After a second or two, Christie couldn't stand it any more. She wrenched away and hit the console to start the next CD player. It was in CD-2, back from the shop once again, and she was paid back for her efforts by the familiar thrumming noise as the song stuck. Christie clenched her teeth, advanced CD-1 to another track, and fired it off instead. She scrambled to load the next song, trying to get things back in order. If she could just deal with things here in the studio-things she had control over-she'd be all right. But her heart was racing.
Rick laughed raggedly. "So who doesn't care any more?"
She didn't want to turn around. It meant facing Rick, and that meant facing the turmoil she was in. So she didn't turn around. She tried to keep her voice steady, even though she was still shaken from the intensity of his kiss. "Rick, I need you to go."
"That's it?" His voice was closer now. She was cornered in the tiny counter area, with Rick behind her and the bank of CD players in front of her. "Just go?"
Christie crossed her arms tight in front of her, clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms, trying for some external pain to battle what was going on inside her. She felt as if she were filled with broken glass. Everything hurt.
"Come on, Rick, what do you expect?" She forced herself to turn and face him. He was closer than she expected, but she still managed to avoid his eyes. She fixed her gaze instead on the rumpled shoulder of his shirt, where her head had rested a few minutes ago.
He seemed to have recovered from their embrace; his tone was insanely reasonable. "Look, I know it hasn't been easy-"
"Hasn't been easy?" She'd never heard more outrageous words. "It's been easy enough for you."
"That's not true." She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and her heart thudded faster. They looked so earnest, so sincere. She reminded herself how sincere he could sound when he was advertising yet another never-to-be-repeated offer on the car of her choice. The voice was good, but those eyes could sell a whole fleet of cars. Christie made herself look away again, watching Rick's arm instead as he passed his hand through his hair. "Christie, if you could just wait a little while longer before-"
She shut out the calming voice before he could sell her another bill of goods. "Wait for what? Why wouldn't I leave? I can't keep doing this." She'd wanted to keep the emotion out of her voice, but now she couldn't even keep up with the words. They rushed out ahead of her, while she just watched and listened. It was like an out-of-body experience. "What am I supposed to do? Risk my job so we go into another hot clinch for five minutes every month? Or sneak off to the transmitter room for-"
"I never said anything like that."
"You never say anything." She looked at him again and tried, as hard as she could, to feel nothing but the anger and frustration she'd been cycling through for the past several weeks. "You just click on and off like a light switch, whenever it suits you."
"Christie, stop." He took her by the shoulders. She backed up against the counter, ramrod straight. He closed his eyes briefly, and Christie watched him draw in a long breath. "There might be another way."
"I know." Her eyes burned. She spoke around the huge ache in her throat. "I know what your other way is. One of us quits. Let's see-who would that be? The one who's been at it all these years? Or the one who just started a few months ago?" He started to speak, but she cut him off. If she didn't, she knew she'd cave in. She flailed for something to fight him off. "Even if I did, how do I know you'd even be around a month later? You've chucked one relationship for radio already."
It was a direct hit. Rick's hands dropped away from her shoulders. His face changed. He'd never looked at her so coldly, not even that first day he'd interviewed her. That look had been preoccupied and slightly annoyed. This look was ice. She felt that chill all the way through her-the pit of her stomach, the tips of her toes, but most of all, her heart. And she knew she'd destroyed everything.
He turned and walked out before she could say anything more.
She didn't move again until she heard the outside door close behind him. Christie looked at the clock. It was a quarter to four. Against Rick's long-standing order, she cracked open the blinds. It was dark outside, so she barely caught a glimpse of his rapidly retreating figure walking toward the parking garage. She'd fought him off, all right.
From the speakers behind her, the singer whined out yet another lovesick ballad.
Back at his apartment, Rick dropped onto the couch, his arm over his eyes. So much for going for broke. He'd stuck his neck out, been about to stick it out the rest of the way, when she'd ripped his head off.