But when she’d suggested she sit in on a few shows with him, he’d turned her down cold. He didn’t want to muddle things by mixing business with pleasure, he’d said.
He didn’t want to share the spotlight with anyone else was the problem. She’d figured she could change his mind, and then he’d had the nerve to dump her. And right before his show, too!
Well, she’d shown him. When it was time to do her traffic report, she’d lit into him. She’d shown the world what a lousy bastard he was.
And then Carl had to come unglued. He’d totally overreacted. He’d even called her unprofessional. And Adam got off scot-free. It figured. Men got all the breaks in this business.
She scowled up at the billboard again. Carl was still holding that little outburst with Adam against her. Otherwise why would he have agreed to let a nobody like that do a major promo? And a sexy one at that? What was sexy about a kid like her? Everybody knew Bombshell Bonnie was, well, a bombshell.
Sometimes Carl could be so dumb. The light rail train pulled into the station and she took a last look at the billboard before climbing onto the car. Everybody at KROK was dumb if they thought she was giving up that easily. She was going to have her own show there sooner or later. All she needed was the right opportunity, and the right person to help her get there.
“IT’S WET and nasty out there tonight. A band of thunderstorms stretching from the eastern plains into the foothills has traffic snarled all over town. Wrecks working at C-470 and Broadway, westbound Six and Sheridan, northbound I-225 and Parker. Slow and go around the Pepsi Center. And we can expect much the same story for the rest of the week.”
Adam inched his Jeep along C-470 toward his home in Morrison, just southwest of Denver. Thank God he hadn’t drawn the Pepsi Center gig. Pulling the station trailer would be a nightmare in this weather.
Three more miles to his exit and it was taking forever to get there. His car stopped again almost directly under a KROK billboard. Erica smiled down on him, posed with Nick in front of an enormous brass bed.
For probably the thousandth time, he wished she didn’t work for the radio station. Why couldn’t she be a schoolteacher or a secretary or an attorney or anything but a co-worker? If he didn’t have to work with her, he might risk asking her out. Yeah, the age thing made him feel like a dirty old man, but he’d risk it to find out if she was as hot in real life as she was in his fantasies.
But she did work for KROK, so no dice. Maybe she didn’t technically fall under Carl’s rule, but Adam had learned the hard way to keep his work life and his personal life separate. There was too much potential for major damage if they mingled. He’d caught himself rationalizing why this time would be different, but he’d resolutely shoved the thoughts away. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking with his cock, the way he had with Bonnie.
Of course, Erica was young. She hadn’t screwed up her life the way he had. More than once lately he’d sensed that she was doing her best to let him know she was interested in him. He was flattered, and he’d thought about trying to explain what had happened with Bonnie, and how close he’d come to losing his job after their big bust-up. How he couldn’t afford to mess up again. He wanted her to understand he wasn’t rejecting her, just trying to keep them both out of trouble.
But he’d never found the right words to say all that. He always got too caught up in listening to her, in watching the way her eyes lit up when she was excited about something, and enjoying the way he felt when she smiled at him.
And now for the next three days she’d be sharing that bed with Nick. Of course, they wouldn’t be doing anything. For one thing, even at night there were security guards and cameras everywhere. But still, the thought was unsettling.
He supposed he could hope for a flood to wash out the Furniture Gallery and make the whole bed-in thing impossible. The way the skies had opened up, it was a remote possibility.
“Naughty Nick here, reminding you that starting tomorrow, I’ll be broadcasting live from the showroom of Mattress Max’s Furniture Gallery, Wadsworth and East Six. Stop by and see me and my lovely sidekick, Erica, as we begin our seventy-five hour bed-in to raise money for the Salvation Army’s new homeless shelter. Bring your donation by in person. And give me your ideas for what you’d do if you had seventy-five hours to spend in bed with a good-looking co-worker.”
He punched off the radio and glared up at the billboard again. It was going to be a very long three days.
RED FLANNEL pajamas with cartoon puppy dogs all over them—check. Red fuzzy slippers—check. Teddy bear—check. Sleep mask—check. Earplugs—check. Toiletries, throat lozenges, water bottle, makeup, clean underwear—check. Civilian clothes to wear home—check. Erica zipped the duffel and dragged it toward her car. She had twenty minutes to make it to Mattress Max’s, ten minutes to change once she got there and no time at all to calm down and convince herself that she was, absolutely, doing the right thing.
At least there was no traffic this time of morning, and the rain had stopped for a while. She raced her neon-green Volkswagen up the entrance ramp to Interstate 70 and headed toward the Furniture Gallery. She hadn’t slept much the night before, having been tortured by doubt and by erotic dreams starring Adam. Too bad he wasn’t her partner in this crazy promo. She’d have definitely found something sexier to wear for him, and would have done her best to make sure she didn’t have to wear it very long once the lights went out.
Though the surrounding businesses were dark, Mattress Max’s Furniture Gallery was lit up like a fair-grounds. She spotted the KROK production van near the front door. Mason, a production tech, waved at her as she drove past and parked the VW around back. Then she grabbed her bag and raced toward the private rest room that had been set aside for her and Nick to share. It was Mattress Max’s executive washroom, complete with shower. Fortunately Max himself wasn’t there this time of morning, so she didn’t have to deal with him.
Nick was nowhere in sight, either. She changed into the flannel pjs, already rehearsing the speech she’d prepared for Carl, who was sure to complain. Her angle was that showing less skin was actually more enticing, because it left things to the imagination. Plus, she’d noticed before that the furniture showroom tended to be cold. He wouldn’t want her getting sick, would he?
She didn’t really expect him to buy it, but she had to try. She would compromise with a KROK T-shirt and boxers, but she drew the line at Victoria’s Secret or Fredericks’s.
Carl had explained everything to her multiple times—the remote mini-transmitter on the truck would send the signal to the transmitter at the studio for broadcast. A board op there would run the production board during the morning show, with the regular staff taking over at nine o’clock. The main thing she and Nick had to do was listen for their on-air cues.
The production crew had been busy, setting up the mics and other equipment around the bed. It was some bed, too—a king-size brass number with a fake mink spread and blue satin sheets. Half a dozen of the fluffiest pillows she’d ever laid eyes on were piled at the head, and twin black lacquer nightstands were already stocked with water, tissues and matching brass lamps.
“Erica! There you are.” Carl spotted her and hurried over. He frowned at the pajamas. “Puppy dogs? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”
“I didn’t want to be cold.” She hugged her arms over her chest.
He shook his head. “That’s the least of my worries right now. Here, you go ahead and get into bed.” He escorted her to her home away from home for the next three days. “We’ll