Molly Jameson considered ways to kill herself.
Figuratively at least.
She wasn’t shy so much as intensely private,
which made her current situation disconcerting.
She was vain enough to wonder for the umpteenth
time if her clothing was right. Hopefully, the dark navy
suit would convey professionalism to the audience. She’d
pinned her long, blonde hair into a loose twist but several
strands had fallen free. Her stomach flip-flopped yet
again as she tried to smooth the hairs back into place.
“Five minutes, Dr. Jameson,” a masculine
looking woman in jeans and a tee shirt said as she adjusted
the microphone attached to her bulky headset.
Molly nodded and smiled. Outwardly, she hoped
to appear cool and calm and tried not to think that she
might be the very first person to vomit live on Montana’s
most popular morning news show.
Her eyes darted around the chaotic television
studio. He leaned against the desk in the center of the
large room. He had an easy, engaging smile and seemed
completely comfortable.
And why wouldn’t he? Chandler Landry was WMON-
TV. His image was splashed on busses and billboards all
over the place. Tilting her head, Molly studied him from
the relative obscurity of her position behind one of three
large cameras positioned around the set.
It wasn’t any secret that Chandler Landry was
considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the
greater Helena-Jasper area. He had it all – looks,
breeding, money, class and confidence.
Molly gave him serious bonus points in the
looks department. He was more than six feet of sculpted
muscle and genetic perfection wrapped in a perfectly
tailored, designer suit. His skin was deeply tanned but
not leathery. His eyes were light brown, rimmed in dark,
inky lashes. The only flaw – if she could call it that –
was a slightly crooked smile. But it wasn’t really a flaw –
nope, it was endearing and completely non-threatening. On
any other man, it would have been a sneer. But on Chandler
it added an innocent allure that gave him that air of
boyish charm.
“We’re coming out of commercial,” headset woman
said, motioning Molly toward the brightly lit set. “Follow
me.”
Molly did, feeling all of her insecurities knot
in the pit of her belly. Silently, she cursed Gavin
Templesman. Only her beloved mentor could have conned her
into doing this silly segment. Gavin knew how she felt
about being in the public eye. He also knew how badly she
wanted her book to succeed. She wanted to help people. That
didn’t mean she wanted to sit under a circle of hot lights
and have the intrusive camera trained on her face for the
next half hour. She knew her stuff, saying something
inappropriate or becoming tongue tied wasn’t going to be a
problem for her. No matter how much she disliked the
artifice of the television studio.
No, what she didn’t enjoy was the feeling of
vulnerability and discomfort she felt as Chandler Landry
strolled across the set toward her. She folded her hands
loosely in her lap as she watched him approach, willing her
erratic heart beat to slow and her breathing to remain
even. Hard to imagine, but he was even better looking in
person than on her twenty-seven inch screen at home.
She hoped he wasn’t a shaking hands kinda guy.
Her palms were slightly damp. Which annoyed her no end.
“Dr. Jameson,” Chandler greeted with a smile
that she felt all the way to her toes.
She subtly brushed her right hand on her skirt
before taking the hand he offered and struggled to keep her
knees from buckling. Up close, Chandler was a devastating
sight to behold. The faint scent of his cologne was as
intriguing as the fact that his palm was slightly
calloused. Why would a pretty boy have callouses?
“Mr. Landry,” she greeted, forcing a lightness
to her tone. “I feel like I know you already.”
“Most people do,” he replied easily. “The
price you pay for being invited into the homes of viewers
day in and day out.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” she
countered, dropping his hand.
“We’re back in fifteen,” a voice thundered
through the studio.
Chandler held out a chair for her, presenting
Molly with what she assumed was her first in a series of
humiliations. In spite of her heels, she was forced to
climb up on to the stool and her perfectly professional
navy pumps fell about an inch shy of the foot bar.
“Ten seconds, Chandler.”
He rolled her into place. “Sit on the back of
your jacket,” Chandler suggested. “It looks better on
camera.”
“I thought I was here to give advice to your
callers,” she said as she adjusted the bunched lapels of
her suit.
He clipped a microphone to the creamy, silk tie
that complimented his gunmetal gray shirt. “This is
television, sweetheart. Ninety percent of it is how you
look.”
“How positively shallow,” she muttered as she
scooted the hem of her jacket beneath her hips.
Sweetheart? What a condescending ass.
“People don’t tune in for ugly.”
“In five,” the body-less voice announced.
“Lucky for you.”
Chandler tossed her an easy smile. “Thanks, I
think.”
“In four.”
Molly felt like a few thousand nerve endings
wired for sound. While the studio was relatively quiet,
everyone was watching the two of them. She felt like a zoo
exhibit, and had to force herself not to fiddle with her
hair and clothes. Something she rarely did. She was
uncomfortably self-conscious and hoped to God it didn’t
show. She took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly.
Better.
“Three.”
Her breathing was fine. It was her heart rate
that was the problem. Nerves, anticipation, and damn it,
the close proximity of Chandler Landry had her hyper
aware. How did I allow myself to get talked
into this?
“Two.”
Chandler patted her hand just as one of the
large cameras wheeled closer to them. “Good luck, Doc.”
Headset woman brought her hand down and pointed
at Chandler just as a large red light came on above the
teleprompter attached to the camera lens.
“Good Morning again, Montana. I’m here in the
studio this morning with author and psychiatrist Martha
Jameson.”
Molly felt a trickle of perspiration dribble
down between her shoulder blades. Part of it was the
bright lights but most of it was palpable, intense fear.
“Dr. Jameson’s latest book,” Chandler
continued, holding her book up as he spoke. “The
Relationship Mambo, has just been released by University
Press. Good Morning, Dr. Jameson.”
“Good morning,” she replied in a hideously
scratched voice.
“I was reading your book last night and I was
struck by the fact that you advocate casual physical
encounters in this day and age.”
Leave it to a man to focus on the sex parts.
Out of context, of course. This was going to be the
longest fifteen minutes of her life. “Actually,” she
began, treading the waters between being pissed and
terrified. “You’ve misstated my position.” She ignored the
dark flash in his eyes. “Sexuality is part of human
nature. And while the ideal situation would be physical
intimacy as part of a meaningful, committed relationship,
that isn’t always practical. The chapter you referred to
is a discussion of the double standard that exists in our
society. I was simply stating my opinion that women should
take ownership over their sexuality just as men have done
since the dawn of time.”
“That’s great in theory, but doesn’t society
frown on women being promiscuous?”
“I’m not advocating promiscuity, Mr. Landry. I’m
acknowledging that women have the same physical needs as
men.” And apparently the same homicidal tendencies, Molly
thought, wanting to smack that smug smile off his handsome
face. Strangely, her heart beat felt just fine and dandy
now.
Great looking – yes. But smug, arrogant and
very sure he was the be all and end all of any woman he met.
Nice try, Molly thought narrowing her eyes
slightly, but no cigar. It would take a better man than you
Gunga Din.
Chandler smiled and winked. “Let’s hope every
woman out there adopts your philosophy. Dr. Jameson will
answer any of your relationship questions. Call the number
at the bottom of your screen.” Chandler flipped her book
open to a pre-marked page. He glanced down, then looked at
her under his brows as if surprised. “You also advocate
divorce, Dr. Jameson.”
Molly’s blood boiled as she tried to maintain
her fake smile. “Again, you’ve misinterpreted my
position.” Read for comprehension, pretty boy! “I advocate
divorce in situations where there is abuse, both physical
and emotional.”
“Or lack of love,” he read.
“Which is a form of emotional abuse, Mr.
Landry. Relationships are living things. They need fuel
to survive. If there is no love, the relationship withers
and dies.” Which is exactly what I’d like to happen to you!
“You don’t confine your advice to men and
women,” he continued. “You write extensively about parent-
child relationships as well. Do you have children, Dr.
Jameson?”
“No. My book is based on research and almost a
decade as a therapist.”
“Isn’t it hard for you to hold yourself out as an authority
on children when you’ve never had any of your own?”
“Psychiatrists often can’t have firsthand
knowledge of a given situation. For example, a doctor
doesn’t have to beat his wife in order to understand the
dynamic of spousal abuse.”
He gave her a slight nod of
recognition. “We’ve got John on line one. Go ahead, John.”
“Yes,” a deep voice crackled through the
studio. “My life sucks.”
“This is morning television, John,” Chandler
warned politely. “Watch the language.”
“Anyway,” John’s voice sounded annoyed and
tense. “I’ve got a crappy job. My mother’s always ragging
me. The government screwed me.”
“Doctor?” Chandler interrupted. He gave Molly
a ‘help me’ look.
“John, it sounds to me like you’re overwhelmed
right now. I suggest you take some ‘me’ time.”
“I can’t. I need my lousy job to pay my
bills. And my mother needs me. I do everything for her.”
Molly heard the anger and torment in the
voice. “You have to make a choice, John. I hear your
frustration. When we’re in that place, it affects
everything we do. You have to take responsibility for your
own happiness. If your job is making you miserable, then
find another job. As for your mother, give yourself
permission to take a break.”
“She needs me.”
“That may well be. But you need you, too.
Once you’re happy and fulfilled, you’ll find that the other
pieces of your life fall into place. Find something that
will make you happy, John. One thing. Then do it.”
“We’ve got to take the next caller, John, good
luck,” Chandler said, pressing one of the blinking lights
on the phone in front of him. He greeted the caller by
name as provided by his producer.
Chandler smiled over at the small woman with
the authoritative tone. She was too damned cute to be such
a tight ass. He’d actually found her book enlightening,
insightful even. His producer had insisted he mention the
section on sex. The plan had been to mention it once to
please the higher-ups, and then move on. Then he saw Molly
Jameson.
She was a prim, professional package at serious odds with
the frank discussion on sexuality he’d read. This, of
course, was far, far sexier. There was something
incredibly appealing about this woman. He guessed she was
much more than a pretty face hidden beneath a layer of navy
linen.
Chandler had to struggle to look interested as
the next few callers chimed in. Three women involved with
losers who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop the cycle of the dead-
end relationship. To her credit, Molly seemed to be taking
it all in stride.
“. . . time for you to put a period on this
relationship and move on,” Molly advised. “Don’t look at
it as a failure, think of the two years you spent with Tony
as a learning experience.”
“Thank you.”
Chandler listened as his producer’s voice
boomed in his ear, then said, “Dr. Jameson, our first
caller, John, is calling back.”
“Hello again, John,” she said.
Chandler watched as she wiped her damp palms
across her lap. Odd that such a confident woman should be
so uncomfortable on camera.
“I took your advice,” the caller stated.
“That’s good, John,” Molly replied, her eyes
narrowed suspiciously.
“Hey, John?” Chandler asked, “You only called
ten minutes ago. How did you change your life in such a
short period of time?”
“I did what she said,” John answered. “I just
killed my mother.”