Kara Lennox - Tame An Older Man

"You didn't have to do that," Phoebe said, when she and Wyatt were alone. "I had it under control."

"That's not what it looked like to me."

"I was just trying to decide whether to scream or knee him in the groin." But her trembling gave her away. Taylor Shad had scared her worse than she'd realized.

"Phoebe."

Her name on his lips sounded like a caress. He gently took her arm and led her and her shaky knees to the chair Taylor had just vacated. Without another word, he handed her a tissue. That was when she realized she was crying.

"Do you want to press charges against him?" Wyatt asked. "Just say the word, and I'll call the cops."

"Heavens, no." Phoebe blotted carefully at her tears, trying not to smear her own makeup. "But if he sues you, I'll testify."

"He won't sue me. The contract never guaranteed he'd actually get on the air."

"And how are you going to fill up the other half of the show?" She turned toward the TV mounted in a corner of the room, where even now one of the hosts was promising an appearance by a hot young star.

"Contingency plan. But I'd better go put it in motion. You sure you're okay?"

Phoebe smiled and nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude toward Wyatt. He hadn't once insinuated she was to blame for the incident. A lot of people assumed that blond hair and a C cup were an automatic invitation.

After he'd gone, she drank some water and repaired her makeup. Feeling more herself, she wandered out to the set to watch, finding a stool well out of the way to perch on.

During the commercial break Wyatt was all over the studio, briefing his hosts on the change of plans, ordering someone to move a light, explaining to the audience that they wouldn't be seeing Taylor Shad, after all. With calm efficiency he took what could have been a monumental disaster and turned it into a minor annoyance. Phoebe caught herself thinking that if Wyatt had been producing "Skin Deep," the show might have fared much better.

The second half of the show went on as if they'd planned it that way all along. The hosts brought out a board game that was sweeping college campuses, inviting a couple of preselected audience members to participate. The results were hilarious.

Wyatt came and stood next to her. "You okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"I'm fine."

"I'm really sorry it happened."

"It's not your fault. How could you have known Taylor would assault me?"

"What do you think happened to my regular makeup artist?"

"Oh."

"I should have sent someone in there with you. Or, at least, warned you."

"You had a few other things on your mind."

"No, that's not it. I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd quit, too."

Phoebe had to admit one thing: Wyatt was refreshingly honest.

"Forget about it, okay? It's not the first time someone made an unwanted pass at me, and it probably won't be the last."

But she knew the pass wouldn't come from Wyatt. Ever since he'd rescued her from Taylor, he'd taken great pains to behave with exaggerated professionalism. In fact, he acted as if he thought she might shatter.

Too bad, she caught herself thinking. If Wyatt ever tried to kiss her, it wouldn't once occur to her to knee him in the groin.

The commercial break ended, and as the last segment of the show aired, Wyatt unobtrusively studied Phoebe, wondering what all she'd been through. By her own admission, this wasn't the first time someone had tried to force her into something. She tried to pretend it was no big deal, but he'd seen the raw fear in her eyes when Taylor had had her pinned against the wall. He'd seen the relief when he'd pulled Taylor off her. And he'd seen the sadness just now.

She'd been through hell.

Now all Wyatt could think about was making sure nothing bad ever touched her again. He felt responsible for this morning's disaster. He owed her.

The show ended, and everyone agreed they'd pulled it off. His hosts had come up with a plausible excuse for Taylor Shad's absence, and the game had worked out better than expected. But instead of taking care of the million details in preparation for tomorrow's show, Wyatt followed Phoebe into the dressing room where she'd gone to gather up her things.

"So, what did you think?" he asked.

"I think you're doing a great job."

Her praise pleased him all out of proportion. "Would you like to come back?"

Her hands stilled. "You mean, to do makeup?"

"My regular person quit. I need to hire someone, and you obviously know your stuff." He could get used to being around her, he decided. "I wouldn't blame you if you weren't interested, after what happened-"

"Would you please forget about that? I don't want you thinking of me as some kind of victim, or a fragile little thing that needs protecting."

Hell, that's exactly how he was thinking of her. "I won't mention it again." But he wouldn't forget it.

"Good." She smiled. "I'm a lot tougher than I look. Don't forget, I swam with the Hollywood sharks. Taylor Shad was just a minnow."

"What about the job?"

She hesitated. "What are the hours, and what does it pay?"

He told her. She dropped a makeup brush. "No kidding?"

He suspected it was more than she made at the spa.

"What about weekends?" she asked.

"No weekends."

"That'd be perfect," she murmured. Then, louder, she said, "No, I really don't think-" She stopped. "What am I saying? Of course, I'll take it."

Wyatt's relief was palpable. "I assume you'll need to give notice at the spa. I'm sure I can find a substitute-"

"I can start tomorrow. My boss at Sunrise fired me this morning."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I was coming here. Because I refused to let her push me around."

"I got you fired?" It just got worse and worse. His debt to her kept growing.

"No, you gave me a great new job. Where do I sign up?"

Wyatt took her to Personnel, where she got some forms to fill out. He also got a five-hundred dollar check cut for that morning's work. Then suddenly, at eleven-fifteen, she looked at her watch and got a panicky expression in her eyes.

"Oh, my gosh, I have to go," she said breathlessly. She grabbed her case and her purse, then pulled the visitor badge off her collar and handed it to him.

"You have another job or something?" he asked, keeping pace with her, as she headed for the station's front doors.

"Or something. What time tomorrow?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Then she peeled out of the studio as if her pants were on fire. Wyatt sat down in the nearest chair, feeling like he'd been run over by a bulldozer. Had he just hired Phoebe Lane to be on the staff of his show? His grandparents would be pleased. But he would see her every day. Which meant that every day he would have to resist his attraction to her. He knew better than to have a relationship with someone on his staff.

Just as well, he tried to tell himself. He didn't need a woman in his life right now. Anyway, Phoebe had made it abundantly clear she wasn't interested in him, either. As pretty as she was, she was probably used to setting boundaries in clear terms, up front. If she didn't, she'd be hit from all sides.

When Phoebe got home from her classes that night, she noticed Wyatt's car in his carport. That in itself was unusual-he was almost never home. Even more unusual was the note on her door from him. "Call me when you get in-we need to discuss tomorrow's show. Wyatt."

"And what's wrong with leaving a message on my answering machine?" she murmured as she let herself into her apartment. But she was coming to realize Wyatt never did anything the ordinary way. He was altogether unpredictable.

She was tired and achey and out of sorts. Her organic chemistry test hadn't gone well, and she had another test tomorrow-calculus-that she had to study for tonight. Having to squeeze in a meeting with her new boss should be making her feel even crankier.