headphones on the desk.
Dr. Jamie wasn’t on such solid footing now. Darlene leaned back as she took off her own headphones. Her gaze went to the production booth and Marcy Davis. The woman wasn’t looking so smug, either. The two of them were Barbie dolls, and Darlene wanted to make them squirm. Marcy turned to look at the door as a man walked into the other booth. Perfect. It was Chase Newman, the inspiration for this adventure.
He spoke to the board operator for a moment, then he turned so she could see his face. Good God, he was stunning. Fabulous jaw, dark brows over smoky, intense eyes. Just the right amount of five-o’-clock shadow. Now, he was an expert on sex. There was no question the man was a maestro in the bedroom. Those lips alone could send any woman over the edge.
She was a freakin’ genius. This was perfect. Dr. Jamie didn’t stand a chance. And wouldn’t it be fun when all of New York watched her fall on her perky little ass. He just had to be willing to play along. Darlene would make sure he was willing.
JAMIE TRIED to smile at Whittaker, but she couldn’t. She wanted the reporter gone, the interview finished, her show over, and this nonsense dismissed. Where was Marcy? She should be riding to the rescue, dammit.
Whittaker did her a favor and left the room. At least Jamie could be grateful for that. But where was Marcy? Jamie’s program was going up in smoke, and Marcy had decided to take a brief vacation. Jamie was going to have to kill her. In the meantime, though, she’d better get ready to sway this conversation another way. This was her show, dammit, not Darlene’s.
Damn! Cujo’s signal to her was desperate. She had no idea how long she’d been stewing. “Welcome back. This is Dr. Jamie Hampton, and we’re here with Darlene Whittaker from Vanity Fair. Let’s talk about your lives. Is there a question about your body you’ve always wanted to ask? How about sex? Come on, guys. Masturbation. Cross-dressing. G-spots. Don’t be embarrassed.”
All the lines were blinking, but according to Jamie’s computer, Gabby Fisher was on line one. God bless her little neurotic heart. Gabby was a regular, and she wasn’t shy about taking air time. She’d fill up a good ten minutes. Just as Jamie was about to press the button, Whittaker struggled through the door and hurried to her seat.
Jamie shoved the button down, terrified by the gleam in Whittaker’s eyes. “Gabby, hi.”
“Hi, Dr. Jamie.”
“What can I do for you tonight?”
“I think it would be great to have you show us, you know, how to be strong with a man.”
Jamie cursed silently. This wasn’t going to go away. “You already know how to be strong. You don’t need me to show you.”
“I might know how,” Gabby said, her voice dejected, “but it never works out that way. I guess I’m just not like you.”
“You can be whatever you want to be, Gabby. You just need to shift your beliefs about yourself. A stunt like this isn’t going to show you anything.”
Whittaker moved her chair closer to the desk. “Are you afraid, Dr. Jamie?”
“No, not at all. But my expertise is in helping others. This isn’t about me.”
“But don’t you think it should be?”
“What, so all surgeons should remove their own gall-bladders, just for the experience?” Gabby laughed.
Whittaker didn’t. “I think you’re hiding behind that title, Jamie. I think you don’t want to put your money where your mouth is.”
“You’re right. In this instance, I don’t.”
Whittaker’s gaze shifted to the window, then back again. “It would make a hell of an interesting experiment. I know your listeners would learn a lot. Show them firsthand what happens when a man is out for seduction. See what happens. Instead of talking about the experiment, go into the lab.”
Jamie forced herself to keep calm—to not reach over and strangle the reporter. “I just don’t believe this is the kind of thing one can demonstrate. It’s not like baking a cake.”
Whittaker smiled at her, then turned to the mike. “Well, audience, are we going to let her off the hook? I’ll tell you something. My magazine wants this information. All the women in New York want this information. This could be the most important radio program ever. Or, Dr. Jamie, were you just blowing so much smoke?”
“I don’t blow smoke. Ever.”
“Then, that leaves only one option.”
Damn her to hell and back. Marcy was going to pay for this. And so was Fred Holt.
Jamie leaned in to her mike. “I’ll tell you all about options…right after these commercials.”
She saw Cujo jump at the unexpected change in the schedule. But he was on top of things, and a second later Big Al’s Furniture Mart announced a super, super, super sale.
She made sure her mute button was on, then turned to Whittaker. “What the hell are you doing?”
The reporter smiled so smugly that it was an invitation for a whack. “My job. Just like you’re doing your job.”
“You know this isn’t the kind of thing one can demonstrate. You’re talking about a publicity stunt.”
“Not necessarily. It could be very educational. If any of it’s true. Is it?”
“Yes, it is. But I don’t intend to be anyone’s guinea pig.”
Whittaker shook her head. “Want to bet? If you don’t do it, I’m going to smear you and your radio show into the dirt. I know that Independence Broadcasting is looking at buying your show for national syndication. And I know that one way or another, they’re going to be influenced by this piece I’m writing. So the choice is yours. Play ball, or find yourself a new job.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Whittaker smiled. “Because I can.”
Jamie caught Cujo’s hand signal out of the corner of her eye. She turned back to the mike, fuming. She wouldn’t be blackmailed. Not by this witch. Marcy would tell Whittaker what she could do with her stupid idea. But right now, Jamie had to keep control of her broadcast. “Welcome back.”
The production booth door opened. Fred Holt and Marcy walked in. Marcy looked panicked. Fred turned to face Jamie, his jaw set and his gaze filled with dollar signs. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to get the gist. Fred wanted this to happen. He wanted his station to be number one and stay number one, and as far as he was concerned, Jamie was his ticket. But surely even Fred Holt could see this was a stupid prank. He wouldn’t be manipulated by this crazy woman, would he?
Cujo flapped his arms at her, then pointed at the phone lines.
Dammit! “Gabby, you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here. And I’m really glad you’re going to do this, uh, thing. But maybe you could explain what it is you’re going to do.”
Whittaker leaned forward. “Here’s what
