“Really?” I tried to hide it, but a molecule of pride must have leaked out somewhere, because Miss Smackety smacked me.
“You know, up until this very moment, I truly thought it was all an act.” She was shaking her head and walking back to her side of the counter.
I flicked a glance to the time remaining on the playlist. “What was an act?”
“That you’re such a dog.”
We didn’t talk to each other, on-air or off, for the rest of the show, just pointing when it was the other person’s turn to take over microphone duties. And though deflecting her opinion was a pain in my ass, I was still grateful for it. That way, she didn’t ask, and I didn’t have to attempt to explain, why I had kissed her.
Which was why her bid to make conversation as we exited the booth came as such a surprise.
“I’ve been trying to decide… should I be flattered? ‘Cause, coming from you, I’m not sure being called a sex goddess is exactly a compliment.”
“What do you mean, coming from me? What’s wrong with my opinion?”
She smiled, slow and sly. “Nice sidestep, Tack. But you just admitted that you think of me as a porn star.”
“Can I help it that you sound like a porn queen after she’s screamed her throat raw?”
“Now just you hold on a second—”
“Tack, I need to speak to you in my office. Right now.”
I trudged along, trailing behind the Big Kahuna on the way upstairs, wondering what the hell. Bill Kalani never ever came down the hallway where all the booths were, so why today?
I followed him into his office. All I got was, “Close the door and take a seat.”
Fuck.
He must have been told about the ruined photos. Deciding to be pre-emptive, I said, “I’ll pay for the reprints. It was all my fault.”
“What are you talking about, Tack?”
So this wasn’t about the wasted black-and-whites. Uh-oh.
“I dropped the box of promo eight-bys and the sprinklers got them wet. I already ordered a new set. Sir.”
He waived his hand like that didn’t matter, and paced behind his own chair. I’m not a fidgeter, so I folded my hands in my lap and waited. I’d been in this seat only a couple of times, and learned that the heat was turned a lot lower if you swallowed your questions and let the man take his time. And stuck in a sir whenever possible.
“I’ve been told some things, Tack,” he said after a few more passes behind his desk, “and I’ve let them slide. But this time, I just can’t.”
Told some things? About what?
“Up to now, what people thought about you and your—exploits—were part of what drove your ratings and, as a byproduct, your high ad rates. But Jensen MacKenzie is under contract to Cirrus Radio for two years. That means that we pay her, whether or not we utilize her talents, for the next twenty-four months. Are you with me so far?”
I nodded, wondering where this was going. Jen and I hit an awkward patch this morning, but we got along. Mostly.
“So when I hear you sexually harassing her, right there in the open hallway for anyone to hear, including the other women who’ve complained to me, I can’t let it go anymore. Embarrassing your co-host will not result in a bigger ratings share.”
Well, fuck me with a chainsaw. The one time he decides to walk the broadcast corridor is when he can overhear something that he can take out of context. Could this morning get any worse?
“You will attend mandatory counseling for a minimum of six weeks, twice a week.”
Yes. Yes, it definitely could.
He stopped long enough to fish in a desk drawer, then extended a business card between two fingers; I took it without reading it.
“You will make your first appointment for this week. I don’t care how you have to rearrange your schedule. Make it happen.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then it was the usual BK dismissal, which is to say that he pretends you’re no longer there, and it’s best if you quietly make that happen, too.
I didn’t care who overheard things about my bedroom exploits, but to let them hear that they’re responsible for putting the kibosh on them? No. There was really no private place in the building to make the call, so I walked straight out the front doors to my car, neatly managing to avoid everyone but Carmen, the receptionist. That’s when I read the card and saw it was the same counseling service who held our annual Sexual Conduct in the Workplace seminars. Which I’d paid very little attention to, because the woman who headed the meetings was hot.
I blew out a breath so I’d be relaxed and, hopefully, sound a little pathetic so the receptionist would take pity on me and schedule meeting number one of this stupid farce as soon as possible.