Midnight Caller by Leslie Tentler

Rain?”
    She looked up, realizing David had followed her into the parlor.
    â€œI guess this Dante thing has me a little on edge,” she admitted.
    â€œI’m not talking about Dante.” He sat down next to her, contemplating the amber contents of his glass before speaking again. “I’m talking about us.”
    She closed her eyes. “David—”
    â€œWhat was up with you and the FBI agent tonight? Or was that all for my account?”
    â€œPlease don’t do this,” she implored. “Not tonight.”
    â€œDon’t do what? Ask you where I stand?”
    â€œAre you still sleeping with her?” Rain interrupted, unable to stop herself. A part of her wanted to know if he’d thrown away their relationship for more than a one-night stand.
    â€œWould it matter to you if I was?”
    Rain paused for a long moment. Then she shook her head and replied with honesty, “No. Our relationship is over.”
    She’d turned on a single lamp in the parlor, and its muted light silhouetted David’s profile. He had angular, chiseled features, and his olive complexion and black hair hinted at his Creole lineage. Rain knew he’d been linked to several New Orleans socialites in the past, as well as to one internationally famous runway model. In the beginning, she hadn’t understood his fascination with her. She was too small, definitely not leggy and far from exotic. She wasn’t his type, although Ella LaRue certainly was.
    â€œI still want you, Rain.”
    â€œYou want Midnight Confessions. ”
    â€œI thought that was something you wanted, too.” He tossed down the rest of his bourbon.
    Now or never, she thought. It was time to tell him the truth.
    â€œWe need to talk about the show, David. I’m not sure I want to renew my contract when it runs out.”
    He set the glass down on the table in front of him and wiped his hand over his mouth. Unable to bear the silence, Rain got up and walked across the parlor’s floral rug. His voice made her turn back around.
    â€œListen to me.” He’d risen in front of the sofa, and he gestured with his hands, throwing them wide before droppingthem back down to his sides. “Now is not the time for you to run out on Midnight Confessions. ”
    â€œI’m sorry—”
    â€œI haven’t told you yet, but they’re considering us for syndication. The show would have to expand to a full five nights a week, but we could be airing in six major markets by fall.”
    He walked toward her and clasped her arms. “We could go national, Rain. Do you know what that means?”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me about this before?”
    â€œI’m telling you now. I’ve been shopping dubs of the show around for a while. Our Arbitrons are solid. I thought you’d be pleased.”
    â€œWe should’ve discussed this.”
    He let go of her. “Christ. I need another drink.”
    Snatching up the tumbler, David stalked back to the kitchen. She found him with his palms planted on the granite counter, a fresh glass of bourbon in front of him.
    â€œI need this syndication deal.” He lifted the glass and swallowed. “I’m behind on some loans. I could lose everything.”
    Rain fell into stunned silence. She thought of his luxurious French Quarter apartment, his expensive car and the beach home on St. George Island. David was known as a successful entrepreneur. She’d assumed producing Midnight Confessions was merely a complement to his partial ownership in the radio station. And that the radio station, in turn, was just one of several other business ventures. She’d had no idea things weren’t going well.
    â€œWhat about the restaurant?”
    David’s was a Creole-style dinner spot tucked into the Shops at Canal Place, an upscale mall on the edge of the Quarter near the four-star Wyndham Hotel.
    â€œIt’s bleeding money,”