with? Text him? The thing was, she didn’t really mind asking the question. It was the dialogue that would surely follow. She could hear it now. I told you last night that it’s a horrible idea.
Her phone lit up with a text from Marcus. She nearly went into cardiac arrest. Are you awake?
She frowned at her phone. What in the world could he want?
It’s 8. I don’t go to bed this early.
Can we talk?
Again she had nothing in the way of pleasant facial expressions for her phone. If he was about to hurt her, again, she was done. Absolutely done.
About?
An invitation.
An invitation to what? Step into a boxing ring? Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d used her pride as a punching bag.
Well? he added.
Yes. Just call. Her phone rang a few seconds later. “Hey,” she said, with a voice so sultry and warm she wanted to slap herself. She was just making things worse.
“I know you must be getting ready to watch your show. I won’t keep you long.”
“I believe the more pressing question is, are you going to watch my show?”
“I don’t watch television at night.”
“Ah. Likely story.” She shifted in bed. “And no, I’m not watching my show. I never watch it. I can’t stand to see myself. And my voice. Ugh. I don’t like that, either.”
“Why don’t you like your own voice? I like mine.”
“Well, of course you do. That’s hardly fair. Pitting a Southern accent and a British accent against each other isn’t fair at all. I’ll never win.”
She heard strains of the Manhattan Matchmaker theme song through the phone line. The vision of Marcus watching her show materialized before her.
“You’re watching my show. I can hear it.” She’d never been in his apartment, so she had to make up that part. Was he sitting in the living room, maybe watching with the ultimate fans in his household, the nanny and housekeeper? Or had everyone gone home for the day? Was he doing what she was doing, curled up in bed, dressed in pajamas? Boxer shorts?
“I’ve got it on right now. I can see why you don’t like your voice.”
She sat up in bed and did the unthinkable—she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She cringed a bit every time she had to watch herself on screen. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like to be a film actress, to have to watch herself on the giant screen.
“It’s not so much your actual voice. I like your real voice. It’s the one on TV that doesn’t sound quite right. It doesn’t sound real.”
She smirked and sank farther into the pillows. His voice was a definite weakness of hers. She’d better not tell him how much she’d be willing to give up if he asked her in the right tone. “Well, the whole thing isn’t really real. The matchmaker part of it is real, and the couples are real, but the rest of it is just a show. That’s not even my real office.” She pointed at the screen as if he were in the room.
“It’s not?”
“Nope. It’s a real therapist’s office, but not mine. Mine has horrible light, and it’s too small to get all of the camera equipment in there.”
“Interesting. Although I’m not surprised. These shows all seem to be so contrived. I guess that’s why I haven’t watched your show more than in passing. My nanny and housekeeper have it on all the time, though.”
She didn’t really care to continue on this path, the one where Marcus went on about the ways in which he thought her show was idiotic. “What do you want, Marcus?”
“Oh. Right. I called you.”
“You did,” Ashley answered.
* * *
Just come out with it, he thought. Either she was going to say no and he’d have to tell his dad and Joanna to move on to greener pastures, or she’d say yes and he’d spend an entire evening ignoring his attraction to Ashley for the sake of pleasing his dad. He cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for taking me to the party. It gave us an incredible boost in business, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“So my silly show actually helped you?”
He fought the grumble that wanted to leave his throat. “Look, I’m sorry if it seems like I don’t take what you do seriously. Clearly a lot of people do, and I’m thankful for that.”
“Careful, Marcus. You almost didn’t insult me right there.”
He deserved that. He deserved whatever she cared to dish up to him.
“And remind me someday to show you how seriously I take my job.”
He watched as her show returned from a commercial, a long shot of her walking down a crowded sidewalk, eventually arriving at what he now knew wasn’t really her office. The TV version of her was nice to look at but had nothing on the real Ashley. Just across the hall, all alone. Actually, thinking about the layout of the two apartments, he was fairly certain their bedrooms butted up against each other. Like I need more torment. He fought the urge to ask what she was wearing, although he wanted to settle on the fabricated image of her in an oversize T-shirt and sweatpants. That made it easier to have this conversation, but his idiotic mind kept picturing her in a tiny tank top and yoga pants. “I’m sorry, Ashley. How many times do I have to say it?”
“I don’t know. I sorta like the ring of it. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
He deserved that, too. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Okay.”
Just ask her. “I was calling to do more than apologize. I wanted to see if you’d like to see what sort of mileage we can get out of being seen together one more time.”
“Really?” Her voice was oddly hopeful.
“Yes. Why did you say it like that?”
She blew out a breath. “Because the network wants us to be seen together again. I was supposed to ask you the same thing, but I was dreading it.”
“Is that why you were lingering in the hall earlier tonight?”
“Maybe...”
He had to smile at her precocious nature, and the fact that he wasn’t completely stuck with a losing hand. Ashley was in the same predicament. “So I take it that’s a yes?”
“I think we should go to dinner, yes. But I’m going to ask you questions at the restaurant, and you have to promise me you’ll answer them.”
“In the course of normal conversation, I hope.”
“I’m not making any promises. All I’m
