Page 33 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“No. Don’t even go there, Di. Quitting is not an option.”

“Okay, then. What would you like to talk about? The show? The weather? Kissing Matt Ransom?”

Olivia groaned. “I was hoping no one had noticed.”

“I can think of a whole lot of adjectives that could be applied to that kiss, but unnoticeable wasn’t one of them.”

Diane’s curiosity hummed across the phone line, and suddenly a free fall down the mountainside seemed safer than pursuing this particular line of conversation.

“Yes, well. I think I'm going to have to go now, Di.”

“You’re going to hang up without telling me how it felt?”

“Afraid so.” She lifted a hand and waggled it toward the cameras.

“Not even a few descriptive words for those of us who’ve always wondered?”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider describing his veal marsala?”

???

Matt drizzled lemon butter over the snapper filets and wrapped them in parchment. Yellow rice simmered on the stove, and a bottle of chardonnay sat open on the counter. Apple Music’s Smooth Jazz playlist infused the room with an intimate warmth.

It was 7:00 PM, three hours after their reality TV binge, which Olivia had pretended not to enjoy. He’d prepped for his show, worked out on the bag a bit, and taken a cold shower—a blessed relief after spending most of the afternoon in an unexpected and unwelcome state of arousal.

As soon as his lips had touched Olivia’s, he’d realized his mistake. Within minutes, what had begun as a calculated maneuver to unnerve Olivia and keep the audience tuned in had turned into a humbling struggle for self-control. She should be sued for hiding all that heat and turbulence under that cool, touch-me-not exterior. It would take real agility for him to keep fanning the flames without getting burned.

Backing away from the refrigerator, Matt turned to find Olivia studying him from the other side of the counter. Her smile was wary, but she sniffed appreciatively.

“It’s snapper en papillote. There’s enough for two if you’re hungry.”

Her smile warmed. “Hmmmm, I don’t know. I was really looking forward to my usual peanut butter and jelly.”

“I’m not going to tie you to the chair and force-feed you, but if you want to set the table, you’re welcome to join me.”

“Okay.” Maintaining the maximum possible distance, Olivia set the table and took a seat on the opposite side of the counter.

Matt slid a glass of wine toward her, and they drank for a moment in silence. She was sitting on the very edge of her barstool, as if she expected him to lunge across the counter and drag her into his arms at any moment. Whether the idea intrigued or appalled her he couldn’t tell, but it sent his thoughts scurrying back to the kiss he’d stolen earlier.

He stirred the rice and put a salad together while his brain replayed the feel of her lips against his. It took a considerable effort to keep his responses to Olivia’s questions even.

“How long did you stay at WZNA after I left?”

Matt pulled the fish out of the oven. “I did afternoons there for another two years, and then I took over morning drive.”

“The King of Darkness made chitchat and played music at 6 AM?”

“It wasn’t pretty. I only made it a year and a half before my body clock shorted out.”

“Then what?”

He stood and shrugged. “Then I stopped fighting Mother Nature and moved to late night talk.”

“Not a blatantly upward move.”

“No.” He forced his thoughts back to the choices he’d made in Chicago. “When I approached the Program Director about doing a talk show, he couldn’t believe I wanted to give up morning drive for what he assumed would be perpetual obscurity.”

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