Sneak Peek Wednesday: Tempting Talk by Sara Whitney

When they signed off for the day, Mabel and Dave exchanged deejay fives—air slaps that didn’t require lazy radio hosts to get out of their chairs and actually smack palms—and then they both jumped when a knock on the big studio window startled them. It was the new station owner, Brandon, grinning like a kid tapping away at fish in an aquarium. He gestured for them to step into the greenroom.

“Shall we?” Dave asked.

She lifted her chin. “No other option. They’re between us and the exit.” But her heart pounded harder than it should have as she stepped through the door Dave held open.

“Dave and Mabel, this is Jake Carey.” Brandon turned and gestured to the man standing next to him. “He’s the accountant here to sort out the books.”

Jake’s assessing gaze landed on her, and blood rushed to Mabel’s cheeks at his bold stare, but no way was she backing down. She lifted her chin and studied him right back.

Tall. Thick black hair. Strong square jaw. Suit that cost more than her car. Muscular body filling out that suit with—

Nope. Her brain was galloping away from her toward an entirely off-limits target. She swallowed the excess saliva suddenly pooling in her mouth and forced her eyes away from what was clearly Superman in his Clark Kent persona.

“Would you two have a seat?” Brandon pointed at the greenroom couch like a king commanding his subjects. “I’d love to talk a little bit about what you see for your future here at WNCB.”

Although the battered couch was comfortable enough for a deejay who needed a quick nap between shifts, it was also covered in a number of suspicious stains and tended to sag toward the middle. When she and Dave settled in, they ended up shoulder to shoulder and sitting much lower than Brandon, who stood in the middle of the room to address the peasants, while Jake leaned against the greenroom desk. Its uneven legs wobbled under his weight, but he just shifted to accommodate the instability, the navy suit fabric stretching taut over his thighs. Wishing she could be so unflappable in the face of uncooperative furniture, Mabel surreptitiously tugged the hem of her skirt as close to her knees as she could get it and fought the urge to fluff the headphone divot out of her hair.

“Congratulations on having the second-most popular morning show in this market!” Brandon boomed once they were settled. “You two are a big reason that Lowell Consolidated purchased your station.”

Mabel studied Brandon as he spoke, wondering why he didn’t leave her as flustered as his partner. He was handsome enough with blue eyes and sharp, clean features. But her gaze slid over to Clark Kent three feet away from him to confirm that yep, Brandon came across as a lesser specimen of manhood. A little less imposing, a little less handsome. A little… less. Meanwhile, Jake had assumed enough control over the rickety desk to cross one ankle over the other, looking artfully posed and a little bored.

It wasn’t like her to let broad shoulders and thick, shiny hair distract her. Ditto that long stretch of neck running from Jake’s jaw down to his crisp white shirt collar. That was definitely not worth a second glance. And—

And oh God, Brandon had been talking this whole time.