Lindsay Evans - On-Air Passion

If this small thing was what it took to get Romance Perfected finally where it needed to be, then... Elle spat another string of curses and refused to look up at the triumphant smile she knew Shaye was already wearing.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter 3

“What’s got your boxers all twisted this morning?” Sam’s question, delivered in his driest tone, followed Ahmed into the back of the town car as he settled into the leather seat in preparation for the ride to the airport.

After a quick glance at his watch to make sure they were going to be on time for the rally, he shrugged at his cousin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bull.”

Sam had a point, though. At the radio station, Ahmed had been too much. He’d mercilessly teased Elle. But it hadn’t come off as teasing. Instead, his behavior had come dangerously close to bullying. Good thing Elle could take care of herself. When she’d growled back at him, refusing to back down in the face of all the crap he threw at her, Ahmed had nearly combusted from the heady cocktail of lust and admiration.

The only thing that had saved him from completely losing his mind was a firm mental reminder that this was his job. He was at work, and this was supposed to be all business.

However, that reminder hadn’t completely stopped his eyes from gluing themselves to her backside the moment she jumped up from the chair and started to walk away from him.

Satisfied his momently lapse was at an end, he put Elle Marshall firmly out of his mind and himself back on track with the conversation with Sam. “Anyway, it was just entertainment for the folks listening to the show.”

“Since when did you give a damn what entertains the people listening to your show?” Sam asked, sprawling on the opposite seat of the town car. “The whole point when you started this gig was to be yourself and give voice to the politics and social issues that matter to you. Not become another kind of mindless clone.”

A sound of irritation rumbled from Ahmed’s throat. He could never fool Sam, not since they were kids. He didn’t even know why he tried. “She got under my skin, and that’s all I’m going to say.” He leveled a warning glance across the small space. The conversation was over.

But that wasn’t the way it worked between them.

Three hours later, Ahmed and Sam stood near the front of a crowd of hundreds in Mississippi, both of them dressed in jeans and T-shirts, while a congressman from Georgia, a nationally respected education advocate, rolled his tremendous voice through the crowd, chiding the state for letting down some of the most vulnerable members of its population.

Ahmed was doing what he could for the kids in Georgia who’d lost their schools and been consistently denied equal educational opportunities. The kids in Mississippi and many underserved parts of the US needed help, too. And he planned on doing what he could to make sure that they got it.

Ahmed shifted and brushed shoulders with a pretty woman crowding him on one side and a taller man, his arm protectively curved around the shoulders of a girl who looked enough like him to be his daughter. The crowd surged with excitement, a mixture of anger and determination, while Congressman Oliver Wilson spoke, his voice loud and moving, from the podium set up in front of City Hall.

Incredibly, reporters had followed Ahmed from the radio station, although it was in an entirely different state. The manic clicks of their cameras, the bursts of flash and their shouted questions grated on his nerves, irritating him more than usual. As always, Ahmed wanted to use his celebrity to draw attention to the things he cared about, but sometimes he wondered if his celebrity status was overshadowing the real work. Still, with the business of making money out of the way, there was nothing else that deserved his energy more than helping his community.

Nearly a thousand people flowed around them, a security nightmare for Sam, but he bore the trials Ahmed put him through with his nearly superhuman patience.

Ahmed didn’t need any security. Not really. Ever since his retirement from professional basketball nearly a year ago, the media’s interest in his life had died down. Without the team and the games, and the spotlight that came with it, the groupies had disappeared as had any danger Sam imagined. But Sam had been the only male cousin close to Ahmed’s age when they were growing up, so they’d become tight and maintained a brotherly bond. Even when Sam had gone off to fight in Afghanistan in tour after tour, they’d kept in touch through email and occasional Skype calls.

After a close encounter with an IED that left Sam with a Purple Heart and honorable discharge, it only made sense to Ahmed that he invite his cousin to live on his sprawling compound, which already housed Ahmed’s mother and two sisters. This time, Sam had come back from overseas even quieter than before, his eyes haunted by things only he could see. Offering and then insisting his cousin take the job as his head of security, and eventually solo bodyguard, gave Ahmed the chance to take care of the cousin who’d been there with him nearly his whole life.

The crowd exploded into applause, its roar of approval at the congressman’s words dragging Ahmed back to the present, and he winced. He hadn’t been paying attention at all.

Sam nudged him. “Your mind still on that Marshall woman?”

“No, but yours obviously is,” Ahmed said. Although it only took a few words to bring “that Marshall woman” squarely back to center stage in his mind.

Ahmed squirmed at how right it felt for her to be there. “She may be sexy, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s got stars in her eyes and lives in a world that doesn’t exist outside of a storybook.” He gestured around them to the other protestors and activists. “This is what’s important, not setting people up to have unrealistic expectations of each other.”

“I doubt she’s as naive as you think.”

“If you like her so much, why don’t you ask her out?” Ahmed muttered.

While on the radio hours before, he’d taken the call from the winner of Elle’s contest and been blindsided when the woman insisted on giving up the prize of her “perfect date” to him and Elle. Once the surprise wore off, irritation settled in its place, but he’d held his tongue during the phone call, bantering with the woman until the commercial break when he’d politely asked her to reconsider the so-called donation. The woman insisted, saying her husband laughed at the thought of cynical Ahmed Clark on a date with a fairy-tale princess named Elle.

Of course, Clive loved the idea. Ever the publicity hound, he even brought up the idea of filming the date if Elle agreed to it. Ahmed kept his instinctive response—hell no!—to himself. He had the feeling Elle would cut that bad idea off at the knees all by herself. She didn’t seem the type to punish herself by hanging around somebody she didn’t like, not even for publicity, or whatever Clive promised her.

“Right,” Sam muttered in response to Ahmed’s earlier comment about asking Elle out. “If I went anywhere near that woman, you’d crush my face.” Then he snorted, the corners of his eyes crinkling briefly in amusement. “Or at least try to. Hell, Stevie Wonder could see how you were looking at her. You should’ve just asked her out instead of yanking her pigtails like a damn kid.”

Squirming where he stood, Ahmed didn’t bother to acknowledge his cousin’s truth with a response.

He looked away from Sam and focused deliberately on the reason he was away from Atlanta and his home with his comfortable bed and the kitchen where his mother and sisters were no doubt worrying about his safety. Not that there was anything to be concerned about.