Jane Sullivan - When He Was Bad...

“But I booked you on Nick Chandler’s show,” Karen said.

For the count of three, Sara’s voice deserted her, and when it finally returned, still she could barely get words out without choking.

“What did you say?”

“Now, I knew you were going to freak out. But—”

“There is no ‘but’ here. I’m not getting within ten miles of that man.”

“But it’ll be great publicity.”

“Promoting my book on his show? Are you kidding me?”

“Okay. I know it sounds a little weird, but—”

“A little weird? Do you know he once interviewed a man who claimed he’d had sex with a thousand women and has the notches in his bedpost to prove it?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And a woman who tends bar in a topless club? Topless?”

“Yeah, I heard that one. But—”

“And a man who has a Web site dedicated to teaching other men how to score with chicks?”

Karen held up her palm. “I know. I know. It’s a lot of testosterone all in one place, but—”

“I’ve read the gossip columns. I know Nick Chandler’s reputation in this town.”

Karen shrugged. “So he gets around a little.”

“A little? The guy with the thousand notches in his bedpost is an amateur compared to him!”

“And that’s exactly the reason I booked you on his show.”

Sara took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it was a hard-won battle. Publicity was a good thing, but Nick Chandler wasn’t. The man was so Neanderthal that his knuckles had to drag the ground. Sara shuddered. He probably had back hair and bad posture and drew pictures of bison on his apartment walls.

“Sorry, Karen. I’m not doing a show like that. Call the producer back and tell him to forget it.”

“Even if Nick Chandler has a hundred thousand listeners?”

Sara’s lower jaw fell halfway to her lap. “Are you telling me that a hundred thousand people tune in to hear that kind of programming?”

“Yep.”

“But none of them are going to want to hear about my book. His audience is all men.”

“Hell it is. Thirty-two percent women, demographic eighteen to thirty-five. That’s thirty-two thousand women who are going to be tuning in Thursday afternoon whether you’re there or not.”

“Why? So they can be objectified?”

“Sweetie,” Karen said, “they tune in for Nick Chandler.”

“Come on, Karen! What could a woman possibly find attractive about a man like him?”

“I believe you answered that question in your book.”

“Okay, yes, but—”

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen him.”

“No. I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Karen reached down to Sara’s laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. She tapped a few keys. A few moments later she turned the computer toward Sara, who looked at the screen and froze.

Holy mother of God.

Right there on the index page of the KZAP Web site sat Nick Chandler, lounging in a chair in the studio, the microphone tugged over to his lips, wearing a warm, open smile that was engaging beyond belief. His rich coffee-brown hair just brushed his collar in the back, and his eyes were such a brilliant shade of blue that gemstones all over the world had to be crying with jealousy. But Sara wasn’t fooled. Even as his roguish charm oozed right off the screen, she sensed a hint of overbearing overconfidence that gave away the truth: where women were concerned, he played hard and expected to win.

But although she could tell he was every bit the smooth-talking, women-stalking, commitment-mocking man his reputation said he was, she didn’t delude herself. A single glance at him could be hazardous to a woman’s heart.

She looked away. “He’s…decent-looking.”

Karen slumped against the back of the sofa. “Are you kidding me? I’d trade every sex toy in my nightstand drawer for fifteen minutes with a man like him.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would you have in the sixteenth minute?”

“One hell of an afterglow.”

Sara rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say I wanted to head down the aisle with him,” Karen went on. “I said I wanted fifteen minutes of wild, outrageous, multiorgasmic sex.”

“Fine. But you know the difference between a one-nighter and a lifetimer. Most women don’t. They think they’re going to change the way a man like him thinks about women. About love. About life. And that’s not going to happen.”

“So tell them that.”

“And have Nick Chandler smack down every word I say?”

“With luck, that’s exactly what he’ll do.”

“What?”

“Controversy sells,” Karen said. “If you go head-to-head with him, we might be able to squeeze all kinds of press out of it. Good girl meets bad boy head-on. Get it?”

“I told you I’m not interested.”

Karen gave her a sly smile. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t stay on top of a man like him?”

Sara frowned. “Spare me the innuendo, will you?”

“You wrote that book because of men like him, and now you’re afraid to face him?”

“I’m not afraid to face him.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be. You have at least thirty points of IQ on him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you have at least thirty points of IQ on everyone.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m still not doing that show.”

Karen sat back with a heavy sigh. “Sure. Okay. If that’s the way you want it.”

“That’s the way I want it.”

Karen tapped her fingers against her planner, then gave Sara an offhand shrug. “I mean, I guess it is a lot safer just to keep on preaching to the choir.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you can keep on talking to those women who pay big bucks at your seminars to hear you tell them what they already know. Or what they’re finally ready to hear. Or…” Karen gave her a no-nonsense stare. “You can rescue the wayward souls from the devil himself.”

Sara considered that for a moment. Karen was right. It was one thing to help women who knew they needed it. But what about opening the eyes of women who didn’t?

“You’re sure he has that many women who tune in to his show?” Sara asked.

“Yep. Thirty thousand plus.”

“He’s exactly the kind of man those women need to stay away from.”

“Right. But if they’ve got the hots for him, it means they need you. Every last lust-filled one of them. Can you think of a better place to talk to your target audience?”

Sara sighed. Going on that show would be a mistake. It had to be, didn’t it?

Then again, she had to admit that so far Karen hadn’t steered her wrong. Her creativity in promotion knew no bounds.

Neither did her powers of persuasion.

“I’ll come along, of course,” Karen said. “To give you moral support.”

Sara wavered. She really did want to get her book into the hands of as many women as possible. Maybe this was a way to accomplish that.

“Okay,” Sara said with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank God,” Karen said with relief. “You fell for it.”

“Fell for what?”

“You bought all that ‘it’ll sell books’ stuff. All I really wanted was an excuse to meet Nick Chandler in person.”

Sara smiled. “Why? So you can work toward that fifteen minutes?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you have first crack at him. If you decide you don’t want him, just toss him my way.”

“Come on, Karen. Both of us are smarter than that.”

Karen sighed. “Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing sometimes that I was a dumb blonde.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. There’s a bar stool at Kelly’s with my name on it.” She zipped her planner, then stood up. “Your appointments are over for the day. Why don’t you come along?”