"She didn't really say anything." Yvonne was still backpedalling. "I was just surprised you'd be listening at that hour. Especially her first night. You know everybody's first shift is usually awful."
"I was helping."
Yvonne held her hands up in front of her in a gesture of defense. "I know, I know."
"So why am I a beast all of a sudden?" His voice had risen again.
She didn't bat an eye. "I don't know, Rick. Why are you a beast all of a sudden?"
A silence followed. What was happening to him? He never yelled at the jocks. If one of them needed to be chewed out, which was rare, his voice got deadly quiet. It was much more effective. He wasn't sure if Yvonne needed chewing out-she never had beforebut something had to be done, and quick. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I need some more sleep. Or more coffee."
"I'd lay off the caffeine if I were you," Yvonne said.
This had gone far enough. He and Yvonne had always had a good working relationship. They'd even done some friendly flirting. It was safe, because both of them knew it didn't mean anything. That had stopped cold the day Christie had heard him call Yvonne "gorgeous" over the phone. He felt as if he'd just been caught. Caught at nothing.
And now, Yvonne was starting to overstep her bounds. Time to get things back under control. "Are you finished?" he said.
"Well, there is one more thing."
Rick refused to cringe as he waited for the other shoe to drop.
"Well, she wants to learn everything. And she's sharp as a tack, Rick. I don't know if you-"
He circled his hand in the air, motioning for her to speed up. "Yes, I've noticed. Your point is-?"
"One of the things she's interested in is the music. She was here the other day when I was listening to some of the new discs-the songs you're thinking about adding to the play list-"
"Right."
"Well, she might be asking you about adding a segment on her show where she auditions a couple of new songs and gets the listeners' opinions."
Rick groaned and dropped his head against the back of his chair.
"Now, I'm not trying to tell you what to decide-"
"I should hope not."
"Just-be nice, Rick. Okay?"
He brought his head up, looked her in the eye and said, with perfect blandness, "I'm always nice."
Christie finally decided to approach Rick about the new music segment after he was off the air, since she knew he usually didn't go home right away. She'd been stalling, balking at another encounter in the office she still thought of as the lion's den. And at the thought of making a fool of herself. She hadn't been within six feet of him in the past two weeks, and even at that distance, he set her off balance. Enough was enough. She needed to prove to Rick, as well as herself, that she could hold a conversation with him without being intimidated, or succumbing to ridiculous little butterflies. She had to make sure he knew she had a brain in her head.
When she arrived at the station shortly after 7 P.M., the production room door was closed, with the light above it glowing bright red, indicating the microphone was in use. Cutting commercials. Of course.
She'd come to attack the beach at Normandy, and the Germans were out to lunch.
Christie headed to the break room to wait him out, rounded the corner, and walked straight into Rick. He was turning away from the coffee machine, mug in hand.
Before she knew what was happening, Rick caught her around the shoulders with his free arm and spun her neatly around in a half-circle. All she could see was Rick's crisp white shirt up against her face. All she could feel were his arm and his chest, both warm and firm, with Christie captured in the middle. Then she came to a stop, and Rick reached past her to set his sloshing coffee cup on the counter.
He pulled her back and steadied her with both hands. "Are you okay?"
His hands on her shoulders felt as warm and firm as the rest of him. Christie staggered back. He held her by the elbows, still steadying her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Did I get you?"
One brief little spin couldn't account for her lightheadedness, or the sudden speed of her heart. Christie looked down at the splashed coffee, in a semicircle pattern on the floor around them. "How did you do that?"
"I'm not sure." He laughed. "Reflexes took over. Did I spill any on you?"
He studied her, his hands still on her shoulders, and for a second Christie could imagine he was searching for something other than spilled coffee. Then he let her go and stepped back.
She reached her arms up around herself, selfconsciously patting down her sweater. "I don't think so." She was still catching her breath. "I thought you were in the production room."