Jennifer Crusie Bundle (75 page)

Charlie stopped chewing, shocked. “I don't hurt people.”

“What if Allie's in love with you?”

“She's not.”

“She will be if you hang around.” Joe pointed at him with a waffle-filled fork. “You're smart, you're funny, and you obviously know how to make her happy in bed.”

Charlie thought about the job he'd come to do, and about how fast he'd be out of town when it was done. He sighed. “You're right. I have no serious intentions about Allie. I just like sleeping with her. So I'll do a fade.” The thought was extremely unattractive, so he changed the subject. “You know, it's a shame you're gay. You're probably the perfect guy for her.”

Joe grinned at him. “It's a shame you're not. You could be the perfect guy for me.”

Charlie shook his head. “Probably not. I'm not the perfect guy for anybody.”

“Good morning, all.” Allie drifted into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice, smiling a lovely serene smile at both of them. All her tightness was gone. She looked confident and sexy, and they stared at the transformation.

Her smile faded as they stared. “Can I have waffles, too?” she asked Joe finally, and he blinked and then got up to make them for her.

“I've got to find my shoes and then we can make plans,” she told Charlie. She smiled at him again, igniting him, and then she drifted back to her bedroom.

Charlie was halfway out of his chair to follow her before he realized it. “Oh, hell.” He turned and looked at Joe. “You were right. I should have stayed on that damn couch.”

“Maybe you'd better forget about doing the fade.” Joe turned back to the waffle iron. “This could be a good thing. She looks invincible.”

“She looks like…” Charlie stopped.

“She looks like she's had great sex,” Joe said. “It's a new look for her. I'd pay money to see Mark's face when he sees her.”

“Yeah? Well, what happens to that look when I stop sleeping with her?”

“Hey, I also saw the look on your face. What makes you think you can stop?”

Charlie put his fork down. Allie was absolutely not part of his plan. His plan was to do the job and get out.

And now there was Allie.

The look he gave Joe was pathetic.

Joe laughed.

W
HEN SHE CAME BACK
, Allie was wearing her day clothes: a plain, long, brown jersey dress and a man's brown and cream tweed jacket. She looked extremely round and soft, and Charlie reminded himself sternly that from now on, they had a working relationship only.

Then he watched her lick syrup off her fork and for the first time in his life, he envied silverware.

“We don't have to be at the station until four,” she told him around bites of waffle.

“That's fine,” Charlie replied. He needed some time alone to get his act together. “I want to wander around Tuttle on my own for a while. Get the feel of the place.”

“Okay.” Allie nodded at him. “I'll meet you in front of the station.”

Joe left for an appointment, and Charlie and Allie talked about Tuttle and waffles and washed the dishes, and Charlie fought the feeling he was slipping into, that he'd always known her, that he always would. She was having a weird effect on him: she felt comfortable. Every internal alarm he had was screaming, but she smiled at him and he didn't care.

Out on the street, Allie twirled around on the sidewalk and her dress swirled out around her and she looked so happy, and she had such great legs, that Charlie abandoned all his qualms for the moment and just enjoyed the sunlight and Allie. If he wanted something to worry about, he didn't need to start with Allie; he had the anonymous letter and his first-ever radio show that night.

“Don't forget to meet me at four so I can introduce you to everybody before they leave at five,” Allie said, and he promised and then escaped.

Stay away from that woman as much as you can,
he warned himself.

Then he thought about meeting her at four and grinned.

WBBB
WAS ON THE
fourth floor of a bank—“Bill's bank,” Allie told him—and Charlie watched her smack open the double glass doors of the station as if she were attacking the place.

Instead of running for cover, the people inside converged on her like a last hope.

The dark-haired receptionist was the first to shriek at her as Allie blew past her with a “Hey, Karen.”

“Wait, Allie, I need to talk to you,” Karen said, but then the rest of the people began to come out of the narrow hall in front of them, one by one, like clowns out of a toy car.

Lisa darted out first. “Allie, can I have a minute? I need—”

“Allie!” A towheaded man the size of a small mountain lumbered toward her and slung his arm around her shoulder. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

A much smaller man in a too-tight tie with a too-tight face pushed between them. “Not now, Harry. Alice, the ratings—”

A steely-eyed brunette appeared behind him and shouldered him aside. “Forget it, Albert. I just heard about this mess. I don't give a damn if Mark is dumb enough to dump you,
I'm
not.”

Charlie watched Lisa wince, and then saw Allie pat her arm. “One at a time,” Allie said, and Harry said, “Wait a minute,” and Karen said, “Please, Allie,” and Lisa said, “Oh, Allie, I need your help,” and Albert said, “The
ratings,
Allie,” and then from the hall someone said, “That's enough,” and the whole room froze.

Charlie looked beyond the clump of people to the small, slender, older woman standing in the hallway.

“Nothing is changing,” she said. “Alice is not leaving her position as Mark's producer.”

“Well, actually, Beattie, I am.” Allie reached out through the throng that surrounded her and grabbed Charlie by the bicep to drag him to her side. “This is Charlie Tenniel, our new DJ. I have some very exciting ideas for his program.”

Charlie opened his mouth to object, but then Beattie spoke and it seemed like a bad idea to interrupt her.

“Bill did not discuss this with me first.” The look in Beattie's eye said that Bill had paid dearly for this. “I was most disappointed in him.”

“Well, I was, too,” Allie said, and Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, surprised at her candor. Then his eyes went back to Beattie. Neat iron-gray hair, trim iron-gray suit, sharp iron-gray eyes. Not the kind of woman you lied to, Beattie. “But now I've met Charlie,” Allie went on. “I think this is going to be interesting.”

Beattie turned those gray eyes on Charlie, and he tried not to swallow. She surveyed him, starting at the top of his head and moving slowly to his feet before she started back up again. She made the return trip with a gleam in her eye.

Then she turned to Allie. “Oh. I see. Very well.” She held out her hand to Charlie. “Very nice to meet you again, Charles. The last time we met, you were five, so I doubt you remember. How are your father and mother?”

Well, Mother is still insisting that Ten was framed when some undesirable planted all that coke on him, and Dad has lost his mind to the point of sending me here, but otherwise they're still golfing and drinking rum punch.
“Just fine, Mrs. Bonner, thank you for asking.”

Beattie's eyes narrowed for an instant, and Charlie reminded himself not to take Beattie Bonner for granted. She might be pushing seventy, but she was probably sharper than anyone else in the room, himself included.

Sharper than anyone, with the possible exception of Allie. When Charlie turned back to her, she was dispatching people with a warm efficiency that got them off her back without leaving them exasperated. She promised Marcia all the help she needed, Lisa a meeting as soon as she'd shown Charlie around, Harry a conference later that night before his show, Albert an analysis of the ratings by morning, and Karen the first minute she could spare. By the time she was finished, they were alone in the lobby except for Karen looking woebegone behind her desk, and Charlie had a new appreciation of how he'd ended up in Allie's bed the night before.

He also had a new apprehension for his immediate future. “Listen,” he told her sternly. “I don't want to be famous.”

“Of course not.” She smiled up at him. “Let me show you the station.”

Charlie followed her with foreboding, but the station itself was innocuous. Aside from the offices, the place was small, white, clean and uncluttered. One dedicated broadcast booth with a production room outside it, one combination broadcast and production room, one tape library, one room with the satellite feed, one conference/break room, and finally Allie's office.

Allie opened the door at the end of the hall of offices and gestured him in. “Welcome to my world.”

“This is nice,” Charlie said doubtfully as he looked around the tiny cubicle. Every square inch of three of the walls was covered with photos, handwritten notes, magazine articles, old scripts and anything else that Allie felt was valuable and that could be push-pinned up. It was like being inside a very messy desk drawer. The last wall was bookcases filled with reference books and loose-leaf binders and various treasures that Allie had stuffed there for some reason: a soapstone seal, a large rock, a ceramic goblet, a china doll, a bowl of shells. The center of the little room was crowded with an old teacher's desk, two thrift-store carved walnut chairs and a white filing cabinet with a stuffed owl on it. Charlie stared fascinated into the owl's eyes while Allie sat down behind her desk and began to search through the piles of papers.

If they ever made love in this office, he was going to throw his shirt over that owl so it wouldn't watch them. Not that there was room to lie down in here. They'd have to use the desk. Or against the wall…Charlie shook his head to clear it of the thought. He was definitely not going to be pressing Allie up against that wall—

“Your first appointment is with me to talk about how you're going to structure your four hours. Ah ha!” She held up her coffee cup, triumphant. “Also, you might want to start thinking about explaining your program ideas when we meet with Bill at five.”

Charlie frowned at her, glad to bring his mind back to the problem at hand. “What's to explain?”

“He likes to preapprove the ideas.” Allie looked dubiously into her cup and turned it upside down to shake it. Nothing fell out.

“He approves everything that goes out from this place?”

“Well, not Mark's stuff. Bill loves Mark.” Allie got up and took a loose-leaf binder from her bookshelf. “Here's the WBBB handbook—Bill's personal philosophy of broadcasting. You're going to hate it.”

Charlie took the book, opened it, read a page and sighed. Bill made Jesse Helms look liberal. “So Bill really does run the station? I thought maybe he'd be one of those distant owners who just drops by to read the profit sheet.”

“He used to be.”

Charlie looked up at the tone in Allie's voice. “But?”

Allie leaned back in her chair. “But then about six months ago, Beattie decided she wanted a job, so he gave her the run of the place. That upset the station manager and he quit. So Beattie took that job and now she really runs the station.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “But you said last night she's not bad at it.”

Allie nodded. “She's a fast learner, and she's not stupid in the slightest.”

“And Bill just gave her the station.” Charlie sat back. “Which parts aren't you mentioning?”

Allie bit her lip for a moment. Then she pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned forward. “Beattie doesn't particularly want to talk about this, so don't mention it. Last January, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had surgery and her doctor recommended some intensive chemo, and she was in pretty bad shape for a while. Then she started to get better, and in April, when she said she wanted to learn about radio…” Allie shrugged. “If Bill hadn't already owned a station, he'd have bought one for her.”

“Well, it must beat chemo.”

“She was done in July. And she's doing really well now, and good things have come of it.”

“Such as?” Charlie prompted.

“Well, Grady has never been Bill's favorite son, but he stuck with his mom through the whole thing, taking her to chemo, cooking for her when she wouldn't eat, that kind of stuff. Bill hasn't called Grady a moron for months.”

Charlie grinned. “I can see where that would be a step up.”

“And Beattie's running the station just fine.”

Charlie nodded as the pieces fell into place. Beattie had come in cold off the street and the station was still doing fine. Beattie had had some help. “It's doing fine because you showed her the ropes.”

Allie shrugged. “I helped a little.”

Charlie thought back to the scene in the hall. “Right. Why didn't you ask for the station manager's job?”