“You’re taking the whole thing in stride.” I heard the sleepiness in my voice and cleared my throat.
“It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” I snorted. “You didn’t hear what I said.”
“Yeah, I did. I had a layover and listened on your station’s radio app.” He pulled me close, my back flush against his chest.
“You were right to say what you did.” His mouth was near my ear. “The guy was an asshole, and if the station can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you. They deserve a robot. Someone willing to push a button to generate a nice response to dumb shit.”
Warmth spread in my chest and traveled to my stomach at his praise. “Why, Cameron, are you trying to seduce me into falling in love with you?”
“Nah. I’ll settle for a blow job, though.”
I chuckled and rolled away so I could turn to face him. I cupped his stubbled cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” He grabbed my hand and kissed the center of my palm.
The ringing phone interrupted our intimate moment. I rolled over to the nightstand and looked at the screen.
“Rhonda,” I mouthed, as if she could hear me.
“Pick up. Face the music, babe.”
I shrugged and feigned nonchalance. But honestly, my heart was flopping around like a seal at Sea World.
“Hey, Rhonda. What’s up?”
“Hey, Raina. You know why I’m calling, so I’ll get right to it.”
“Okay.”
“The top brass are pretty pissed. They wanted to fire your ass, but I came prepared with the numbers from the show and how we’ve diversified our listeners. They compromised. Do a nice apology. Ninety-day probation, and Jamie will cover for you. Non-paid, of course.”
Fuck. I needed the money. “Thanks, Rhonda.”
My tone must have been not-excited because Rhonda followed up with, “You have a job and you have a loyal following. Be grateful for that.”
“You’re right. Thanks for pointing out the silver lining.”
“Don’t thank me, thank your listeners. Apparently, we had a huge social media storm between last night and this morning. Check your Twitter and the radio station’s Facebook page. People are eating up what you said. Especially women.”
“Wouldn’t I tick off my loyal listeners if I apologize?”
“You aren’t getting out of that apology, Raina.” Rhonda’s voice was hard.
I know I was pushing it, but I’d rather drink castor oil than apologize to that grimy asshole.
“You need to apologize for the delivery of the message, but not the message itself. You know what, I’ll craft the apology. You just read it like a news release or a promo.”
“I can do that.”
“You have no choice. Now enjoy your vacation and stay out of trouble.”
I ended the call and took in Cameron. He’d scooted his back against the leather headboard, arms crossed and eyebrows wrinkled.
“What is it?” I asked. “I know you heard the call, but it’s not all bad. I’ll be back in action in three months. I don’t have a lot of savings, but I—”
“It’s not about the money, babe. You hate that job. Now all of a sudden you’re acting like you can’t live without it.”
I pushed myself up to sit beside him. “We just bought a house, Cam, and we need the money. It’s called adulting.”
“You need to take this time to figure out what makes you happy, not go back to the same rat race.”
I shrugged. “Not being poor or jobless makes me happy.”
Cam didn’t respond. Just gave me his trademark stare downs.
“Okay, fine. I know what makes me happy. Writing. I’m still fleshing out my characters.”
His biceps flexed against his crossed arms and he shook his head again. What the hell was up with him? I’m not trying to be a starving artist.
“You’ve got a ready-made book. You write in your journal every day after work. It’s what you really want to say to your listeners who need to be called on their shit.”
He’s right. I repeated the sentiment out loud.
“Of course I’m right. Take this time to clean up your notes and write. You can edit it so you won’t get in trouble with the station. Make it about personas, like the cheating spouse or the clueless friend that lets a girl or guy run over them.”
“Right,” I said again. “That’s actually a good idea.”
“Babe, you got the full package when you got with me.”
My mind whirled with possibilities. The great thing about writing nonfiction was that I could write a proposal first. If I had a few bites from publishers, I could snag an agent. I already had an audience in a top market and a solid following online. The big issue was, my listeners wouldn’t be my new audience. They loved the fake Raina. But, according to Rhonda, I got a lot of praise from women on social media. Maybe they could be converted.
“There’s smoke coming from your head. What are you thinking about?”
When I quickly told him my plan, he grunted in approval.
“Yeah, I say you check it out. See if it becomes viral, if it already isn’t. If you decide not to return, you can introduce your audience to the real you.”
“I’m not ready to quit my job just yet. Let me do some research, write a proposal.”
“Good plan. You can brainstorm some ideas with your lady group.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not ladies. We’re masterminds!”
“My bad.” He twined his finger around my dreads.
My mood rose from the lower pits of hell to cloud eleven hundred. I could do this, I could really become an author.
I moved away from the headboard, put myself between his legs, and gave him what I knew was a sexy smile. “You have a choice. Eternal gratitude or blow job.”
His eyes ignited. “I think you already know the answer.”
I did. I stroked him, just the way he liked it, light squeeze, slow and measured. My man liked to be wined, dined, and seduced. Lowering my mouth, I took a lick at the answer.
From the intake of breath and grip on my hair, I knew I’d guessed correctly.
CHAPTER 6
Not My Kind of Movie—Kara
White jasmine, my favorite scent, filled the air. Candles, all white, from large, fat pillars to small, round tea lights covered the kitchen counters and living room table. The candles, no longer solid, were a waxy soup surrounding nearly extinguished wicks.
Date night. “Ahh!” I smacked my forehead. The heady fragrance weighed down my guilty conscience like solid gold bricks.
Yanking my phone from my purse, I tapped the screen to check the time, but the phone was off. It was off because I’d powered it off. The study group had a no cell phone rule, and as the new kid on the block, I had to follow the rules.
Claudia, Eduardo, and Martin had been studying together for months, and they only let me join because my mentor had asked. But I should’ve just silenced my phone. None of them were married and on their spouse’s shit list because they’d been neglectful. The other night, I’d woken up Darren as I muttered mountain ranges between Sonoma and Napa. Sad thing, I was sleeping when this happened. Darren shook me awake and told me to chill the hell out.