Never Lost (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 5)

by Tl Mayhew

  The next two hours seem to fly by and we’re on the last order. Interestingly enough, it’s for the mussel dish we were about to make. She’s exhausted by now but doesn’t slow her pace. It’s sexy watching her in her element. Confident and in control she’s not the same woman she was only moments ago. “Would you like to give me a hand with this one, since we were going to make this anyway?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Get over here before I change my mind.”

  I move next to her and we begin. She explains every detail and the reasoning behind why each step is needed. Once complete and the pristine plate holds the masterpiece we created, she wipes the sweat from her brow, and gives me an appreciative glance. “Thanks for your help. That went much quicker with two people.”

  My body hasn’t cooled from a couple of hours ago. If anything, watching her work has raised my heat level tenfold. The way her curves flexed beneath her clothes leaves me wanting more and I intend to take it.

  She begins collecting miscellaneous items from the counter when I step behind her. “Here, let me help you.” In one swift move I swipe everything off the island. Twisting her around, I lift her up, and set her right where we cooked the last meal.

  Our eyes lock once again, but this time mine are demanding, knowing exactly what she needs. I lower my head, and hover over her once again. When she doesn’t turn away, I take that as my cue and place my lips against hers.

  The kiss is innocent at first, featherlight, while we work our way through the awkwardness that is both a first kiss and two friends from another time but once the intensity builds, we’re ravishing the other.

  My hands are roaming everywhere and she’s pulling at my shirt.

  Suddenly my concentration falters and Winsley’s image pops in my mind. It’s my lips on hers this time, and I’ll admit it sets my body on fire. If it weren’t for this kitchen island, everyone would have a front row view of just how much.

  The set has gone eerily quiet and in the back of my mind I’m thinking of the death stare I must be getting from cameraman two. It doesn’t discourage me though; we’re both professionals and understand the success of the film would require a level of authenticity in the scene. Secretly knowing he’s watching is just a bonus.

  “Juliette?” a young woman’s voice calls out. She steps into the kitchen and gasps at what she sees.

  It stops our intimacy cold. Juliette breaks away, placing a hand to her mouth, breathing heavily. It takes her a moment before acknowledging the interruption. “Yes, Alicia?”

  “Um...Chef, Monsieur Bisset would like you to visit with the patrons now.”

  Still sitting atop the island, Juliette’s eyes meet mine. I know it’s the end of our encounter and I drop a quick kiss to her lips before helping her down. “To be continued?” I ask.

  Glancing at my lips, she offers a slight nod. It’s a promising sign that after tonight we’ll be seeing one another again. For now, I gather myself and prepare to leave. She looks over to the petite girl by the door. “We’ll be right out.”

  “We’ll?” I question.

  “Come with me, it’ll be fun. We’re going out there to talk with the diners and find out about their experience at Le'Miserie.”

  I grab her around the waist. “I’d rather stay in here and finish what we started.”

  “Believe me, I would too, but I’m also not looking to get fired,” she says, pulling away and smoothing back her hair. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful.”

  She swats me on the arm. “I’m sure that’s not true, but thanks.”

  Gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger my expression turns serious. “It is.”

  “Well, let’s just go talk to those who want to give an honest opinion,” she laughs, pulling from my grip and heads through the door.

  Following closely behind I shake my head at her playfulness, but once I step through the door it’s as though my feet are buried in cement.

  There he is.

  Lost in the character I’d somehow forgotten Rook was going to be here. Glancing in his direction I’m tempted to approach him, but I know I can’t, not until the director calls cut.

  “Well, are you coming?” Juliette asks, redirecting my attention with a stern expression warning me I need to stay in character.

  “Yes,” I reply, albeit distractedly.

  With each table we visit my eyes flit to him often. He’s eating and chatting it up with some girl who at this moment I can only see the back of her head. There’s no sign he’s seen me yet, but he will.

  “Right, Andrew?” Juliette asks, pulling me from my ever-present distraction.

  I answer without even knowing what the conversation is about. “Hmm, oh yes, very much.”

  She huffs at my reply, giving me a dirty look before turning back to the diners at the table. “I’m glad you liked it, thank you for coming.” Proceeding to the next table, she’s surprised when I grab her arm and lead her to Rook’s instead.

  “What are you doing? This isn’t in the script,” Gina whispers.

  “It is now,” I whisper first then raise my voice for the next line. “Let’s visit this happy couple next.”

  She glances at the table and then at me. “You wouldn’t…”

  “I wouldn’t, we are.”

  There’s no time for her to challenge my decision because we’re already approaching the table. Like a pro though she steps up, jumping right back into character. “How was your meal?”

  When I glance at the food, I realize it’s the mussels order. There’s only one reason Rook would suggest those as his order for this dining scene, and it’s the same reason I’d asked in the kitchen.

  “Well, the salad was warm, the wine not at room temperature, and I’ve found two mussels which have not yet opened. My date and I are extremely disappointed in your cooking and this restaurant.” Rook’s face creases with frustration.

  On a personal level Gina hates Rook as much as I do. She knows what he’d done while filming Brothers Reunited, because the movie industry is a tight-knit community and right now, she’s prepared to lay into him. “Now, wait a minute…”

  Her spiel most likely wouldn’t have strayed from the script but I touch her shoulder anyway, discouraging her from saying anything that might jeopardize the scene.

  She recognizes my intention and changes her approach. “I’m sorry, sir, let me get you a fresh bottle of wine and remake your entrée.”

  “That won’t be necessary, we’re leaving.” He stands, replying to Juliette but looking straight at me.

  I step closer and prepare to knock the shit out of him, no longer caring if we’re still filming or not. Hell, it might even be an added bonus to the entire scene if the chef in training was to lay out one of the customers, but that thought quickly fizzles when the woman sitting across from him turns.

  Winsley.

  I wasn’t prepared for this—for her. Rook is no longer at the forefront of my mind. She’s basically changed my direction entirely. I’m now more interested in what she’s doing with him than finishing this scene but I know I can’t, not right now. The only way to recover and not fuck up this whole entire scene is to get back to the script as quickly as possible.

  “Sir, please have a seat,” I tell him, but only have eyes for the goddess before me. “We apologize for any inconvenience and we’ll get your meal remade as quickly as possible.”

  I can feel Gina’s hard stare on me, and I know she’s pissed at how everything has gone to shit, but the director hasn’t called cut, so we keep going.

  When leaning in and gathering Winsley’s plate of untouched food, I whisper, only loud enough for her to hear, “Stay away from him, he’s the kind of trouble you don’t want to get involved in.”

  A gasp escaping perfect lips is her only reply.

  I’m familiar with that reaction. It happens all the time from ladies, both young and old. While I understand it’s generally a form of flattery for me; it serves no pur
pose. None. Words—they are what people understand.

  In the case of her, by not responding, how am I supposed to know she’ll heed my warning? It means asking again, which is something I don’t like doing. “Understand?”

  With wide eyes and parted lips, she nods.

  She fucking nods. The growl in my throat urges its way up threatening escape. If she were my sub, I’d turn her over this table, lift her skirt, and punish her until she was singing her response in front of all these people. On camera or off. But she’s not, which means I’d better walk away, otherwise, I might say fuck it and end up doing whatever I want.

  I need to redirect my focus. I glance at Juliette and she’s quick to follow my lead, picking up Rook’s plate she turns toward the kitchen, I follow. “Chef Bisset will be back out shortly to address your concerns.”

  Chancing a glance back at him, his expression tells me he’s as surprised as I am that this didn’t take a different turn. Unsure what to do next; he slowly takes his seat. There will be a lot of explaining to do with the crew, but I’m not concerned because right now getting back to the girl I met earlier is my main priority.

  “And Cut!” the director shouts out.

  6

  Winsley

  “Oh God, did any of this just happen?” I ask, fanning myself with a shaky hand opposite the cameras. Every beat of my heart is charging at my ribs, threatening to jump straight from my chest. I knew when auditioning as an extra, there was a chance I’d see Preston and maybe even meet him, but my optimism isn’t always on target. Today was a welcome surprise.

  I’m desperate to tell Jennifer about this, she’d better be prepared for an earful later this evening.

  There’s a mutter of a man’s voice and I suddenly remember Rook is sitting across the table. When I turn to him, he’s glaring at me like someone’s just kicked his favorite pet. “Well? What’d he say?” he asks, leaning in as though he’s got a vested interest in my personal life.

  “I’m sorry?” I question, unsure if I’ve missed something.

  “Preston, what’d he whisper in your ear?”

  Taking a moment, I let Preston’s words tumble through my mind in his sexy voice. “Stay away from him, he’s the kind of trouble you don’t want to get involved in.” At least I think that’s right; my mind was focused on his perfect lips, strong jawline, and the intriguing pools of melted chocolate swirling in those eyes. I sigh.

  “It looked to me like you agreed to something,” he says flatly.

  I do remember nodding like a fucking bobblehead. “I think he said stay away from you. Why do you think he would’ve said that? I don’t remember it being in the script,” I say, sitting straighter and placing a hand over my mouth. “What have I done? I could’ve just messed up the entire scene.” Jumping up, I glance around the room, looking for anyone who I can ask. Finding the director’s assistant over by the cameras in the dining room, I take a step in that direction; Rook grabs my arm.

  “He was probably just kidding around or maybe they added it to his script not ours. Either way, you need to sit down until we’re told we can go,” he says sternly.

  I glance from right to left and find everyone still sitting at their tables; all eyes are on me. Slowly I melt back into the chair, tempted to hide my head from the world.

  “You really shouldn’t worry about it,” he murmurs.

  “I don’t know,” I say, glancing at the kitchen doors once again. “I wouldn’t want to have wasted everyone’s time because I made a mistake.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve done this acting gig before, just last time it was at the Preston Pace level. What I’ve learned is doing a scene in one take is rare. If you make a mistake, they’ll either edit it out or shoot the scene again. It’s why we have directors,” he says, leaning back in his chair. Relaxed and confident.

  I eye him closely before it finally dawns on me. “That’s where I recognize you from. You’re Everett Davidson, from Brothers Reunited. How did I not realize this sooner?” The space between us suddenly feels awkward. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned anything? That movie was a big deal. As always, my curiosity gets the best of me. “If you’ve been acting at Preston’s level, why are you only an extra on this one?”

  “It’s a long story. Why don’t we get a drink after we’re done here, and I’ll be more than happy to fill you in?”

  “Are you going out with the rest of the people on set?”

  “I was thinking something…a little less crowded,” he confirms with a little more edge than I’m sure was intended.

  Looking at the man across from me and then to the double doors of the kitchen, I’m reminded of the earlier drink invitation. My heart is skipping an erratic beat again and I can’t hold in my excitement any longer. “I saw Preston over by the breakfast bar and he’d also invited me out for drinks. I was surprised by the invitation so I’ve yet to say yes. It’s a bar, there’s no reason we can’t all just go together.”

  A flash of anger spreads over his face, and although brief, it’s clear he’s not happy with my admission. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  Furrowing my brows at his change in attitude, I begin second-guessing if any of this was a good idea. All my focus has been on Preston. I practically know everything about him like his birth date, the fact he’s an only child, his mother’s maiden name, his favorite food, and a whole bunch of other stuff but it’s all from magazines and the internet.

  I know nothing about Rook. Not a single web search worth of information. Which means one thing, I’ll be driving myself.

  I remove a napkin from my lap and place it on the table but before I stand, the director’s assistant begins shouting out orders.

  “The director has instructed me to release everyone for the day. They’ll do a playback of this scene after lunch and determine what changes should be made before moving on. On a side note, whatever happened at table nine was not in the original script. As a reminder, improv is limited, please keep that in mind for tomorrow. Have a nice rest of your day, be back here tomorrow by 8:00 a.m.”

  They’re sending us home. I’m even more concerned now that I’ve messed up the scene. There’s not much I can do about it now. As Rook said, they can always edit our part out. Anyway, I got to do what I came here for. I met Preston Pace. The reminder sends chill bumps all over my body.

  Speaking of the devil, Preston’s standing on the dining room side of the kitchen double doors.

  His attention is on the announcement being given, and that means my eyes can roam freely. I take in every chiseled feature and every curve of his clothing from the muscles bulging beneath. The costume team did their job well. Dressed in a navy, double-breasted chef jacket and a pair of formfitting jeans, he stands tall and confident. If I saw him on the street, I’m not sure I’d recognize him as the celebrity he is.

  A hot, gourmet chef—maybe.

  “Sounds like we’re done for the day,” Rook says.

  I nod in response, but otherwise ignore him as I watch the man I’ve fantasized about since he first became a star in his early teens. My hands shake now more than ever before. “Pull it together, Winsley,” I murmur, hoping it will calm the anxiety playing havoc on my nerves, but it’s no use, even at this distance I’m nervous as hell.

  His face is expressionless and focused elsewhere until—it isn’t.

  I take a chance and smile at him, but he doesn’t return my friendly gesture, instead after glancing between Rook and me, his gorgeous features morph into a disapproving stare. That one small action cuts straight to my heart.

  My idea of this day appeared way different in my mind than what is happening at this very moment.

  There’s some history between Preston and Rook, and it seems the reason I’m getting the stink eye. Well, what Mr. Pace doesn’t know is, I’m up for a challenge. Grabbing Rook’s hand, I tug firmly, encouraging him from his seat. “Take me someplace to eat.”

  He offers no resistance and is off his feet, placing his hand in t
he middle of my back, directing me hurriedly toward the exit.

  Glancing back, I see Preston drop his arms and move toward us, but he doesn’t get halfway through the room before he’s stopped by someone—an incredibly attractive woman. It makes my decision to leave with Rook all that much more necessary.

  Lunch is as good a way as any to get the hell out of here and get my mind off him. Even if it is with the cockiest bastard I’ve ever met.

  7

  Winsley

  Rook and I settle into a booth inside a nearby café. It’s filled with both celebrities and regular people just like me. The latter secretly, although obviously, snapping selfies with a celebrity or two in the background.

  It wasn’t the case when we entered though. Something odd had happened. Instead of batting eyes and audible sighs the room went silent, in fact, some people even looked away. Rook doesn’t seem to let it bother him though. He stood taller and with even more confidence, something I didn’t think was possible; he led to where we’re sitting now.

  A waitress approaches. She’s not like everyone else in this place, giving us the cold shoulder. No, her grin splits her face in half, and she appears genuinely excited to wait on us. “What can I get you?”

  We both take a quick review of the menu and settle on grilled chicken salads.

  After our orders have been taken and the room has come alive with chatter again, I lean in. “Is this how it always is for you?”

  “Unfortunately, it is,” he says shifting in his seat.

  It’s not a reaction I’d expect coming from him. I mean, I’ve not known him longer than forty-eight hours, but from what I do know, unease is not something he must feel normally. “Are you uncomfortable, should we just head back and eat what the caterers brought?” My intentions are good but questioning his weakness is a mistake.