“Allie!” A towheaded man the size of a small mountain lumbered toward her and slung his arm around her shoulder. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

A much smaller man in a too-tight tie with a too-tight face pushed between them. “Not now, Harry. Alice, the ratings-”

A steely-eyed brunette appeared behind him and shouldered him aside. “Forget it, Albert. I just heard about this mess. I don’t give a damn if Mark is dumb enough to dump you, I’m not.”

Charlie watched Lisa wince, and then saw Allie pat her arm. “One at a time,” Allie said, and Harry said, “Wait a minute,” and Karen said, “Please, Allie,” and Lisa said, “Oh, Allie, I need your help,” and Albert said, “The ratings, Allie,” and then from the hall someone said, “That’s enough,” and the whole room froze.

Charlie looked beyond the clump of people to the small, slender, older woman standing in the hallway.

“Nothing is changing,” she said. “Alice is not leaving her position as Mark’s producer.”

“Well, actually, Beattie, I am.” Allie reached out through the throng that surrounded her and grabbed Charlie by the biceps to drag him to her side. “This is Charlie Tenniel, our new DJ. I have some very exciting ideas for his program.”

Charlie opened his mouth to object, but then Beattie spoke and it seemed like a bad idea to interrupt her.

“Bill did not discuss mis with me first.” The look in Beattie’s eye said that Bill had paid dearly for this. “I was most disappointed in him.”

“Well, I was, too,” Allie said, and Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, surprised at her candor. Then his eyes went back to Beattie. Neat iron-gray hair, trim iron-gray suit, sharp iron-gray eyes. Not the kind of woman you lied to, Beattie. “But now I’ve met Charlie,” Allie went on. “I think this is going to be interesting.”

Beattie turned those gray eyes on Charlie, and he tried not to swallow. She surveyed him, starting at the top of his head and moving slowly to his feet before she started back up again. She made the return trip with a gleam in her eye.

Then she turned to Allie. “Oh. I see. Very well.” She held out her hand to Charlie. “Very nice to meet you again, Charles. The last time we met, you were five, so I doubt you remember, How are your father and mother?”

Well, Mother is still insisting that Ten was framed when some undesirable planted all that coke on him, and Dad has lost his mind to the point of sending me here, but otherwise they’re still golfing and drinking rum punch. “Just fine, Mrs. Bonner, thank you for asking.”

Beattie’s eyes narrowed for an instant, and Charlie reminded himself not to take Beattie Bonner for granted. She anight be pushing seventy, but she was probably sharper than anyone else in the room, himself included.

Sharper than anyone, with the possible exception of Allie. When Charlie turned back to her, she was dispatching people with a warm efficiency that got them off her back without leaving them exasperated. She promised Marcia all the help she needed, Lisa a meeting as soon as she’d shown Charlie around, Harry a conference later that night before his show, Albert an analysis of the ratings by morning, and Karen the first minute she could spare. By the time she was finished, they were alone in the lobby except for Karen looking woebegone behind her desk, and Charlie had a new appreciation of how he’d ended up in Allie’s bed the night before.

He also had a new apprehension for his immediate future. “Listen,” he told her sternly. “I don’t want to be famous.”

“Of course not.” She smiled up at him. “Let me show you the station.”

Charlie followed her with foreboding, but the station itself was innocuous. Aside from the offices, the place was small, white, clean and uncluttered. One dedicated broadcast booth with a production room outside it, one combination broadcast and production room, one tape library, one room with the satellite feed, one conference/break room, and finally Allie’s office.

Allie opened the door at the end of the hall of offices and gestured him in. “Welcome to my world.”

“This is nice,” Charlie said doubtfully as he looked around the tiny cubicle. Every square inch of three of the walls was covered with photos, handwritten notes, magazine articles, old scripts and anything else that Allie felt was valuable and that could be push-pinned up. It was like being inside a very messy desk drawer. The last wall was bookcases filled with reference books and loose-leaf binders and various treasures that Allie had stuffed there for some reason: a soapstone seal, a large rock, a ceramic goblet, a china doll, a bowl of shells. The center of the little room was crowded with an old teacher’s desk, two thrift-store carved walnut chairs and a white filing cabinet with a stuffed owl on it. Charlie stared fascinated into the owl’s eyes while Allie sat down behind her desk and began to search through the piles of papers.

If they ever made love in this office, he was going to throw his shirt over that owl so it wouldn’t watch them. Not that there was room to lie down in here. They’d have to use the desk. Or against the wall… Charlie shook his head to clear it of the thought. He was definitely not going to be pressing Allie up against that wall-

“Your first appointment is with me to talk about how you’re going to structure your four hours. Ah ha!” She held up her coffee cup, triumphant. “Also, you might want to start thinking about explaining your program ideas when we meet with Bill at five.”

Charlie frowned at her, glad to bring his mind back to the problem at hand. “What’s to explain?”

“He likes to preapprove the ideas.” Allie looked dubiously into her cup and turned it upside down to shake it. Nothing fell out.

“He approves everything that goes out from this place?”

“Well, not Mark’s stuff. Bill loves Mark.” Allie got up and took a loose-leaf binder from her bookshelf. “Here’s the WBBB handbook-Bill’s personal philosophy of broadcasting. You’re going to hate it.”

Charlie took the book, opened it, read a page and sighed. Bill made Jesse Helms look liberal. “So Bill really does run the station? I thought maybe he’d be one of those distant owners who just drops by to read the profit sheet.”

“He used to be.”

Charlie looked up at the tone in Allie’s voice. “But?”

Allie leaned back in her chair. “But then about six months ago, Beattie decided she wanted a job, so he gave her the run of the place. That upset the station manager and he quit. So Beattie took that job and now she really runs the station.”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “But you said last night she’s not bad at it.”

Allie nodded. “She’s a fast learner, and she’s not stupid in the slightest.”

“And Bill just gave her the station.” Charlie sat back. “Which parts aren’t you mentioning?”

Allie bit her lip for a moment. Then she pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned forward. “Beattie doesn’t particularly want to talk about this, so don’t mention it. Last January, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had surgery and her doctor recommended some intensive chemo, and she was in pretty bad shape for a while. Then she started to get better, and in April, when she said she wanted to learn about radio…” Allie shrugged. “If Bill hadn’t already owned a station, he’d have bought one for her.”

“Well, it must beat chemo.”

“She was done in July. And she’s doing really well now, and good things have come of it.”

“Such as?” Charlie prompted.

“Well, Grady has never been Bill’s favorite son, but he stuck with his mom through the whole thing, taking her to chemo, cooking for her when she wouldn’t eat, that kind of stuff. Bill hasn’t called Grady a moron for months.”

Charlie grinned. “I can see where that would be a step up.”

“And Beattie’s running the station just fine.”

Charlie nodded as the pieces fell into place. Beattie had come in cold off the street and the station was still doing fine. Beattie had had some help. “It’s doing fine because you showed her the ropes.”

Allie shrugged. “I helped a little.”

Charlie thought back to the scene in the hall. “Right. Why didn’t you ask for the station manager’s job?”

Allie looked horrified. “Business? Please, I’d rather die.”

Well, he could sympathize with that. “Beattie would give you Mark’s show back.”

“I don’t want Mark’s show.” Allie met his eyes. “I want Mark’s time slot. The prime-time slot. That’s where we’re going to end up, Charlie.”

“At 6:00 a.m.?” Charlie’s voice broke in outrage. “In the morning a.m.? Are you nuts, woman?”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“No, I won’t.” Charlie leaned forward and spoke with great care. “Try to remember this. I am leaving in November. Do not make long-term plans for me.”

Allie smiled at him. “All right.”

Oh, Lord. He sighed at her. “Do you listen to a word I say?”

“Only the good stuff,” Allie told him and he gave up and went back to the handbook.


* * *

Allie watched Charlie open the binder and begin to read.

Now that they weren’t naked, it was easier to make decisions about her future.

For one thing, she was definitely not going to be sharing her bed with him again. She was almost sure of that. She didn’t need any more tension in her life. And after all, she barely knew him.

And sleeping with him would be bad professionally. It was wisest to break this off now, before she really started to care about him. Because she didn’t care about him. She just wanted him. She wanted him right now on the floor of her office. Except there wasn’t enough room. Maybe the desk-

No.

She looked at him, reading the stupid WBBB handbook, that lock of blond-brown hair falling over his forehead. The best thing she could do would be to stay away from him as much as possible. While he was on the air, there would be a glass wall between them, so that was safe enough. And maybe they could discuss the show through memos instead of face-to-face.

Face-to-face made her think of his mouth.

Definitely memos.

Charlie read something that was particularly inane and groaned.

“I told you it would be bad,” Allie said unsympathetically. She had to get away from him. She had to do things that did not include fantasizing about being pressed against a wall while his hands-

She grabbed her coffee cup and stood up. “Listen, if you’re happy here for a while, I promised to talk to some people. If you want coffee, the break room is down the hall, turn to the left, first door on the left. You can’t miss it.”

“Coffee is not going to make this garbage better,” Charlie said.

“Be sure to mention that to Bill at the meeting at five,” Allie said and made her escape.


* * *

Allie got coffee from the break room, smiling absently at Mark and Harry the Howler, who were talking cars. She wasn’t even mad at Mark anymore. Amazing what good sex and a new shot at a career could do for a woman’s outlook. Mark looked at her strangely, so she ignored him. She had enough to do without worrying about Mark, especially since worrying about Mark was no longer her job. This was an incredibly cheering thought in a day that had been pretty cheerful to start with.

Buoyed beyond reason, she left the break room and went back to doing what she did best: keeping the station ticking. She picked up the ratings from Albert, promised Marcia they’d have a late lunch the next day to discuss her show and headed for the receptionist’s counter.

“Hey, Karen,” she said as she breezed into the lobby. She picked up a cookie from a plate on the counter and bit into it. “Where did the almond cookies come from?”

“Mrs. Winthrop brought them in for Grady again, but he said to leave them here for everybody.” Karen looked around and then crooked a finger at her. “Come here for a minute.”

Allie popped the rest of the cookie in her mouth and went behind the counter, mystified.

Karen picked up a basket covered with a baby quilt. “I’m in big trouble, Allie, and I don’t know what to do.”

Allie prayed there wasn’t a baby in the basket. Some things were beyond even her ability to fix. Then she looked at the dark circles under Karen’s eyes and felt ashamed. “You look awful,” Allie said. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to feed him every hour and I can’t get to sleep in between. I’ve been doing it for two days now, and I’m afraid he’s going to die.” Karen started to cry, and Allie took the basket from her, expecting the worst.