Page 1 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

Chapter One

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.”

“But…

“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. Yourdatestake place in hotel rooms.”

The sniffling began on the other end of the line.

“What does this tell you, Clarice?”

More sniffles.

“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’smarried,you'remiserable, 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 shoes you ordered online that just don’t fit. 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 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.

“Yes.”

“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

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