Dial L for Lovely: Sweet Christian Contemporary Romance Novella (You Are on the Air, Book 15)


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Joanne Markey
 All rights reserved.
 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 
 Cover design:
 Chautona Havig
 
 Edited by:
 Haug Editing
 This is a work of fiction. The people, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people or places is purely coincidental.
 
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 CONTENTS
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 3
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 4
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 5
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 6
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 7
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 8
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 9
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 10
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 11
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 12
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 13
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 14
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 15
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 16
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 17
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter 18
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Epilogue
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Dear Reader
 
 
 
 
 
 
 You Are on the Air
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Other Books by Joanne Markey
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * * *
 
 
 
 Zander
 
 
 
 
 Monday mornings should always start
 with a steaming cup of coffee and total silence until the caffeine has had time to work its way through the system. They aren’t supposed to start with an unknown caller asking whether you—as in radio host Zander Leon—would be interested in being a boyfriend for hire. Especially not when you were less than ten minutes on the air and not fully awake.
 “Just for Thanksgiving,” she assured me in a raspy, somewhat breathless voice.
 She kept talking, explaining how she’d use a sliding scale to determine how much I’d be paid, but I must admit I didn’t listen very closely to that part. I was too busy trying to wrap my brain around how the conversation took such a nose dive.
 We’d gone from agreeing that we’d had a rather cold and blustery start to fall, to this. Whatever this
 was.
 Most people at least attempted to lead up with a handful of small talk before they dove into the real reason they’d called in. And that real reason usually ended up being a question they didn’t want to ask in the light of day. Meaning they needed advice but were too embarrassed to call during any of the busier, higher trafficked programs, aka daytime radio.
 WPUK touted itself as the
 Christian talk radio. A listening ear for whoever needed a shoulder to lean on, a place to come to find answers—no subject matter excluded. Our job was to minister
 to our audience. To give advice when we could, or in the case of domestic abuse, etc., connect them to someone better qualified.
 They had a little jingle I could have quoted word for word in my sleep, but I’ll spare you the torture. I might be supposed to sound like Kenny Rogers on air—at least that’s what I was told by more than one tittering old lady—but I couldn’t sing like him if I tried. And you’ll just have to trust me on that one, because I’m not going to prove it.
 Apparently, though, my voice alone was more than enough to convince this lady, my unnamed first caller of the day, that I was the man she needed.
 “It’s my mom’s sister.” The woman’s groan was loud enough to make me wince. “Always harping after me about boyfriends this, and boyfriends that, and being single all the way into old age. I just want to enjoy the holiday for once.”
 Somehow, I found a coherent thought in the scrambled mess that was my startled brain. “And you think I’m the answer to your Thanksgiving woes?”
 “You’re exactly
 what I need.” She laughed even louder than she’d groaned, and if I could have moved my head away from the sound, I would have. Tied to the headset, though, I could only eye the microphone in front of me with all the misgiving that was boiling up inside.
 “Look at it this way.” Thankfully her voice was on a much more bearable level and I could now continue the conversation—at least this part of it—without fear of the damage it would do to my eardrums. “You said yourself you don’t have anywhere to go on Thanksgiving. I need a boyfriend. Combine the two and you have the solution to both
 our problems. You wouldn’t need to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” Her laugh this time wasn’t as unpleasant, although I could have done without this call completely. “It’s that sliding scale I mentioned earlier.”
 That sliding scale? I tried to run my mind back to the earlier moment of our conversation, but unscrambling my thoughts was about as doable as making eggs in an omelet whole again. Impossible.
 Giving up, I ran a hand across my face. As much as I hated to do it, my contract