Lovesick

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Loree Lough

ISBN :978-1-55487-066-0

Page :102

Word Count :25000

Publication Date :2010-08-03

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Lovesick (pdf) , Lovesick (prc) , Lovesick (epub) , Lovesick (mobi)

Category : Contemporary Romance

Product Code: 978-1-55487-066-0

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A sizzling tale of two people, dedicated to ‘the single life', who are forced to admit that sometimes, Love Talk is more powerful than any personal promise a man or woman can make.

When Sunni Wallace goes to work for radio shrink Gabe McCaffrey, a flame is lit that neither can control. Can they forget past hurts long enough to let love into their hearts again? Or will they forever live in the past…alone?

Bobby Poulet propped both cowboy-booted feet on his desk and leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair. "Well, don't this just beat all," he said, grinning, "Dr. Gabe McCafferty, having a panic attack." Grey-white brows rose high on his well-lined forehead. "What would your listeners say!"

Gabe took quick inventory of himself. Pacing like a caged tiger, arms waving wildly about his head, he did look like a man who'd lost control. Pocketing both hands, he tucked in one corner of his mouth. "If my listeners knew you'd replaced my producer with a, with a rooky, they'd say you've been chewing too much chicken fat."

Chuckling good-naturedly, Bobby aimed a bony finger at his employee. "I hope that isn't a chicken joke. You know how I hate chicken jokes…"

Slumping onto one of two tufted chairs facing Bobby's massive mahogany desk, Gabe smiled despite himself. "It was more a reference to the condition of your mind, 'cause hiring Sunni Wallace has got to be one of the most bird-brained ideas you've ever…"

But Gabe didn't complete his explanation. Vito Bell, with twenty-five years in the business, had practically single-handedly built the show's audience. What would happen to ratings, now that Vito had decided to retire…and Bobby had replaced him with a greenhorn?

On his feet again, Gabe flapped his arms. "What were you thinking, hiring a kid with no radio experience to replace a guy like Vito?"

Bobby sat forward and leveled a one-brow-up gaze at his employee. "Park it, Gabe, before I call the Baltimore Zoo and have you written up for impersonating an ostrich."

Employees often called Bobby Santa Boss as much for the minuscule bulge above his belt as for his gift-giving tendencies. But Bobby Poulet hadn't become the nation's largest producer of poultry products because of his jolly demeanor. He'd earned his reputation as a savvy, hard-edged businessman by being tough, gutsy, straightforward. When that left brow slid closer to what used to be his hairline, folks knew better than to get in his way.

Gabe parked it.

"I hired Sunni Wallace," Bobby began, "because I have a good feeling about her." He tapped a fingertip to his temple. "Got a lot on the ball, that one."

Gabe shrugged a shoulder. Like it or not, he had to admit Bobby had never steered him wrong.

"Have I ever steered you wrong?"

He raised a brow of his own, grinning at the boss's intuitive powers. Bobby was much more than the guy who signed his paycheck. In the years they'd worked together, he'd become a close friend. "No," Gabe said. "At least, not yet."

"Look, Gabe…Lovesick is WCHK's best-selling program. You don't honestly think I'd do anything that would jeopardize our ratings."

It amazed Gabe, the way this diminutive man could make him feel ten instead of thirty. Ten years old and as foolish as when he'd belched into the microphone, smack in the middle of his first choir solo. "Of course you wouldn't."

Bobby slid a manila folder toward Gabe. "Take a gander at her resume. Sunni may not have on-air experience, but she's well-rounded."

"So, it's Sunni already, is it?" Bobby's wife had died ten years earlier, and during the past five, old Santa Boss had earned himself yet another nickname--Chick Man. Wiggling his brows, Gabe winked. "When you say well-rounded, are you talkin' about her drumsticks or her ability to do a job well?"

"For your information, she didn't want the job. I had to talk her into taking it."

"You talked her into…" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "But why?"

"Vito is the reason I talked you into doing the Lovesick show."

Bobby's statement hung in the air between them like an invisible spider web, capturing Gabe's full attention and binding him to accept the honesty of the words as well. The boss had, after all, hornswoggled Gabe into going on-air with his counseling sessions. "There are a lot of lovesick people out there," Bobby had insisted, "who don't have a clue how to fix what's wrong with their love lives, and you can't possibly help enough of them in your fancy suite of offices in Ellicott City."

Gabe had tried to point out that without face-to-face contact, he couldn't do the would-be listeners much good.

"Your book was on the bestseller list for months. Folks all over the country are still claiming you saved their marriages…" Faced with Bobby's in-your-face logic, Gabe had agreed to give the show a trial run.

Nearly three years later, Lovesick was still on the air. In that time, the show had won several prestigious awards, had been touted by a Baltimore Magazine critic as one of Charm City's most popular talk shows. The phone lines were jam-packed every afternoon between two and five o-clock with men and women hoping, praying that Dr. Gabe would have a solution to their relationship problems. And thanks to the cooperation of his soon-to-be former producer, Vito Bell, he often could resolve those conflicts.

But could he continue helping people to the Vito degree…with a novice in the production booth?

"I know what you're thinking," Bobby said.

Gabe waited for the boss to read his thoughts…again.

"Quit worrying whether or not Lovesick will stay on top with Sunni at the helm." With a jerk of his thumb, he gestured toward his filing cabinets. "I don't make decisions--not even small ones--without careful research." Bobby sent Gabe a fatherly smile. "I wouldn't steer you wrong."

Gabe stood and headed for the door. "Okay, boss," he said, pulling it closed behind him. He stuck his head back into Bobby's office. "I'll try…'cause I'm not chicken," he added, grinning mischievously, and quickly ducked out.

A dull thud left Gabe wondering which of the books perched on the corner of his desk Bobby had thrown at the closed door. "You know I hate chicken jokes!" came his muffled shout.

Hands in his pockets and smirking over the fact that he'd more or less gotten the last word, Gabe nodded politely at Bobby's buxom blonde secretary and headed for the studio. Yeah, came his silent retort, and I hate surprises, so I guess we're even. For now…