in with a paper bag in one hand and her script in the other. She tossed the script into a chair, took two cups of coffee and two gooey sweetrolls from the bag and arranged them neatly on the desk, then sat down on the sofa with her jeans-clad legs crossed under her and stared at Barrie expectantly.

  “Well?”

  “Don’t you ever knock?”

  “Rarely,” she retorted easily, obviously not the least bit put off by Barrie’s grumpiness. “Why are you in such a snit? Didn’t your dinner with the scrumptious Michael Compton go well?”

  “Dinner was just fine,” Barrie admitted honestly. “The problem came after dinner.”

  Danielle’s gray eyes immediately narrowed. “Ohhh…” she began softly. Then her voice heated up angrily. “Why, the absolute gall of that man! Did he come on to you? File charges. That’s what you should do. File charges. You can’t let him get away with that.”

  “Whoa! You sound like an ambulance chaser. Do you have an attorney someplace who needs a case?” Barrie responded, chuckling at her friend’s immediate rush to her defense. She reassured her, “It was nothing like that.”

  “He didn’t come on to you?” Danielle’s tone teetered between disappointment and skepticism.

  Barrie’s expression softened as she recalled in precise and blood-stirring detail Michael’s almost casual advances, his seductive promises. “I wouldn’t say that exactly,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t like what you meant.”

  “You mean you liked it.”

  “No, I didn’t like it,” Barrie said defensively. “I mean, it was okay. Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”

  “He got to you, didn’t he?” Danielle said triumphantly. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist those thighs.”

  “Damn it, Dani, it is not what you think!” There was an almost plaintive note in her protest. Michael Compton was the network vice president for programming, her boss, and that was all. It had to be. She was not going to let Danielle or her own skittering pulse rate tell her otherwise.

  “Then what was the problem?”

  “He’s moving the show to eight o’clock on Saturday,” she said in a rush of words, grateful to change the subject to one she knew would completely distract Danielle from her pursuit of the intimate details of her dinner with Michael.

  Her announcement had the desired effect. Danielle was clearly shocked. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Oh, but I am. He thinks a really fantastic contemporary show can pull in a young adult audience. He virtually challenged me to prove Goodbye, Again is good enough to do it.”

  “And, of course, you fell right into his trap?”

  “Trap? You mean did I agree to go along with him to get the series on the air? You’re damn right I did,” Barrie retorted heatedly. “I fought too long for this chance. I wasn’t about to throw it away, just because the network pulled a stupid stunt like this. We can make the show work for eight o’clock.”

  “How?” Danielle sounded disgustingly pessimistic.

  “By forgetting about the time slot and just doing a good television series. If it’s funny at nine-thirty, it’ll be just as funny at eight.”

  “Maybe on Wednesday, sweetie. Not on Saturday. On Saturday it had better be hysterical.”

  Barrie sighed. “So get Heath in here and start making it hysterical.”

  “That’s your job. I’m only the director.” Barrie glared at her, but before she could respond, the phone rang. When Barrie answered, she was greeted by the low, deep murmur of Michael’s voice.

  “Good morning, Barrie MacDonald.” He sounded just as seductive this morning as he had on parting last night. Barrie’s heart thundered loudly in her ears as she realized how easy it would be to become addicted to starting and ending her days like this.

  “Good morning,” she said calmly, unaware that her knuckles were turning white from clutching the receiver so tightly.

  “Michael?” Danielle mouthed the name silently. At Barrie’s nod, she grinned smugly, rose and tiptoed to the door. “I’ll leave you alone,” she whispered significantly as she waved cheerfully. Barrie had the oddest desire to strangle her.

&nbs
p; “Barrie, are you there?”

  “What?” she snapped, then softened her tone. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Is everything okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned and somewhat puzzled.

  “Everything’s just fine, Mr. Compton. Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “You sound funny. And you’re still calling me Mr. Compton. Are you upset about something?”

  Barrie took a deep breath. “I am not upset… Michael,” she protested tightly. “What do you want?”

  “I want to see you.”

  “About what?” she asked cautiously.

  He chuckled softly. “The usual,” he taunted. “Do you always cross-examine a man who’s asking you for a date?”

  “I didn’t realize that’s what you had in mind,” she said defensively. “We do have a business relationship, too, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. It does tend to cloud the issue, doesn’t it? Would you prefer it if I limited my professional calls to the workday and made my personal calls after hours?” he offered cheerfully.

  Barrie promptly felt foolish and lightened her tone. “That assumes that both of us work predictable, normal hours. When was the last time you came in at nine and left at five?”

  He paused for several seconds. “When I had the flu in 1977,” he recalled at last. “I see your point. Where does that leave us?”

  “I guess you’d better just state your business more clearly. For instance, you might suggest that we get together one evening for dinner and dancing. That is clearly a date,” she explained.

  “What if I ask you to go to a screening? Is that business or pleasure?”

  “If you play your cards right, it could be both.” Barrie heard the teasing comment as it came out of her mouth, and she cringed. She was asking for trouble, begging for it, in fact.

  “Oh, really?” he said in a voice that suddenly lowered to a husky growl. “That sounds promising.”

  “Have any screenings lined up?” she taunted.

  “Not for weeks.”

  “Too bad.”

  “How about dinner, then? I’ll even cook.”

  “You’re going to cook?” she retorted skeptically. “Is that the modern day equivalent of an invitation to view etchings?”

  “Not in my case,” he objected. “I take my skills as a chef seriously. I even have a food processor and a convection oven. So, how about it?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  Barrie gulped nervously. This was exactly the sort of contemporary fast-paced plunge-right-in courting she’d always believed in and had built into the concept for her series. No games, no promises, no commitment. Just dinner with a highly charged hint that passion was on the menu. So why did she want to shout that tonight was entirely too soon? Why did she have this persistent, nagging fear that men like this, men who swept you off your feet with a rush of attention, often dropped you in the dust just as quickly. It shouldn’t matter one whit to her if Michael Compton walked into her life today and out tomorrow. In today’s world you were supposed to shrug, say thanks for the memories and goodbye.

  Barrie shivered. She’d gotten to be very good at goodbyes. Her father had taken off more frequently than the flights from Los Angeles International Airport. Each time Barrie had watched her mother’s reserves of strength crumble a little more. She had sworn she would never be in that position and that no man would ever matter that much. She had built up defenses that would have made the combined forces of the army, navy and marines proud.

  With all that practice at self-protection, she could have dinner again with Michael Compton, she decided resolutely. Tonight or next week. It wouldn’t make any difference. She was perfectly capable of keeping her emotions in check.

  “Tonight’s just fine,” she said firmly, then wondered at the little thrill of anticipation that rippled along her spine. It was not the response of a woman who was indifferent. It was another clear-as-a-bell warning signal, and she was paying absolutely no attention to it. She had to be crazy.

  In a tone that was suddenly brisk and businesslike, indicating that he was probably no longer alone, Michael gave her his phone number and his address in Beverly Hills. “I’ll see you about eight, then. Call if you get lost.”

  Barrie had barely hung up the phone when there was a knock on her door. “Yes?” A messenger entered.

  “Miss MacDonald?” Barrie nodded. “I have a package for you.”

  When the messenger had deposited the huge, beautifully wrapped box on her desk and left, she took the card out of the envelope.

  “Enjoy these and think of me, just as I’ll be remembering last night. Michael.”

  She opened the box and found two pounds of huge ripe strawberries, which had been dipped in a rich dark chocolate. Her mouth immediately watered, and her pulse rate fluttered as she recalled Michael’s obvious arousal as he watched her eat those strawberries at dinner. She took one from the box now and bit slowly into it, savoring the sweet taste of the berry and the bittersweet taste of the chocolate. She closed her eyes. It was absolutely heavenly. It was also a provocative indication that Michael was interested in more than her skills as a producer and was determined to tantalize her with reminders of his more personal intentions. He might be a hard-nosed broadcasting executive, but he obviously had the sweetly seductive soul of a romantic.

  Before she could linger too long on the dangers of that combination, Danielle and Heath burst into the office in the midst of an already heated argument. Melinda Ashcroft, who’d been cast in the series’s lead role, was right behind them, her hands on her hips, her mouth pursed in her distinctive, sexy pout.

  “Barrie, I cannot ask Melinda to play this scene the way it’s written,” Danielle protested, throwing the open script down on Barrie’s desk.

  “It just doesn’t feel right,” Melinda agreed in the low, husky voice that could probably lure men to jump off cliffs. “Karen would not do something like that.”

  “What do you know about Karen?” Heath snarled. “I wrote this part, and I say she would do exactly that; she would storm into Mason’s office and confront him.”

  “In the middle of a business conference?” Danielle said skeptically. “Come on, Heath. Karen is supposed to be a rational, understanding woman. She is not going to jeopardize a big deal for Mason by screeching at him like a banshee in front of total strangers.”

  Barrie listened carefully to the raging argument, glanced at the script and then finally decided she’d better intercede before Heath’s blood pressure went through the roof again. Already the color in his neck was working its way from bright red to purple.

  “Quiet!” she shouted to make herself heard over the uproar. Danielle, Heath and Melinda promptly fell silent and stared at her, obviously stunned by her emphatic, no-nonsense outburst. “That’s better. Now would everyone please sit down, and let’s discuss this like civilized adults.”

  The discussion lasted most of the morning, and much of it was far from civilized. Despite Barrie’s best efforts to mediate, it seemed that her director, writer and the series’s star were far too angry with one another to compromise. Finally she’d had about all of the bickering she intended to take.

  “Okay, that’s it,” she announced decisively. “The scene stays. Karen wouldn’t just sit back and suffer in silence.”

  Heath smirked triumphantly.

  “However, Heath,” she began, watching his smile fade. “I want you to tone it down slightly. Melinda and Dani are right. She might go barging into that office, but she would never blow up like that once she realized she was interrupting a business meeting. Maybe she’d pretend she came in for some other reason, or maybe she’d mutter something under her breath and leave. I don’t know. You’re the writer. Work on it. I want to see the new dialogue after lunch.”

  It was midafternoon before the rehearsal was back on track, and Barrie was determined to get one decent run-through before she let any of the cast off for the evening.

  �
�Hon, I think we’re wasting our time,” Danielle told her at last. “Everybody’s worn out. Why don’t we call it quits and get on it again first thing in the morning?”

  Barrie sighed and inquired wearily, “What time is it?”

  “It’s eight-fifteen.”

  “What? It can’t be.” She buried her head in her arms. “How could I do this?”

  “Do what? What’s wrong?”

  “I was supposed to meet Michael for dinner fifteen minutes ago.”

  “And you forgot?” Danielle’s voice was incredulous. “You had a date with the boss, and you’ve been sitting here worrying about props?”

  “I haven’t been worrying about props. I’ve been trying to keep you, Heath and Melinda from killing one another.”

  “Honey, don’t you know that this was just a healthy disagreement among three rational adults?”

  “Rational? Adults? You’ve got to be kidding. The three of you have been behaving like juvenile delinquents.”

  “That’s just creative energy being unleashed,” Danielle said airily.

  “Well, why don’t you use some of that creative energy to dream up an excuse I can give to Michael for being late?”

  “How about the truth?”

  “You want me to tell the vice president for programming of this network, who ultimately pays our salaries and decides whether we will be on the air longer than six weeks, you want me to tell him that I forgot about our date? Are you crazy?”

  “I’m not the one who forgot the date with one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles,” Danielle reminded her smugly. “You did. You tell me who’s crazy.”

  “I don’t have time to stand here debating this with you. I’d better get myself over there before he burns whatever he’s cooking. I have a feeling ruining his dinner would be an even bigger sin than forgetting it.”

  “You’re going to his place? My, my!” The smug smirk was back.

  “Don’t say it, Dani, or I’ll blame my delay on you. How do you suppose Michael would feel about that?”