His grip on the edge of his desk relaxed. It was enough. More than enough. Her shaky voice alone would have made him forgive her, if he hadn't already. "It's okay. The bleeding stopped around lunchtime." He smiled, but she'd already looked away. He started once again to move around the desk toward her, but this time his legs were frozen. He watched her draw in another deep breath, and knew there was more coming. He had to stop her. "Christie, that's all you need to say. I-"
"No, there's more." She held out a sheet of paper, neatly folded in thirds. "Rick, I can't work for you any more. I quit." She offered the letter to him like a marshal serving a summons, but her voice wavered again.
Her resignation was a given, and it didn't matter now. But insistently, she held out the letter. Rick took it without looking at it, without taking his eyes off her. A few minutes ago, his mind had been swimming with words to say to her. He talked for a living. Why couldn't he say anything now?
"I'm sorry it got so-" Christie brushed back a strand of hair, still looking somewhere past him. He couldn't even move, let alone speak. "I can stay until you find someone, or I can leave right away. Just let me know what you decide." She drew in a shaky breath. "What I can't say in the letter-"
"That's three things."
Finally, he'd found the words to cut her off. Christie stared at him blankly.
"You said you had two things," he reminded her. "You've had your say. Now will you please sit down and let me have my turn?"
So he was still angry. Christie didn't want another confrontation. She backed up a step, and bumped into the chair facing Rick's desk. "I have to go."
"I said, sit down. I love you."
Suddenly, sitting was no problem. She'd been trying to avoid his eyes, but now his gaze had her caught, and it took her breath away. Any trace of this morning's coldness was gone. She couldn't seem to find the glib announcer, or the casual Rick from the hallways either. This was the steady, warm gaze of the man who'd kissed her until she nearly fell over. That look, as much as the words he said, knocked her knees out from under her. Christie landed in the chair. Nothing had really changed, she reminded herself. They were still right where they'd started, with him on one side of the desk and her on the other. I love you. "What does that mean?"
"What does it mean?" Rick rested his knuckles on top of the desk and leaned toward her. "It means I think you're as wonderful as they come. You're beautiful, you're funny, and I love to talk to you. I can't think straight for the first ten minutes I'm around you, and after that, I can't imagine being without you. It means I want us to be together." He held her pinned with that naked gray stare, and his voice went on. Not the disc jockey's voice. This was the voice she'd heard in the studio, hours ago, just before the explosion that had made the earthquake seem small. "And since you haven't run out of the room yet, I'm hoping you feel the same way." He searched her face for a response.
This was it. This was the never-to-be-repeated, once-in-a-lifetime offer, the one she thought she'd already lost. She'd better make up her mind, fast. Take it. This is real. There were other jobs, she told herself, and the pang of leaving this one behind couldn't be anything compared to the heartache she'd been feeling all day. She said slowly, "I never thought I'd give this up-
"I'm not asking you to do that."
Her fragile, slowly building hope crashed just as it was getting off the ground. Was he telling her to leave after all? Christie stared as Rick pulled open a drawer of his desk. She'd long had the feeling that his desk didn't have drawers. Everything just sloshed on top. But now, from the nearly-jammed drawer, he fished out a letter. "Miss Becker, I'm offering you a job."
He passed her the unfolded sheet of paper, gingerly, as if it were made of glass. She thought she felt the paper rattle in his hand as she took it.
At first Christie stared at it without comprehension. It was on unfamiliar letterhead, from a radio station in Oregon. She couldn't seem to make sense out of what she was reading. It didn't help that she could still feel Rick's eyes, fixed on her, watching for her reaction. "... received your air check... hire you as our morning team ..."
She glanced back at the beginning of the letter. It was addressed to both of them.
Christie looked up at Rick, bewildered. He said, "I sent out over thirty tapes."
"Tapes? Of what?"
"Of us. From that week we were on the air together, when you were filling in on news."
"You taped our breaks? Then?" She frowned. "That was before-" she hesitated lamely "-before the Christmas party."