Page 2 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

husky voice Rachel described the hot new boyfriend who only laid hands on her 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. MaybeFrenzied Feet? orHung 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.

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’syourfeet, 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 raised an eyebrow. 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.?”

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