Page 16 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

VANESSA

M y shift at the dress shop ended at closing time.

I was out the door just after six o’clock, my bags significantly less heavy than they were when I first arrived, and I managed to pack my car up without spilling anything on myself or my car seats.

I slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the radio to drown out the stress of my day.

It took a while for the heat to start working in my fifteen-year-old little hatchback, but once the heat started to flow, I reversed out of my space and pointed my car in the direction of the radio station for my evening shift.

I stopped through a drive-thru for dinner on my way. I opted for a joint with big salads and low-calorie dressings. I ordered, paid, and eyed the disappointing meal riding shotgun all the way to the station.

I left my bags in the back seat and only brought my purse and salad in with me.

Walking into the station was a different experience than walking into the dress shop to start my shift.

The hallways were packed with employees and interns with ID cards hanging around their necks, running through open doorway to open doorway, making sure everyone was on track to go on the air in other recording studios.

I entered the office and found my radio manager, Doug, sitting at his desk sipping a mug of steaming green tea. Like me, he used to be a big soda drinker, but after a heart attack scare about eight months ago, he’d switched to caffeine-free green teas and lemon water.

He glanced up from his phone when I walked in. “Hey, Nessa. How was your weekend?”

We didn’t air the show on the weekends, and Doug didn’t work Monday nights, so I hadn’t seen him since our last show on Friday. “It was good. Kim dragged me to Caprizee and I’m still alive to tell the tale, so I’d consider that a victory.”

Doug snorted. “Caprizee, huh? I didn’t think that was your scene.”

“It’s not.” I tucked my purse under his desk and pulled up a chair to one edge, where I sat and dug into my salad. Doug watched my fork move from the plastic container to my mouth, and he frowned. “What the hell is that thing?”

I blinked innocently at the bowl of greens. “Salad.”

Doug’s nose scrunched and his glasses shifted up a quarter inch. “I can see that. Are you on a diet or something?”

“Can’t a girl eat a meal without someone speculating?”

“Sorry.” He sat back but his gaze lingered on my food. “Sorry. You’re right. That was rude.”

Yes, it was . “It’s okay. I was in a hurry to get here and I wanted to change things up is all.” My choice of dinner had absolutely nothing to do with the middle-aged raging twats from the dress shop. Nothing at all.

“You gonna be ready to go on the air in fifteen?”

“Of course.”

I was halfway through my salad when my assistant showed up.

Lizzy had her hair done up today. She’d stuck a pencil through her bun at some point that I was sure she’d forgotten was there.

She had that usual frazzled way about her before every show and was frantically scribbling in her agenda when Doug cleared his throat to get her attention.

She glanced up.

Doug chuckled. “You work too hard.”

“Someone has to around here,” she said. “Hey, Nessa.”

“Hey. How are you?” I crammed more greens and cucumbers and peppers into my mouth and chewed.

So utterly satisfying.

Lizzy shrugged and continued scribbling. Somehow, she managed to talk and write at the same time. “I’m all right. Got stood up last night by the guy I was talking to on Bumble.”

“Screw him,” I said.

She sighed. “It was so embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” I meant it. Lizzy was a real catch. She had a lot to offer someone. “Sounds to me like you dodged a bullet and avoided getting stuck on a date with a jerk.”

“I guess.”

I gave her a tight-lipped smile and snapped the lid back on my salad.

I’d only made it about halfway through. Doug let me put it in the mini-fridge in the corner of his office, which was fully stocked with Mountain Dew bottles.

I took one and brought it into the studio with me and went about prepping for the show.

I put my phone on silent, tested the headphones and the feedback quality with Doug, and made myself comfortable.

Three minutes before I took my first call, Lizzy popped in with a plate of donuts.

I eyed them as my mouth flooded with saliva.

Don’t do it. Be strong. You can last a whole show without stuffing your face with a donut. Come on, girl.

I pushed the plate to the corner of the desk and angled my chair away from them so they were out of my line of sight. The pink donut covered in rainbow sprinkles, however, lingered in my peripheral.

Doug counted me down. The panel danced with the red lights of my waiting callers. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I reached for the glasses case beside the panel. I popped it open and slid the glasses on, and then I put my headphones on.

Nessa Night was in the house.

The green light above the window separating me from my manager went on. We were live on the air.

“Hey there, listeners. Welcome back to the Nessa Night show. I’m your host, Nessa Night, but you already knew that.

I’m glad to be here with you this evening.

Today has not been kind to me. Helping some of you with love will really turn my day around.

So let’s not waste any more time. We’re going to the first caller.

” I pressed the first red button. The soft static that I was on the line with someone filled my headset.

“Hi there, caller. What’s your name, and how can I hope to heal your heart today? ”

There was a brief delay, and then a male voice filled the line. “Hi, Nessa. Wow. I didn’t expect to get through to you.”

I could hear traffic in the background. He was in his car. “Are you using a hands-free device, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Go on. Tell me your name.”

“I’d rather not, if that’s okay. I don’t want this coming back to my girl in any way.”

“I respect that.” I kicked my heels up on the desk. Doug waved his arms over his head in his office, trying to tell me to put them down. I stuck my tongue out at him. “What can I help you with tonight?”

“Well, I’m having some relationship troubles. Have been for a while now.”

“How long is a while, Mr. Anonymous?”

“About two years. My girl and I are getting pretty serious. I’ve known for a long time that she’s the person I want to marry. And I’m almost positive she feels the same way about me. And I’m ready to take things to the next level and propose.”

“But something is standing in your way?”

“Yes. It’s my mother, Nessa. She… she doesn’t approve.”

Yikes. That wasn’t a fun position for anyone to be in. But damn, was it common. The number of calls I got about overbearing mothers or, sometimes even worse, mothers-in-law, was almost staggering. The matriarchs of Nashville could be truly terrifying women.

“Does she have a good reason to be concerned?” I asked, now twirling the cord of my headset.

“No. Not really.”

“You’re sure? You can be honest with me, sugar. It’s the only way for me to help you.”

“It’s hard to say out loud.”

“Take your time.”

Sometimes, silence and putting the ball in the caller’s court was the only way to break the wall they had up.

There was no telling how many people he’d sought advice from about this very situation.

Clearly, it hadn’t worked, and now, he was turning to a complete stranger on a talk show.

I loved being that stranger. I didn’t love the crippling guilt I felt about being a liar.

Too many people put their trust in a girl who had no relevant life experience to draw from.

The caller cleared his throat. “It’s… it’s really uncomfortable. Um. Shit. I didn’t expect this.”

I waited. Doug waved his arms again and I glanced at him.

He mouthed the words “say something” but I shook my head.

Mr. Anonymous just needed a bit of time to get his thoughts in order.

And sometimes, a bit of silence on the radio would suck people in.

I let the weight of it stretch until my caller finally gave voice to his thoughts.

They tumbled out of him in a single breath.

“She thinks my girlfriend isn’t good enough for me because of her upbringing. She doesn’t like the idea of having… mixed-race children.”

Oh.

Doug clamped his hands on his head. This was touchy subject material, even for the Nessa Night radio show.

“Well,” I began slowly, making sure to choose my words carefully and respectfully, “I think your mother might be used to always getting her way when it comes to the life of her son. I think it might be time for you to sit her down and set your own boundaries and expectations. If you are in love with your girlfriend and you’re ready for those next steps, then I think you should take them.

But be clear with your mother that her disapproval is unacceptable. Especially because of her reasons.”

My caller let out a shaky breath.

“Do you think that’s something you can do, Mr. Anonymous?”

“I’m not sure. She’s not an easy person to stand up to.”

Truth bomb time. “If you can’t stand up to your mother about this, then maybe you aren’t as ready to be engaged to your girlfriend as you claim to be.”

“I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to have that conversation. You need to set the tone of what is acceptable and what is not when it comes to your romantic relationship and the woman you are likely to start a family with. You also need to realize your mother might not ever come around. And that could mean a lot of things, including losing your relationship with her.”

“I’ve thought about that a lot.”

“I think you know what you have to do. And I really hope it works out well for you. I’m sure your mother loves you very much, and when she sees that you won’t be swayed, I really hope she can change her tune and support you both going forward.”

“Thank you, Nessa. I needed this. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

“Keep us posted?”

“Sure thing.”

The call ended. I leaned back in my seat and addressed my listeners.

“Well, that was a heavy one. To anyone out there experiencing the same thing as that last caller, my heart goes out to you. Family expectations and limitations can be really hard to deal with, especially when they start to bleed into your love life. But be strong like Mr. Anonymous. Stick to your guns. I believe in all of you. And on that note of positivity, here are some ads. Sorry folks. Gotta keep the lights on.”

The ads rolled. I removed my headset for my two-minute break.

Our new intern, Ryan, the guy who’d insulted me and my weight when he thought I wasn’t listening, stepped in to check on me. “You need anything, Nessa?”

“No. I’m good.”

His gaze darted to the donuts. Then he stepped forward and took one. “Let me save you from one of these.”

“Take them all,” I said. “I don’t want them.”

Lies. I wanted them. I wanted to crush my face against the plate and suck the icing off the ceramic.

I wanted to feel the dough squish between my teeth.

I wanted the sugar to fill up the void in my gut that had been expanding like a black hole since the rich entitled women bullied me at the dress shop.

But I wanted Ryan to know I wasn’t a slave to the sugar.

He took the plate and left me in the studio to take my next caller at the end of the minute.

I was left in my last thirty seconds of solitude with one thought: Rhys probably hadn’t called me because he felt exactly the same way as Ryan.

I could be pretty if I just lost some weight.

If I just ate less. If I cared a little more about my body.

I suddenly wished I’d kept the donuts.