You Sexy Thing!

“Very funny, Rick,” she said when her personal assistant answered. Suddenly she wondered why he had a room three floors away from her. Shouldn’t he be next door? Ready to protect her honor should some Peeping Tom burst into her room for an eyeful while she was in the shower?

She grimaced. Give her a minute and her subconscious would recreate the infamous shower scene from Psycho. She really needed to get a grip.

Something thudded on the other end of the line. “What’s funny?” he said.

Gracie sank into the king-size mattress and switched the receiver to her other ear. She’d chosen her assistant for his organizational skills, not for his sense of humor. It didn’t hurt that he was five years younger than she was and could double for Leonardo DiCaprio. Of course she’d have to nip his comedic tendencies in the bud right now if she was to remain sane during the next two weeks of her promotional tour. “I know I said I was getting bored with this trip. But did you have to send me a Peeping Tom to liven things up? Certainly even you are more imaginative than that.”

Rick’s long-suffering sigh sounded over the line. “Grace, what are you blathering on about now? Peeping Tom? You’re sixteen floors up. Unless you’re talking about someone looking at you through binoculars from the building across the street—”

“I’m talking about the guy who just walked into my room while I was taking a shower.”

“Aah.”

“So you did have something to do with it,” she said with relief, picking up a copy of her book, which lay on the bed next to her.

“Nope.”

“Rick, I’m going to hang up now.”

“I think you’re losing it, Dr. Mattias.”

“You’re just catching on now? Rick, I lost it way back when you were still calling your penis a pee-pee.”

His laugh tickled her ear. “You know, this sex-talk stuff is taking some getting used to.”

“This from someone who hears it every day. Anyway, we’re not anywhere near indulging in sex talk, Rick. I merely called an important part of your anatomy by its proper name. I could ask you what you call it.” Grace fanned her thumb against the three hundred and some pages of her hardcover book. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that she had had the discipline to sit down and write such a tome on human sexuality. Other times, she remembered every single word in there and flushed, horrified that she’d actually said one thing or another.

As long as the media never found out she was a fraud.

Well, she wasn’t really a fraud. Exactly. It was just that all of her advice was based on 812 case studies rather than personal experience. Which was as it should be. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that putting her theories into practice would have allowed her a more…intimate insight into what she was suggesting others do with their love lives.

She flipped the book over to gaze at the back of the dust jacket. She hadn’t wanted to include a picture of herself. But there one was. Funny, the woman smiling into the camera appeared very sexually experienced.

She tossed the book onto the floor then curled her toes around the edges.

Another muffled sound filtered through the telephone line, reminding her that she was still talking to her assistant. “Rick, what are you doing?”

“Would you believe me if I said your Peeping Tom just paid me a visit?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” He chuckled, though somehow Grace got the distinct impression it wasn’t meant for her.

Crossing her legs, she switched the receiver to her other ear. “Are you messing around on company time, Rick?” she asked curiously.

She realized she knew very little about her assistant’s private life. Not that she wanted to, mind you. But it suddenly struck her as odd that he would have one. And so soon after their arrival in New York.

She glanced over her shoulder, toward the monumental view out her window, and wondered what life would be like if she had someone in her room with her right now. Preferably a tall, dark and sexy someone who could fool around with her while she was on the phone. Take a long, breathtaking walk with through Central Park. Go see a Broadway play with. Someone to sip cappuccino with at one of those cozy coffee-houses all over the place.

A shiver shimmied down her spine, reminding her just how long it was since she’d been with someone.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t had breakfast.

Let’s see, a tall, dark and nameless man, or her kitchen with all her shiny appliances and her refrigerator full of food? She twisted her lips. Tough call. Then again, there was no plausible reason she couldn’t have both….

“Has there been a time I haven’t been there for you, Gracie?” Rick said, offering up a non-answer sort of answer that made her smile. “Look, how serious was this incident? Do you want me to contact security and report the guy? Have them change your key card code?”

Her fingers tightened around the receiver. “No, I really don’t want to go through all the hassle. My mind may be telling me I just survived a close call with death, but my gut says the poor jerk just got the wrong room. Anyway, reporting the incident will only distract me from the interview.”

“Speaking of which, I hope this call means you’re ready, because my phone message light is blinking. It’s probably the car the station sent to pick us up.”

Grace yelped and jumped up. She wasn’t anywhere near ready. She eyed the daring, bright pink number she and Rick had settled on for the outrageous radio talk-show host, then lifted a hand to her still wet hair. “See you downstairs in five.”

More like twenty, but he didn’t have to know that.

“YOU’RE LATE.” The junior producer of WDRT’s morning radio show descended on Dylan and Tanja like a swooping crow complete with curved nose and clipboard. Through speakers set up in every corner, a clip of seemingly unending commercials poured over the airwaves. Dylan felt hands on his shoulders. He tensed.

“Sheesh, Doc, I’m just trying to take your coat,” Tanja said.

“Oh.” He allowed her to tug the tan overcoat down the length of his arms, then grasped the new set of notes he’d put together in the cab on the way over.

Tanja leaned closer, one of the spiked, purple tips of her hair nearly taking out an eyeball. She lowered her voice. “Are you okay? You’re wound up tighter than a seventeen-year-old virgin on prom night.”

He grimaced. “Thanks for the comparison, Tanja.”

The instant he’d met the young PR rep his publisher had sent to accompany him on his tour, he was convinced his editor had gone out of his way to make sure he found someone the total opposite of Dylan’s character. Dylan could see Charlie Hasseldorf getting quite a chuckle out of the situation. Then Dylan had landed in New York and discovered that here, nearly every professional Tanja’s age…well, looked like Tanja.

The producer clapped his hands impatiently. “Look, I don’t have time for any prep so you’re just going to have to play it by ear, Doc. The other doc’s already in there.”

“Other doctor?” Dylan choked, looking at Tanja.

She shrugged and smiled, but it was hard for her to look innocent when she appeared to have just stepped out of a tattoo parlor. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Well, isn’t it your job to find out?”

“We don’t have time for this now.” The producer fairly shoved him toward the door. “After you, Dr. Fairbanks.”

Dylan righted himself. What other doctor? And why hadn’t he been told of this beforehand so he could adequately prepare? By now he was used to having his theories challenged by local whackos, but at least he’d been able to do a bit of research before he actually faced the smirking individuals he guessed were chosen more for their disbeliefs than their beliefs.

He was led down a long white hall with various doors leading off it. Dylan straightened his suit jacket and eyed the jeans the other guy was wearing. Perhaps he should have taken Tanja’s advice and dressed down for the occasion. It didn’t matter that it was radio and the listeners couldn’t see him, Tanja had told him. The shock jock could see him. And absolutely nobody wore suits to radio shows.

“Just seat yourself to the right,” the producer said, opening a glass door. “Headphones will be on the counter in front of you.”

The first thing Dylan spotted in the dimly lit room was a camera.

Damn.

Obviously Tanja had also forgotten to tell him they were being filmed.