When He Was Bad.... Jane Sullivan
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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?”
“Can’t. I need to head home and do a little brainstorming.”
“Brainstorming?”
Sara sighed. “I’m having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next book.”
“Same subject, different take?”
“Yeah. That’s what my editor wants, but I just don’t know where to go with it.”
“A couple of martinis might break that logjam.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Come on, Sara. When’s the last time you and I hit a happy hour together?”
“I’ve been busy. You’ve kept me busy.”
“Hey, I’m all for working hard. But you need your playtime, too. I think you’re the one who needs to get laid.”
“You know I don’t do casual sex.”
“Then make it a formal occasion. Evening gown, tiara, the whole thing. Personally, I wouldn’t want to get that dressed up just to have a man rip it all off, but if it works for you, go for it.”
Sara suppressed a smile. “How did we ever get to be friends, anyway?”
“You know how we got to be friends. We suffered through high school hell together. And speaking of high school hell, how’s your mother these days?”
“We met for lunch a few days ago. It’s been pretty good between us since she moved back here.”
“So she really did leave that creep in St. Louis for good?”
“Looks like it. This is going to be a good holiday, Karen. She’s coming over for dinner next week on Christmas Eve, and then we’re spending Christmas Day together.”
“Good,” Karen said, with a smile that looked a little phony. “That’s good.”
Sara recognized the dubious look on her friend’s face. In the past, it would have been justified. But not anymore. “It’s okay, Karen. It’s been three months. I think my mother has finally seen the light.”
“That’s what you thought with the other guys, too.”
“I know. But this time she sees the pattern of her behavior and wants to do something about it.”
“Hey, you’re the shrink. If you say her brain’s finally unscrambled where men are concerned, I believe you.” She checked her watch. “Oops. Happy hour is starting without me.” She rose from the sofa and headed for the door.
“Thanks for all your help, Karen.”
“Just stick with me, dahling. I’ll make you a star.”
With a couple of theatrical air kisses tossed Sara’s way, Karen swept out of her office and closed the door behind her. Sara glanced back at her computer screen.
Good Lord, what had she just agreed to?
Nick Chandler seemed to be staring right at her, teasing her, taunting her, daring her to walk right into his lair, where he lay in wait to chew her into a thousand tiny pieces.
He was undoubtedly good at ad-libbing. She wasn’t. He knew how to commandeer conversations and steer them in the direction he wanted them to go. She didn’t. He had those eyes that could knock her train of thought right off its track, while she had not a single body part that could hope to distract a man like him.
What she did have, though, was a mission, one she had yet to stray from. She hadn’t gotten this far in life without facing insurmountable