7 Day and 7 Nights
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This newly updated version of 7 Days and 7 Nights by USA Today Bestselling Author Wendy Wax is the perfect summer read!
Dr. Olivia Moore has a lot in common with the women she advises every day on WTLK Radio’s Liv Live. She’s strong and independent but just can’t seem to pick the right men. First, she let a commitment-phobic man-child break her heart, then she married a cheater. Now she’s kicked the cheater to the curb, but the man-child is back. And he hasn’t grown up at all.
A decade after he broke Olivia’s heart, Matt Ransom is her co-worker, her competition, and the host of WTLK’s highly rated and excruciatingly irreverent late-night show, Guy Talk. Not to mentionAtlanta’s Bachelor of the Year.
All Olivia wants is to remain professional and keep their past a secret, but when Matt starts sniping at her on the air, all bets are off. As their battle of the sexes heats up, their bosses see dollar signs.
Now she’s trapped in a tiny apartment with Matt 24/7 in the reality show from hell…
Can Olivia get through the next seven days (and seven nights) with her career and her heart intact? It would certainly be easier if he kept his shirt on and stopped looking at her like that.
“Wax’s first romantic comedy is a witty, battle-of-the-sexes tale and a perfect summertime read.”
“I adored this book. Sexy, witty, and poignant too! A laugh out loud read by a rising star!”
—Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author of The Playboy and The Bachelor.
“Warm, witty, wonderful! Enjoy the hilarious ride as two radio enemies become radio sweethearts-in spite of all their efforts not to do so!”
—Karen Kendall, award-winning author of I’ve Got You, Babe.
“Sassy, sexy and smart! Mars and Venus butt heads and hearts in this romantic comedy by rising star Wendy Wax.
—Karen White, award-winning author of Falling Home and After the Rain
“Seven Days and Seven Nights is a thoroughly satisfying read-funny, poignant, sexy, and real. This fresh, well-woven tale might teach you a thing or two about your own relationship! Put Wendy Wax on the top of your to-be-read pile.”
—Stephanie Bond, author of I Think I Love You
“Wendy Wax delivers sparkling dialogue and outright belly laughs in this comedic tale of opposites who can’t help but attract. Seven Days and Seven Nights is a fast-paced read full of humor and heart.”
—Deborah Smith, author of Sweet Hush
“Just what we’ve been looking for, a wonderful guilty pleasure, sweet, smooth, and delicious, with just the right note of tartness. And not at all fattening! Seven Days and Seven nights is a lovely new entry in that lovely genre, the romantic comedy. This is one box of truffles you won’t be able to put down until you’re done.”
—Mira Kirshenbaum, bestselling author of The Emotional Energy Factor and Too Good to Leave, Too Bad to Stay.
This debut romantic comedy puts a clever spin on an age-old formula: instead of being marooned together in a snowstorm, Wax’s protagonists are stuck in a publicity stunt complete with 24/7 Webcam. Dr. Olivia Moore is a radio therapist whose talk show has an earnest, emotional and sometimes anti-male twist. Matt Ransom’s competing Guy Talk extols freewheeling bachelorhood and offers helpful advice like “get over it.” Feuding between the two persists on-air until corporate headquarters decrees that one of them must go. To make the decision, Matt and Olivia are locked for a week into a tiny apartment, broadcasting their shows and emitting a live web feed to help fans signal their favorite. Naturally, tensions in the cramped space run high-complicated by sexual attraction, competitive fire and unresolved issues from the intense affair Matt and Olivia shared eight years earlier. It’s never clear why Matt loves the defensive and inflexible Olivia. Then again, she’s blonde and sexy, so maybe it’s what he would call “a guy thing.”
The romance is appealing…but the novel’s real strength is the witty clash of the two gender-battling shows and the glimpse it offers of the wacky world of radio.”
Olivia Moore’s day began with a cheating husband and went downhill from there.
This time the cheating husband didn’t belong to her. Of course, he didn’t belong to the wispy-voiced woman on the other end of the phone, either—a fact Olivia, as
host of WTLK Radio’s Liv Live, felt compelled to point out.
“The man has a wife, Clarice.”
“No, no ‘buts.’ Let’s recap the facts, shall we?”
Olivia ticked her points off on fingers that her audience could not see. “You’ve never been in his home, and you can’t call him there. You don’t go out together in public. He’s never available on holidays. Your dates take place in hotel rooms.”
The sniffling began on the other end of the line.
“What does this tell you, Clarice?”
“This man is not available, Clarice, because he’s married.” Olivia’s tone turned dry. “And unless you’ve been living on a desert island for the last year, you know that I’ve had some personal experience in this area.”
Clarice stopped sniffling long enough to laugh a little.
“The bottom line here is, he’s married, you’re miserable, and his wife probably isn’t turning cartwheels, either.” Lord knew she hadn’t been when she’d finally stopped pretending that nice, safe, dependable James was just working late.
“Married men do not belong in the dating pool. They’re like ill-fitting shoes you ordered online, Clarice. They may look great, but the pain is not worth it and as soon as you try them on you know you have to send them back.”
Olivia settled her headphones more firmly in place and squinted out through the small rectangle of glass to the radio station control room beyond. The producer of her call-in advice show, Diane Lowe, cradled a phone between her ear and shoulder, her fingers flying across her computer keyboard as she typed in a list of callers waiting to go on the air with Olivia. After each name, she typed a brief summary of what he or she intended to say.
Scanning the monitor in front of her, Olivia noted four calls holding, two of them in agreement with her advice to Clarice. The other two, who’d never been married to an “ill-fitting shoes” guy or had the misfortune of dating one, thought Clarice should proceed more slowly.
Olivia drummed her fingers on the desk and wondered how many Clarices her own ex-husband had dated. If you believed social media, there had been truckloads of them. In the end, of course, the actual number hardly mattered; one or one million, the damage was the same.
Olivia sat up straighter, her thoughts leading her to ask, “Have you noticed that your boyfriend is the only one who seems to be enjoying himself?”
There was a sob. A hiccup. The blowing of a nose—all the more graphic for lack of accompanying video—and then a final sniffle.
“Can you hear me, Clarice?” Olivia leaned into the microphone. She could practically feel Clarice nodding her head.
“Good, because I want you to listen carefully.”
A barely audible sniff, and then, “Okay.”
“Get rid of the man, Clarice. Dump him. Send him back. It doesn’t matter what method you choose. Just do it.”
Olivia hit the “drop” button to kill the call and, without allowing herself time to stop and think, moved on to the next.
She let half of the women have their say, totally aware of the irony of her advising the “other woman” when she’d spent almost six months imagining fates worse than death for James’s last fling. Then she moved on to a new caller with a new problem, hoping this one wouldn’t hit quite so close to home.
“Rachel, hello. What’s happening?”
“Hi, Olivia. It’s, um, about my new boyfriend. And my, um… feet.” Olivia heard a snort of laughter from the control room, mercifully out of microphone range, and saw Diane shoot a triumphant fist into the air. Olivia felt the same fine rush of adrenaline; only in radio could the topic move from philandering to feet in less than fifteen seconds.
Olivia tucked a stray strand of hair firmly behind her ear and got down to work. For several minutes she extracted information from her embarrassed caller. In a husky voice Rachel described the hot new boyfriend who only laid hands on her gym body long enough to get to her big toe.
Olivia made a mental note to devote a future program to foot and other fetishes. More calls came in, and she started contemplating a book on the subject. Idly, she considered titles. Maybe Frenzied Feet? or Hung Up on Hangnails? Glancing down at her own feet in their cushy Nikes, she tried to remember how long it had been since her last pedicure. Her schedule allowed exactly no spare time for either toe sucking or pampering.
In the year since her embarrassingly public divorce, she’d moved her call-in radio show, Liv Live, from Tampa, Florida, to WTLK in Atlanta and seen her audience expand exponentially.
The three hours on the air every morning were the most visible part of her day, but the articles she wrote on a regular basis and the fulfillment of her multi-book contract gobbled up what little free time remained. And that was without the promotional appearances the station insisted upon.
“Rachel, this isn’t a particularly unusual fetish as fetishes go. And it’s only a problem if it’s a problem for you.” She stood up to pace the postage-stamp-sized room—a highly unsatisfying experience for a pacer of her magnitude—while the husky voice described what incredible shape her toes were now in and offered graphic detail about what her boyfriend liked to do to them.
The walls of the tiny room pressed inward as Olivia realized that her caller’s feet were having a much better sex life than Olivia’s entire body was.
She stopped pacing and waited out the moment of dead air while Rachel of the much-loved toes worked up to the real reason for her call.
“My boyfriend just took a job in the shoe department at Saks. He has his hands on other women’s feet all the time.” Her voice broke. “He comes home from work whistling every day.”
Olivia bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that this was a legitimate problem to Rachel, one that deserved her full and serious consideration. Unfortunately, a glance through the window to the control room told her that neither her producer nor the news anchor getting ready to go on at the top of the hour felt any such obligation; they shook with silent laughter, their bodies doubled over with mirth. Who could blame them? Her own self-control hung by the slimmest of threads.
“You know, Rachel, as long as you have no reason to believe he’s stepping out on you, I’d be careful not to jump to any conclusions. In fact, I suggest you keep your feet planted firmly on the ground and—” Rachel dissolved into a fit of giggles while Olivia made one last stab at actual advice. “Remember, it’s your feet, I mean, you, he runs home to every night.”
The opening strains of the show’s theme music in her headphones gave her an out.
“Saved by the bell,” Olivia thought as she gratefully leaned into the microphone one last time and closed the show with her signature tagline. “I’m Dr. Olivia Moore, reminding you to live your life… live.”
Olivia removed her headphones and gathered up the notes now strewn across the table. Pushing the microphone back on its retractable arm, she began to clear her things out of the way. In the control room on the other side of the glass, she could see Diane doing the same. Opening the door that separated them, Olivia popped her head into the control room.
“Nice job today, Di. Thanks.” A quick scan of the room’s flat surfaces revealed no candy wrappers or cookie crumbs, and the usual Egg McMuffin smells were missing.
“On a new diet?”
“Yeah. I just started the Everything-but-the-Crust Pizza Diet.”
“Oh?” Olivia felt one eyebrow go up. Her producer approached both eating and dieting with equal enthusiasm.
“Today I get ten green olives, five slices of pepperoni, one slice of cheese, and all the anchovies I can eat.”
“Wow.” Olivia tried not to wince. She didn’t have time for fad diet lectures or yet another attempt to persuade Diane to look at the emotional triggers behind her eating. If she hurried, she’d just make it to her own lunch with the Atlanta Leisure reporter. With a wave, she backed through the door and into the hall where the Operations Manager’s admin lay in wait.
“Hey, Olivia. Loved the feet thing. T.J. asked if you could stop by his office on your way out.”
“Can we make it another time, Anna? I’ve got less than twenty minutes to make it to an interview.”
The pert brunette shrugged apologetically. The top of her head barely reached Olivia’s shoulder. “Sorry. He told me not to let you get away. I don’t think it’ll take too long.”
Resigned, Olivia followed Anna down the corridor past two other studios and another control room. They went through a heavy door that swung shut and locked behind them, then crossed the lobby to the station’s general offices.
T.J. Lawrence smiled and stood when Olivia knocked on his open office door. The sunlight streaming through the window spotlighted his freshly shaved head and glinted off his wire-rimmed glasses. Olivia blinked at the brightness after her stint in the artificially lit studio and took the chair opposite her boss.
T.J. was a bit of a maverick by current radio standards. In the corporate environment that now permeated the industry, his hands-on approach and personal commitment to local production made him a rarity. It also commanded fierce loyalty from the people who worked for him.
It had been T.J. who’d talked Olivia into moving her show to WTLK, and T.J. who’d put the station and its resources firmly behind her during the social media frenzy that followed her divorce.
In an industry that mostly relied on prepackaged syndicated programs, he continued to produce and promote local programming, building his on-air talent and staying personally involved in the direction of their shows. As a rule, he was head strategist and chief cheerleader.
Today, T.J.’s smile lacked its usual wattage, and his warm brown eyes looked troubled. Olivia settled into her chair and looked up at the man perched on the desk in front of her. “What’s the problem, T.J.?”
He studied her for a moment as if weighing his words. When he folded his arms across his chest and then crossed his long legs at the ankles, Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. As body language went, his was not promising.
“I know you’re in a hurry, so I’ll spare you the gory details. The problem, as always, is the corporate office in Detroit.” He paused and shook his head in disgust. “Normally, I can handle the suits. But this time when I turned on my Prince Charming act and reiterated the benefits of live and local radio they refused to back off.”
The picture of T.J. in full Prince Charming regalia notwithstanding, Olivia found herself wishing they were in a cartoon fairytale so that T.J. could just wave a magic wand and make this apparent threat to her show disappear. Uh-oh. She needed to stop thinking about fairytales because the image of Liv Live turning into a pumpkin and being left to rot was not a particularly pleasant one.
Looking away, Olivia stood and walked to the window, where she stared down at the lunchtime traffic inching along Peachtree Street. T.J. joined her there, and for a long moment they stood side by side watching the ant-like activity seven stories below. “Liv Live’s not in jeopardy, is it?”
T.J. ran a hand over the dome of his head and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a hard look at it.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s one of our most expensive shows. It and Guy Talk pull the biggest audiences and have the most syndication potential, but they’re also the most costly to produce. You and Matt Ransom are WTLK’s highest-paid talent. Based solely on the bottom line, your shows are roughly equivalent.”
“How can anyone compare Liv Live to Guy Talk? They don’t even belong on the same planet.”
“Yes, well, that’s pretty much what Matt said. But WTLK is a public company, Olivia. They don’t care what you’re talking about, only how your show affects the bottom line.”
“Okay. So, how do the bean counters expect you to handle this problem?”
“Basically, they’ve informed me that I can’t afford two live and local shows. Both of your contracts are up for renewal. They’re sending the consultant down and well,” he sighed, “I may have to give one of you up.”