Page 39 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

“Okay, I’ve got Rebecca waiting on the line. If you have a problem you’d like to discuss or food you’d like to pledge, start dialing now. We’re almost out of time.”

Olivia settled back in her chair and folded her hands on the table in front of her. She was ready for something she could sink her teeth into. Some sort of meaty relationship problem that would turn the tide of conversation and get the show back on track.

“Hello, Rebecca. You’re on the air.”

A twenty-something female voice came on the air. “Hi, Dr. O. How are you this morning?”

“Better now, thanks. I’m ready to get down to work. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Well, I’m not quite sure how to ask this question.”

Olivia glanced down once more at the words Diane had used to preview Rebecca’s call. “Is it about your boyfriend the jockey?”

“My boyfriend the what?”

“Isn’t your boyfriend a jockey?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My producer indicated that you had a question about a jockey. Do you work with horses, too?”

There was a brief silence. Then Rebecca began to giggle. At first, her laughter was restrained and ladylike, but it quickly developed into whoops of rolling-on-the-floor hilarity. When she finally quieted down enough to speak, Olivia could still hear the mirth lacing her voice.

“I don’t know where the horse-racing thing came from, Dr. Moore. Honestly. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Olivia’s stomach. Like an attorney who’d asked a witness a question without first knowing the answer, she’d made assumptions about her caller that were about to rise up and bite her right on the...

“My question is about underwear. You know, boxers or briefs? I bet my friend you’d know what kind of underwear Matt Ransom wears. He’s so hot."

Olivia closed her eyes in weary resignation. She was a mental health professional. She’d spent years earning her Ph.D., treating clients, building a name for herself. And she had been reduced to fielding questions about Matt Ransom’s choice of underwear.

“Go ahead and tell us, Dr. O, which is it? My friend Melody bet me he wears silk boxers. But he looks like a jockey kind of guy to me.”

???

Matt found Olivia sitting on the couch, clutching the remote, pretending not to watch the second episode of Season 1 ofThe Bachelor. She had a large green psychology tome on her lap and a yellow pad perched on one knee, but her gaze was fixed on the TV.

He dropped down on the couch beside her.

Clearly caught by surprise, she grabbed the remote and started to click back to the Hulu main menu, but he reached out a hand to stop her. “I doubt there’s a rule in the psychologist’s handbook against enjoying reality TV. You’re obviously interested, so why are you hiding behind all this?”

He drew the book off her lap, placed the yellow pad on top of it, and laid both on the coffee table.

“Who will take me seriously if I spend half my day fielding calls about your choice of underwear and the other half binge-watchingThe Bachelor?”

“You’re trapped in a tiny apartment in the middle of promotion hell with no one but me for company. No one’s going to take you seriously anyway. Why not relax and enjoy yourself?”

"You always have an answer, don’t you? I don’t want to enjoy myself, and I have no desire to be more relaxed. I like being the way I am. It allows me to get things done, to accomplish my goals, to maintain a certain level of self-respect. You may be able to blow off the whole focus group thing, but my listeners have certain expectations.”

She’d turned to face him when she started her tirade, but by her last word he noticed her trying to check out the television from the corner of her eye. He put both hands on either side of her head and turned it so that she faced the screen. “Admit it. You’re hooked and you want to know what’s going to happen next.”

"I amnotaddicted to this silly program. I barely understand what’s going on.”

“Right. Whatever you say.” He settled back into the cushions, plopped his feet on the cocktail table, and slid an arm across the back of the sofa. “So, what did I miss?”

“You never give up, do you?” Olivia’s laugh was rueful. “Oh all right, one of the women just told him that she’s the mother of a four-year-old, and that one,” she nodded to the screen, “seems to be struggling with him dating twenty-two other women, which seems odd since that is the premise of the show. The only thing I know for sure is that she ”—Olivia pointed toward the brunette woman in the blue bikini—“is not what she seems.”

“They never are. That’s the fun of it. It’ll take you a while to sort everybody out. It gets easier as people get eliminated. Look, see that woman over there? They’re not focusing on her at all.”

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