Can't Stand the Heat

by Peggy Jaeger

  Men didn’t fall for women with those qualities.

  Her thoughts ran rampant as Nikko held her hostage with his stare.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d mistake the bald, assessing look in his eyes as desire.

  But she did know better. There was no possible way this man felt anything for her other than annoyance and irritation.

  Her earpiece buzzed, breaking the moment. Pulling her gaze from his, she turned away.

  After tapping the device, she listened and then said, “Got it. I’ll be right there.”

  Without turning back, she exited the room and wondered if his eyes tracked her. She almost turned back to look over her shoulder but decided there was no need.

  * * * *

  Nikko took one last glance at all the chefs and judges, and nodded. “Everyone ready?”

  When he was met with a chorus of “Yeahs,” he moved to the production truck.

  He found Stacy immediately. She was seated in the back, two rows behind the main control panel, her ever-present tablet opened and on the table, and holding a bottle of water.

  “We’re all set, Nikko,” Todd said.

  Pulling his gaze from his EP, he took his seat, donned his headset, and said, “Cue judges.”

  When they were in place and ready, he said, “Roll.”

  Jade and Dan smiled full-faced into the teleprompter camera and began their introductions of the chefs.

  Nikko sat forward, his mind running through the next ten steps of commands he wanted to give when he noticed the fresh, capped coffee cup on the panel in front of him. His name was inscribed on the cover and when he reached out and touched it, the cup was warm. When he removed the cap, the strong, brisk aroma of the roasted coffee drifted up and filled his senses. Without thinking, he looked over his shoulder to find Stacy facing the monitors, the reflection of the screens on her glasses making it impossible for him to see her eyes.

  He knew without a doubt she’d been the one to put the fresh cup at his place. He hadn’t even thanked her for bringing him the first one earlier. The gesture was one relegated more to an intern, not an executive producer.

  Why was she being so nice to him when all he’d been to her was rude and obnoxious?

  And how had she known exactly how he liked his coffee?

  “Dammit!” Jade’s irritated voice blared through the camera.

  “Cut!” Nikko called. “What’s the matter, Jade?” he asked through the intercom.

  With her crimson-colored lips pulled into a pout, she peered into the camera and said, “The teleprompter is scrolling faster than I can speak. I’m missing my lines. You need to slow it down.”

  “I told you to look over the script,” Dan said, shooting his cuffs. “But you were too busy deciding which color lip gloss looked better for the camera.”

  “Shut up, you old fool.” With her eyes narrowed to slits and her mouth pinched in anger, Nikko wondered how she’d feel if she saw herself the way others did.

  He hadn’t been thrilled with Teddy Davis’s decision to use her as one of the judges, knowing her reputation for being difficult as he did. He’d tried to coax Davis into someone else for the second judge’s spot, but the network chief had stood fast and insisted on the former culinary talk-show host, saying she was the best person for the job. Nikko wondered if there was something personal going on between them, because he could think of at least six other network hosts who’d do a better job—and be more cooperative—than Jade.

  He turned to Todd. “Can you slow it down a little for her?”

  “No problem.”

  “We’re gonna slow down the feed, Jade,” he said. “Start from the beginning when I give you the cue.”

  It took two more adjustments before she was able to read her part all the way through without stopping and complaining.

  When the chef introductions were complete, along with the rules and premise of the contest, Nikko gave them the okay to issue the first challenge.

  Dan Roth, professional through and through, recited his part to perfection on the first try.

  Jade needed four attempts before she made it all the way through without a fumble or flub.

  “Christ. At this rate we’ll never get through the challenge by lunchtime,” Nikko chided.

  Once the challenge clock started, pandemonium broke out in the kitchen. Nikko sat, his gaze moving from monitor to monitor, as he issued orders for the camera crew.

  The chefs were given forty-five minutes to butcher a side of beef as their first challenge. When the clock stopped, they’d be assessed on precision and accuracy of the cuts and the amount they’d been able to accomplish in the allotted time.

  Once the time was almost up, Nikko noticed Stacy leaving the control tent. The desire to know where she went warred with the need to stay focused on the screens and watch the drama unfolding.

  Jade and Dan had exited the set during the challenge, since they weren’t needed. He was just about the call them back when he spied them walking into camera range on one of the screens, a smiling Stacy ushering them in.

  Dan called time a few moments later and Nikko instructed each cameraman to pan the contestants to make sure they all stopped at the same moment.

  The tiny hairs at the nape of his neck tingled, a little frisson of electricity shooting down his spine, and just like that, he knew Stacy had returned to the van. Before issuing his next command he slid a glance over his shoulder. She was in her seat, her eyes aimed down at her tablet, typing.

  He’d think later about why a sense of contentment bolted through him that she was back.

  First, he had a show to direct.

  Two of the techs manned walking cameras as the judges went from station to station, evaluating and commenting on the butchering.

  While that was going on, Nikko called out commands for the various mounted cameras to record the reactions of the chefs. He was already deciding how he wanted to edit the pieces together.

  When every chef had been assessed, Nikko called “Cut!” He needed to confer with the judges before they issued the next challenge.

  When he rose from the chair, his knee abruptly locked, shooting a bullet of pain straight up along his thigh to his hip. If the control panel hadn’t been within reach to grab, he’d have fallen flat on his ass.

  Praying no one had seen the slight stumble, he leaned into the panel and, trying to control the agony from slipping into his voice, said, “Take fifteen minutes, everyone.”

  The area emptied quickly, leaving him alone as he attempted to get his breathing back to normal. He inhaled deeply, a shudder of sharp pain firing through him from head to toe. He’d sat too long, knew it the moment he stood upright. The physical therapists he’d been forced to deal with after the accident had insisted he move as often as possible to keep the leg from seizing up.

  It was unfortunate for him that the majority of his job was spent seated or standing, and now he had firsthand knowledge of just how much trouble either could cause.

  Sweat drenched his forehead, moisture slicked through his shirt and pooled in his armpits. For the thousandth time he cursed himself for not taking the pain meds he’d been given. And for the thousandth and first time he told himself there was a valid reason he hadn’t.

  He swiped his forearm across his brow and a sudden sound behind him had him whipping his head around to find Stacy, standing quietly by the door.

  Mortification paralyzed him into stony silence. Of all the crew, she was the last person he wanted to witness his current state.

  He watched as she swallowed, the movement of her neck and shoulders visible under her blouse, and moved around the chairs to him.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say something scathing, to make her want to run from him, to leave him alone. The last thing he wanted was compassion. Or worse: Pity.

  Be
fore he could form a sentence, Stacy said, in a voice devoid of emotion, “Miss Quartermaine and Mr. Roth are waiting on set for you to discuss the challenge results. I told them you’d just be a minute.” She lifted a bottle of water to him. “It’s wicked hot in here. I thought you might want this.”

  Under her glasses, her gaze never wavered from his as she offered him the bottle.

  If he’d seen kindness or sympathy in her expression he would have reacted differently. Sliced her with a pithy retort, or even just rudely ignored her. But there was nothing. Her eyes were calm and cool, no hint of worry, no speck of concern. Her mouth was soft and relaxed, her shoulders and neck loose. Composed. She was completely composed and self-possessed. Unlike him.

  He took the bottle from her hand, uncapped it and, without a word, chugged, his focus remaining on her face. He wasn’t sure, but when he came up to take a breath, he thought he saw something shift in her eyes. Soften. His spine automatically stiffened.

  “I’ll see what I can do about getting the temperature in here turned down a little. It tends to get hot and sticky with so many bodies sequestered for such long periods in these kinds of production trucks. That’s why I always have water on hand.”

  Relief tripped through him. She hadn’t seen him wobble, hadn’t noticed he was in agony. She’d merely assumed he was overheated.

  “Yeah,” he said, recapping the now-empty bottle. “It does. Good idea.”

  He wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his remark.

  “Okay. Should I let the judges know you’re on your way?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

  With a brisk nod, she turned.

  Before she could leave, he said, “Hey?”

  She turned back.

  “Thanks. For the water.”

  A heartbeat passed. “No worries.”

  With that, she left him alone. It was only after she disappeared from sight he realized once again she’d never smiled at him the way she did everyone else.

  Why it bothered him so much was a mystery.

  Chapter Nine

  Once outside, Stacy stopped, closed her eyes, and took a giant breath in an attempt to calm the earthquake seizing her insides.

  It had taken everything in her not to bolt forward from her seat when she saw him stand and stagger. She’d had to physically restrain herself from her natural instinct to offer whatever kind of comfort she could, knowing if she did, he’d most likely explode at her.

  It was obvious he was suffering. The death grip he had on the console proved it. How he managed to contain himself and not let anyone else see the torture he was going through was amazing, and proved to her once again just what a control freak he was.

  She had to admit she admired him for it.

  The offer of the water and the lie she’d told him to go along with it had served its purpose well. He’d have soon as bit off her head than accept anything that would help if it made him look weak in her eyes.

  Proud man.

  Too proud for his own good.

  Considering how she could help him without him knowing it, she moved back to the set and informed the judges of Nikko’s imminent arrival.

  She made the rounds of each chef, saying a few encouraging words and speaking with their individual producers. The contestants were standing around in a cluster, talking over the first challenge and evaluating one another’s prowess—or lack of it—with the butchering. All but Riley. He stood alone at his station, quietly cleaning it of the bones and detritus of the challenge.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Stacy told him. “We have a cleanup crew who’ll take care of setting everything to rights again.”

  With a careless shrug, Riley rinsed his knives in the attached sink. “I like cleaning up. Especially my knives. I don’t like anyone else touching them.”

  Stacy’s smile was quick and understanding. “I get that. My cousin Kandy has this knife set she bought when she was in China a few years ago. When she showed it off she wouldn’t let anyone touch it.” She laughed at the memory. “She told us that she wanted the knives only to recognize her juju and no one else’s.” With a shake of her head, she added, “Chefs and their knives. They’re like an appendage for you guys.”

  “And some of us have bigger…knives than others,” Clay Burbank said from behind her. “And we know how to use them to maximum potential.”

  “Yeah,” Damon Rodriquez said, rubbing his hands together and winking at her. “My knife skills are legendary among my fans.”

  “Why do I get the feeling they’re not really talking about knives?” Dorinda Katay asked.

  Stacy rolled her eyes. When the laughter died down, she said, “Because they’re not.”

  Nikko arrived on set and went directly to the judges, so she moved toward them.

  “His was by far the best of the bunch,” Jade was saying to the two men as Stacy silently sidled up to the trio.

  “I agree. The kid has talent,” Dan said. “For someone his age, it’s impressive.”

  “So, MacNeill is your number-one pick?” Nikko asked.

  When the judges nodded, Stacy felt a surge of pride swell through her.

  “Who’s on the bottom?” he asked.

  The least expert chef to perform the butchering task was open for a bit of debate between the judges. After parrying back and forth a few times, Nikko forced them to make a choice, telling them they were wasting time. They did, but neither looked altogether happy with the decision.

  “Okay, so when they’re back at their stations you divulge the next challenge. Got it?”

  Roth nodded and Jade gave him a bored, “Yes, of course.”

  Nikko turned to move back to the tent, Stacy right behind him when he turned back, adding, “And try to get it all on the first take this time, Jade. The crew needs to break for lunch.”

  Stacy didn’t know what she was more surprised at: Nikko’s snide request of his star judge or the said judge’s openmouthed, silent response.

  When Dan Roth caught her eye and grinned widely behind his costar’s back, Stacy lowered her head and bit down on the inside of her lip. If she hadn’t been looking down, she would have noticed Nikko stop. But she hadn’t been looking where she was going and, subsequently, barreled right into him.

  She would have ricocheted back and fallen from connecting with the solid wall of his chest as she hit, if he hadn’t thrust his hands forward and grabbed her upper arms to prevent it.

  Like a blast from a stun gun—quick, sharp, and penetrating—she felt the heat of his touch burn through her blouse and sear straight through her skin.

  Numbed, she dropped her tablet, her hands incapable of holding onto it. They splayed, open-palmed, and sought purchase by grasping his elbows and clutching.

  “Steady,” he commanded.

  Stacy felt anything but. Words wouldn’t form correctly in her mind. All logical, rational thought had flown the moment the warmth of his hands seeped through the fabric of her blouse. It was as if she’d walked into an oven, the temperature set to broil.

  His long fingers squeezed once, twice, then tugged her in closer.

  Stacy couldn’t decide which was more intense: the heat in his eyes or the natural warmth radiating from his body.

  “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t…I—Sorry.” She tried to pull from his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go.

  As earlier when she’d caught him staring at her, she once again felt the mesmerizing pull of his gaze and was powerless to look away.

  And for some inexplicable reason found she didn’t want to.

  The little shards of amber floating among the cognac color of his irises were lighter and brighter than she remembered. They looked like a wolf’s eyes, and, just like a wolf, their stare was predatory, alpha, and hypnotic.

  “Nikko? We’re all set to star
t up again,” Todd called from the doorway of the production trailer.

  Without looking away from her, he called back, “Be right in.” He still hadn’t let go of her arms.

  From deep down, as deep as she could reach, Stacy grappled for calm. She watched him watch her while she took a solid, full breath in, then relaxed it out.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she trusted her voice wouldn’t betray her again. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

  She shifted back, away from him, but he kept his hands around her.

  This close she could read the exhaustion floating in his eyes and his determination to ignore it.

  This close she could see the fine, subtle lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes as he narrowed them at her.

  This close she could reach out and smooth the corrugations grooving down from his mouth to his rock-solid jaw. That she wanted to do just that, to offer him any comfort she could, to soothe the pain he tried so valiantly to keep hidden, stunned her beyond all thought.

  Nikko Stamp was not a man who would ever tolerate being comforted or coddled.

  Why, then, did she think it was exactly what he needed?

  “I’m okay now,” she told him and tried to move back again.

  This time he let her go.

  The tablet had fallen between them and when she bent to retrieve it, she took in another deep breath.

  Coming upright, she adjusted her glasses, which had gone askew when she bent over.

  “Was there something you wanted me to do?” she asked, making her features as blank and as relaxed as she could.

  Confusion crept across his face.

  “You stopped and turned,” she clarified. “I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

  His brows pulled tightly together, his eyes going flat and hard.

  “Yeah.” His voice dropped to the temperature of flash-frozen ice. “Make sure Jade’s up to speed the next time we film. Light a fire under her producer or manage her yourself, if you have to. I don’t care, but do whatever you have to do to ensure we don’t waste time on piss-poor preparation again like we did this morning. Got it?”