Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (39 page)

My new boss is a bonehead. Cute—but a real jerk. Pick up dry cleaning before Friday. Borrow red dress from Suzy.

If there had been any question left in his mind that he’d made a tremendous error in judgment, it no longer existed. He had seriously underestimated Claire Carson. At this point, if anyone was going to be taught a lesson in humility, it looked as if it would be him.

Trace picked up the pad and stared at the words on the page. He pulled in a long, deep breath.
Bonehead.
Anger swirled inside him.
Cute.
He swallowed hard and tossed the pad into the nearest trash can.

Claire would soon know just how cute he could be.

Chapter Three

Claire sighed with relief as she entered the WCMB building on Friday. She didn’t have to see Trace Walker today. Her spirit rejoiced. The last three days had been pure agony, but she had accomplished at least part of her mission. Claire grinned. She had the man so confused and agitated at times that he literally stood speechless.

Boarding the elevator with a half dozen other WCMB employees, she exchanged polite greetings. She was infinitely grateful for the comforting routine of her real job.

The thought of facing her
other
job on Monday made her cringe.

No doubt Trace Walker already regretted hatching this scheme. Every day she’d worn a tight, short, sexy dress. Yesterday’s selection had been a red halter dress straight out of Frederick’s—one she would never in a million years have worn to work except for this little charade. Claire had strutted around in the matching stiletto heels like a showgirl. Every twenty minutes or so she’d dash into Trace’s office to see if he needed anything. His agitation had been so evident that Claire’d had a difficult time keeping a straight face in his presence.

When she’d slipped between him and a file cabinet to assist with finding a particular file that he actually needed no help at all to locate, Claire thought she’d heard him groan. Of course, she reminded herself as she stepped off the elevator onto the sixth floor, she’d had the urge to groan as well. As much as she’d like to be, she wasn’t completely unaffected by him. Try as she might to ignore it, he did have a body to die for. He was definitely the best looking man she’d ever seen and she’d seen plenty since deciding on a career in television.

Her only motivation for trying to get under his skin, she reminded herself, amounted to pure and simple revenge. Nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

No matter how attracted she was to him, she would not get involved with the man.

Ever.

She had discovered one major flaw in what would otherwise appear to be the perfect male—he had no life. As far as she could tell, he had no hobbies, unless working out counted. He had no friends, either. Gabe didn’t count.

What a waste. Rich, gorgeous, and maybe just as talented as he’d been ten years ago. Now more than ever, Claire had a serious itch to know just what made Walker tick. There had to be a deep, dark secret there somewhere. Something to do with his young wife’s death, she’d bet. That was when he’d opted to go into seclusion...

Wait! Claire jerked to a stop just outside her dressing room door. She’d been so caught up in thoughts of Trace that she’d forgotten to say her usual silent prayer of thanks for an uneventful journey when she’d gotten off the elevator. Claire shrugged and said it anyway. Better late than never. She’d worked at WCMB for four years without getting trapped in an elevator, which was a pretty impressive feat considering the regularity with which they malfunctioned.

“Claire!” Ron called as he ran up next to her.

“Hey, Ron.” She smiled her first real smile since early Monday. Boy, it was good to see a friendly face.

“You know the deal with Dr. Hearn?” he asked, following Claire into her dressing room.

“Good morning, Claire.”

“Sorry I’m late, Wanda,” Claire apologized to the waiting makeup artist. “Traffic was murder this morning.”

“No prob,” Wanda assured her.

“About today’s guest,” Ron interrupted.

Claire turned back to her producer. “I read his bio and the suggested interview questions, if that’s what you mean.”

“And you know that he plans a little show and tell?” Ron asked, concern etched in his features. “As in a live animal demo?”

“Well, yes.” Claire frowned. What was up with Ron? “He is an animal psychologist. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“No,” Ron said, clearly puzzled. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t.”

Claire shrugged. “No, I guess not. It’s not one of my favorite kinds of segments, but it’ll have to do since the Trace Walker story is out for this week.”

She winced inwardly at the thought that the sequel would be on indefinite hold unless she could figure a way to sway the new owner of the station. Claire drew in a deep breath and then let it go a little at a time. Walker wouldn’t change his mind.

“You know that this Dr. Hearn was recommended by Walker’s people?” Ron persisted.

“He’s the boss, right?” Claire gave Ron a resigned look. “I mean, what can we do?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Claire collapsed in her chair so Wanda could work her magic. “How about lunch after the show?” she suggested to her friend and visibly flustered producer. “I’ll tell you all about the secretarial saga thus far and you can bring me up to date on the baby business.”

“Sounds good.” Ron smiled at the mention of the new son he bragged about all the time. Before walking out the door, he turned back to Claire. “About this Dr. Hearn, if you’re okay with it, then so am I.”

“I’m okay.” Claire returned his smile. “I have to be.”

Ron nodded and left Claire to prepare for show time, which was, she noticed, in less than thirty minutes. Wanda touched up her makeup and hair in record time. Claire slipped off her street clothes and pulled on a lavender dress provided by a sponsor. She stepped into the matching heels and checked her reflection in the mirror before leaving the dressing room. Good to go.

Claire took a deep breath as she walked across the set. She rolled her head to stretch her neck. Another deep breath and she was ready. She moved to stand in front of her chair and watched the stage director’s countdown.

The curtains opened to reveal the live studio audience and Claire smiled for the audience and the camera.

“Hello, Nashville. I’m Claire Carson and welcome to
Heart Beat
.” She paused for the round of applause. “This morning our special guest is Dr. Richard Hearn. Dr. Hearn’s work in the world of animal psychology is widely respected.”

“Dr. Hearn,” she announced and then turned to greet her guest as he arrived from stage left. The distinguished-looking gray-haired man shook her outstretched hand and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek. After taking their seats, Claire began the series of preapproved questions.

Dr. Hearn presented himself well, Claire thought during a commercial break a few minutes into the interview, and the audience responded to him warmly. All in all, things had gone quite smoothly. Now, as the on-air cue sounded, she only had to ask the final question.

“Dr. Hearn, you planned to give our audience a demonstration this morning on your theory about human and animal bonding, isn’t that right?”

“That’s correct, Claire.” He nodded and smiled graciously, then shifted to view stage left. “I’d like to present Penelope and her pet pigs,” Dr. Hearn announced, smiling proudly.

Claire felt her eyes widen in disbelief as a tall, slender woman walked onstage, leading three little pigs on leashes. The leggy, buxom blonde wore the tightest, shortest skirt Claire had ever seen. But even worse, the pigs were decked out in extravagant bows and little designer pig clothing.

Half in denial, half in horror, Claire watched as Penelope’s little pigs responded to her commands to sit, roll over and speak. And then, when Claire was certain the performance couldn’t get any worse, Penelope and her pigs began a little choreographed routine. The audience, and even the crew, guffawed. Claire had no choice but to get through the last few minutes of the program. She smiled and nodded at what she hoped were all the appropriate times. She heard little of what Dr. Hearn said beyond that point and even less of the audience’s response.

The one thing on Claire’s mind at that moment was the slow and painful demise of Trace Walker.

~*~

Trace hit back search on his DVR remote. He grinned. Revenge
was
sweet. Satisfaction made him sigh as he pushed play to view the last few minutes of Claire’s program again. She’d made him crazy all week, but it was worth every minute of it to see the look on her face right
there
. He hit pause on the remote and laughed out loud at the outraged expression on her pretty face. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d replayed that moment since the show had aired.

He peeled off his jacket and dropped it onto his desk. Yes sirree, he’d gotten her good. He walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He took a long swallow of scotch and stared back at the image of Claire frozen on the screen. Grinning, he had to confess he hadn’t felt this elated over a victory in a very long time. He jerked off his tie and tossed it on the conference table. He hadn’t gotten rip-roaring drunk in ages, either—maybe he’d do just that. He could watch Claire’s mortified expression over and over while he quietly drank himself into oblivion.

The door to his office swung open and banged against the wall. Trace looked up just in time to observe Claire storm across the room. The expression on her face bore no resemblance whatsoever to the one on the flat screen hanging on the wall.

Still dressed in the purple dress he’d reluctantly admired as he viewed her program, Claire paused just long enough to glare at the frozen frame before resuming her journey. She planted herself right in front of Trace and glared at him with utter contempt. Her slender arms were at her sides, fists clenched for battle.

Trace set his glass down and leaned one hip against the bar. “I really enjoyed your show today, Miss Carson.” He tried not to grin, unfortunately between his jubilation and the scotch it was impossible not to. Damn, but he’d gotten her good. “I even DVR’d it,” he gestured toward the screen, “so I could relish it over and over again.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Walker, because it’s the last time you’ll ever have the opportunity to make a fool out of me,” she said curtly, her voice trembling with the rage he knew seethed beneath that lovely exterior.

“Now, now, Miss Carson,” he taunted, “there’s no need to get so worked up over a little barnyard humor.”

Trace didn’t see it coming—never even had a chance to brace for the blow. Claire slammed her fist into his face like a seasoned boxer. The punch landed square on his nose. His head snapped back and the room danced. He shook his head to clear away the burst of stars that flashed before his eyes and brought his hand up to protect his throbbing nose.

“You hit me,” he blurted, shocked. Pain rolled in waves across his face, focusing on the throb in the center.

Claire looked even more shocked than he felt. The anger drained from her face as she rubbed the knuckles of her right hand. Trace felt suddenly compelled to ask her if she were all right.

Hell,
she’d
hit
him
! Why should he care if her hand hurt?

Damn
. He groaned as he examined his nose with both hands just to be sure she hadn’t broken it. He glared at the minx staring up at him. How could she hit that hard? Trace swore hotly when another stab of pain knifed through his head. Claire drew back against the bar at his ungentlemanly outburst.

“Oh, my God.” Her eyes were round with disbelief. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can’t believe you did it, either,” he barked, the sound more nasal than fierce, then winced at the pain generated by speaking. His whole face hurt. How could she possibly hit so hard? What a wimp he must look like. Decked by a damned female.

“I’m so sorry. I just...” Her voice faltered and then faded.

Trace glared at her.

“Ice pack... you need an ice pack,” she stammered.

Before he could summon a proper answer, Claire rummaged through the cabinet underneath the bar until she found a towel and filled it with ice from the crystal and silver bucket Gentry kept stocked. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep the ice from scattering across the counter.

Good, Trace thought. She should be trembling. He hoped she cried, too. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and swore another hot oath under his breath.

Claire lifted her gaze to his. “Let me see,” she demanded softly.

“Forget it,” he growled. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand just to make sure it wasn’t bleeding. No blood, but it still hurt like hell. Idiot, he chastised himself. Sucker punched by a girl.

Claire reached up with one delicate hand. Trace resisted at first, but finally gave in and allowed her to touch him. Her fingers were hesitant, but warm and gentle. She winced when he grimaced at another burst of pain.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

“You should be,” he told her, trying his best to prevent the last of his anger from ebbing. He wanted to stay mad at her. His anger was his only protection from her ability to distract him. Slow, deep breaths did little to counter his reaction to her touch. He watched her face soften with concern. She bit her lower lip when he flinched at the ice.

“Does it hurt much?” She stared up at him, a sheen of tears glistening in her golden eyes. This close, he noticed the tiny flecks of brown that contrasted with the gold.

He took it back. Trace didn’t want her to cry. He didn’t think he could bear it. “Not that much.”

“The ice will make you feel better, and it’ll help prevent some of the swelling.” Her voice wavered as she spoke.

She really was going to cry and somehow it was all his fault. Trace put his hand over hers, which she promptly removed, leaving him to hold his own makeshift ice pack.

“I
am
sorry, Mr. Walker. I’ve never hit anyone in my entire life.”