"Jesse's working on it. Gage hasn't met Miss Right yet." Tanner pounded Rip's shoulders. "We're just making sure you're not dragging your feet. You need to get there, sooner than later."
"Easy for you to say, now that you have Janine," Rip said. He envied his friend the love he'd found. "When are you two headed out again to do another show?"
"Not for a few weeks. Janine had an audition in LA. I want to see how that goes before I head out."
"Congratulations again on your reality TV show." Rip stuck out his hand to Tanner. "You can be a jerk sometimes, but I'm happy for you."
"Same to you." Again, Tanner clapped his hand on Rip's shoulder and nodded toward Casey walking their way in an oversized T-shirt, carrying her stained blouse. Based on the look on her face, she wasn't happy about anything.
She stopped in front of him and pulled on the hem of the shirt he'd lent her. "If I had any other choice, I wouldn't have worn this stupid shirt."
Jesse, Tanner and Gage all burst out laughing as they read the words.
WHILE YOU WERE READING THIS SHIRT … I FARTED
Rip winced. She looked cute as hell, but he doubted she'd believe him if he told her. Yeah, he was in for an uphill battle convincing Casey Cramer he was the guy for her.
2
Brent, the sound technician, waved through the glass to get Casey's attention, then made a slicing motion across his neck and pointed at his watch.
Finally! Casey thought. Time to wrap up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've reached the end of our program for the day. Thank you for listening in, and remember to tune in tomorrow to learn how you can spruce up a room with contrasting colors. We'll also talk about preparing your garden beds for fall planting."
She dragged in a deep breath, glanced at the clock again and rushed through her signoff. "You've been listening to the 'Home Show.' This is your host, Casey Cramer, and from all of us at K-YAK 102.5 FM, we wish you a pleasant day."
As soon as she got the thumbs-up from Brent, Casey gathered her notes and hurried from the control room as a pre-recorded announcement for an upcoming performance of the opera, Die Fledermaus, blared over the speakers. The station manager had called an emergency meeting for one o'clock sharp. If she didn't hurry, she'd be stuck sitting next to him.
Lately, no matter how early she arrived at program meetings she ended up parked next to her nemesis-and no one pushed her buttons quite as well as Rip. His muscle-bound physique and locker room brand of humor might appeal to some women, but Casey had done her time by going out on two what-was-I-thinking dates with the jerk, and now was most assuredly immune. And after the salsa contest fiasco, she was way over him.
Unobserved, she abandoned decorum and raced to the end of the hall, slowing her pace before she rounded the corner. She lifted a hand to smooth her hair back into place, then cursed under her breath when she saw the usual crowd of office clowns hovering near the conference room door. Their attention for the moment was on something near the memo board.
One of them looked up and elbowed his pal, who in turn looked over his shoulder. Their laughter ended abruptly as the first guy led the scramble through the door. Like children playing musical chairs when the music stopped, they pushed past each other in a flurry of elbows and male versions of the giggles to claim their seats.
Casey sped up, wiping her face clear of panic, hoping to find at least one seat far away from Rip, when a glimpse of unexpected color next to the bulletin board snagged her attention. Her life-sized, black-and-white promotional photo, which normally graced the station's foyer, was taped to the wall. This wasn't the first time it had been misappropriated. She'd found her image 'enhanced' with a moustache and blackened teeth before-no doubt the limit of Rip's artistic talents.
He'd been as mad as a wounded bear since she'd called it quits and refused to go out with him again. He'd tried calling her, showing up at her apartment at all hours and finally leaving little mementos of their time together-the two dates-all over her office and her apartment door. Had he finally stooped to the office ape humor of the sales staff? Did he think she'd give him the time of day if he pissed her off? As if his behavior with his female fans hadn't been enough?
This time the insult wasn't to be borne. This time her image sported a crepe paper nun's habit with a caption in red tacked above it that said, "All work and no play makes Saint Casey a dull girl."
Her lips tightened as the slow burn of humiliation rose up her neck to heat her cheeks. Self-righteous anger roared through her veins as she plucked out the tacks and removed the caption and habit. Wadding them into a small ball, she charged into the 'War Room' and marched straight to Rip's chair.
With what she hoped was a sexy smile pinned onto her face, she draped her arm over his shoulder. "Did you lose these?" She let go of the two tacks. They plopped into his full cup of coffee, splashing liquid over the edge onto his hand.
"Hey! Watch it!" Rip yelped. He jerked his hand back and shook off the brown liquid.
Casey smirked and, ignoring a twinge of guilt, performed a perfect slam-dunk with the paper wad into the trashcan beside the door. A brief sense of satisfaction filled her at the same time as she wondered if she'd really hurt him.
Rip frowned, licked the coffee from his fingers, and then fished for the tacks with his plastic spoon.
With a sigh, Casey slid into the only empty seat-next to his-and averted her head, pointedly ignoring him. As if she could. How could she not be aware of a walking, talking, breathing sex object when he was seated beside her, exuding testosterone without lifting a friggin' finger? Couldn't he find another radio station to work at?
"What's the matter, Cramer?" His pseudo-whisper blew warm against her neck, causing an unwanted prickle of awareness to undulate across her skin. "Was the message too close for comfort?"
Snickers rippled around the room.
Casey knew her cheeks must be fiery red by now. No matter how hard she tried to disregard the man, he slid beneath her skin in the blink of an eye. But he was not going to get the better of her today. Electing to ignore his comment rather than rise to the bait, she settled into her seat.
The chair next to hers creaked like a rusty hinge. Rip eased the rollers toward her, crowding her. His long, brawny arm stretched in front of her on the conference room table. The other rested along the back of his chair and hers, bridging the gap between them. She knew because his knuckles grazed her neck as he settled into place. When his breath blew against the back of her neck again, she inhaled sharply, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne.
She fought equal urges to lean toward him and move away, as if she had dual personalities fighting within to take control. Who would win? Heart or Head? Her head won out, and she straightened, concentrating on the large hand in front of her. The one holding a shiny, red map tack.
Rip's big fingers rolled the round knob rhythmically, back and forth, between his thumb and forefinger.
Her breasts tightened, and she crossed her arms in front of her. With a glance over her shoulder, she caught his wicked grin. The bastard was doing it on purpose.
Casey's restraint deserted her. Two minutes in this man's company was all it took. Two minutes. Worse than letting her face flush scarlet with agitation, moments like these demolished her vaunted vocabulary. She spun in her chair to confront him, but the best she could manage was a spluttered, "You...you... man!"
Full-fledged belly laughs rocked the spectators of the current round of 'Casey-baiting.' Two of the marketing pukes had the balls to exchange high-fives.
Casey glared daggers around the room. With a groan, she realized she'd let him get to her. Again.
Thankfully their boss and station manager, Dave Lebcowitz, stepped into the room at just that moment. The high-spirited chatter halted. Anxious faces turned in his direction.
"Good afternoon, team." Dave's voice carried like a sonic boom in a cardboard box. "I know you're all wondering why I called this meeting. I don't want to keep you hanging, so I'll cut to the chase." Dave glanced around the room, drawing out the pause.
Casey held her breath. Dave only acted this way when he was about to announce something big-something they weren't going to like. Despite her belief superstition was for ignorant people, Casey crossed her fingers in her lap. Please don't cut my show.
"The station's been bought out by ROR International."
Pandemonium broke out, and everybody spoke at once. A buy-out usually meant one thing. Someone, maybe a lot of someones, would lose his or her job.
Dave raised both hands, "Quiet now, everyone." He waited until the noise subsided before continuing. "I just got off the phone with the new management team. They've been studying our ratings and haven't recommended any personnel or timeslot changes, yet."
"What do you mean-yet?" Casey demanded. "We all know what happened to that station in Denver they bought out six months ago. It's pretty much a turnkey operation now. Most of their programming comes from nationally syndicated shows."