Eat Your Heart Out

by Jill Shalvis

  “That’s right,” she said, straightening away from him. “The show. This is all for the show.” She gave him a tight smile. “Let’s just save it for the camera, then, shall we?”

  Grabbing her purse off the counter, she walked out the door without another look at him, back to the serious, quiet, original Dimi, not a cooking sex kitten in sight.

  “Note to self,” he muttered. “Next time you get Dimi in your arms, don’t open your idiotic mouth.”

  CHAPTER 5

  DIMI HAD JUST applied her lipstick when the knock came to her dressing room.

  “Costume!” Leo’s voice called.

  There were no costumes on this show, and Leo knew it. She wore her own clothes. In fact, she’d been given a budget for a new wardrobe but hadn’t as yet spent time figuring out what that new wardrobe should be. Prepared for one of the cast’s usual jokes, she cautiously opened the door.

  Leo stood there holding a hanger. Swinging from it was a little black push-up bra beneath a gauzy, completely sheer long-sleeved chartreuse blouse and a pair of black…pants. She used the word loosely, since they were cut so low she doubted they’d ever cover any normal woman’s hips, of which hers were more normal than most. Hanging from Leo’s fingers were a pair of high-heeled, open-toed sandals, designed to torture some poor woman’s feet.

  “Made just for you,” Leo informed her. “Look.”

  Indeed, when she leaned forward and squinted at the see-through top, she could see the words Food Time engraved in black letters high on the left side.

  “Good one,” Dimi said, laughing. “Now take it back to whatever poor delusional teenybopper you got it from and tell everyone I appreciated the joke.”

  Leo shifted on his feet, a look of hesitation on his face.

  “Leo?”

  “Um…it’s not a joke. Mitch had this sent over for you to wear on the show today.”

  “Funny.”

  But Leo didn’t so much as smile, and a sinking feeling began in Dimi’s stomach. “Leo, you’re not laughing.”

  “That’s because I like it. The outfit, that is.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “It’s cool, it’s hip, and you’ll be able to move more freely than you can with those wide skirts you prefer.”

  “But…”

  “The new image, remember? Fun and sexy.”

  “But—”

  Leo thrust out the clothes.

  But she so wasn’t this person that Mitch apparently thought she could be. She wasn’t! Didn’t he know that by now? Hadn’t everyone told him? Hadn’t she shown him over and over? She was serious. Intense.

  Not sexy.

  And anyway, even if she wanted to be, she didn’t know how.

  “Dimi, believe me. You’re young enough to pull it off, and after seeing the response from our viewers with Mitch, you’re also hot enough.”

  “Oh, no.” She backed up, laughing in horror. “I’m not…hot.” Though she’d felt it, she really had, for that one little flicker of a moment in Mitch’s arms.

  Hot to the core.

  “It wasn’t an insult, Dimi. Demographics show we can pick up more men if you keep on doing what you’re doing.”

  “But my apron has more material than that shirt!”

  “Um, yeah, about the apron.” Leo looked at his shoes. “Mitch said to lose it.”

  “What?”

  “Actually, what he said was burn it so that you couldn’t use it to hide behind, because a sex goddess in the kitchen would never wear a full apron. And with the new direction of the show—that being you as a sex goddess in training, and him being the trainer—you needed to have your clothing selected for you.”

  “Sex goddess in training,” she repeated carefully. “And him being the trainer. He said that.”

  Leo winced. “Oh, jeez. Look, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to repeat that part, so if you could not tell him—”

  “Oh, okay.” She nodded agreeably. “I’ll just let him take over my show, pick out my clothes and run my life. Does that work for you, Leo?”

  Leo rolled his eyes. “Now, Dimi—”

  “No argument, no fight. In fact, I’ll just roll over like a puppy. Is that the right response? Is that what you meant by not telling him—”

  “Cool clothes,” Suzie said, coming around the corner and snagging the hanger from Leo. “Love the material on this blouse. Oh, man. Feel it, Dimi. It’s so soft—” She finally caught the expression on Dimi’s face. “What? Did someone die?”

  “She doesn’t like the outfit,” Leo said.

  “But it’s fabulous. Those pants must have cost a fortune.”

  “Mitch picked them out,” Leo said meaningfully.

  “Oh.” Suzie fingered the material of the pants. “Which of course makes them cheap, ugly and unwearable, right?”

  Dimi just glared at her, making Suzie sigh. “Hon, look. Hate the man if you must, but he’s got great taste. This is exactly what the young, gorgeous, amazingly talented chef and host of a cooking show should wear.”

  “They won’t fit,” Dimi assured them both, but Suzie set Leo free and pressed Dimi into her dressing room.

  “Show me.”

  “Gladly.” Dimi stripped. Muttered about the temperature in the room. Swore at the new clothes. Beamed at Suzie when she could barely get the pants up.

  Then stopped in defeat when she looked in the mirror.

  Because it fit, all of it. Like a second skin, but it fit. The pants didn’t cover her belly button, but they did cover her hips, just barely. The bra fit, too, and gave her generous breasts more…generousness. “Holy smokes,” she muttered, staring at her reflection.

  Suzie handed her the blouse, which covered exactly nothing and had only one button.

  “One button!” Dimi wailed, closing it between her shoved-up-and-out breasts. “I need more buttons, Suzie.”

  “It drapes closed perfectly.”

  “Yeah, because what does it matter when you can see everything right through the shirt!”

  “It’s not that see-through, Dimi. You’re perfectly covered.”

  “I can’t show my belly button on the air.”

  Suzie laughed good and long over that. “You do realize this is the twenty-first century, right?”

  “Said by the woman who’s five foot two and one hundred pounds. You could get away with this, but not me.”

  “Have you seen a Britney Spears video lately?”

  “A little sympathy would be nice.”

  “Okay,” Suzie agreed. “I’m sorry you’re so tall and curvy and gorgeous. What a curse.”

  Dimi rolled her eyes. But after she applied her makeup and took a brush to her already curled hair, she had to admit, she looked…well, pretty damn fine.

  “Whoa, baby, who knew you were hiding such a great set of breasts,” Suzie marveled. “And that tush. Good Lord, girlfriend, you should have been wearing pants all along. Good thing no one can see that you prefer plain white cotton panties.”

  “I like cotton.”

  “You know they make them in colors now, right?”

  “Everybody’s turned into a comic.” Dimi tried pulling the pants up a little more, to no avail. “This is crazy. If I so much as bend over, I’m going to expose my butt like a damn contractor.”

  “So don’t bend over. Dimi, can’t you feel it?” Suzie’s eyes were lit with excitement. “The new direction of the show. We’re going to go big. We’re all going to make it.” She hopped off the chair she’d plopped into and twirled around. “No more unemployment threat looming, no more scanning the classified section in the newspaper.”

  Her earnestness had Dimi biting back her disgruntled reply. She wasn’t that selfish as to take away Suzie’s hope and joy, and she knew it wasn’t just Suzie. In fact, she knew exactly how many people depended on the success of this show.

  Dammit.

  “Look, I almost forgot,” Suzie said. “I came to tell you, Mitch wants to see you before the show. He wants to go over today’s dia
logue.”

  “We’re going to plan our dialogue?”

  “Apparently.” Suzie grinned. “Make it as hot as yesterday, and we’re all on easy street for the season.”

  Dimi thought of yesterday, and how she’d nearly melted watching Mitch handle the food, the cooking, everything, with a masculine flair that had left her…hungry.

  And not for food. “I can’t do this,” she muttered, but Suzie was already gone, so she took herself down the hall to tell Mitch that very thing herself. She wouldn’t follow his dictates. She would dress and walk and talk however she wanted.

  Only as she went, no less than six male crew members dramatically fell to the floor when she passed.

  “Very funny,” she told them, getting more and more righteous and worked up, until finally she stood right outside Mitch’s office door with damp palms and a racing heart.

  What if he gave her that look again, the one that scrambled her brain and made her want things she couldn’t even think about without getting all hot and itchy from the inside out?

  Just as she lifted her hand to knock, Mitch opened the door, startling her into a very unrighteous squeak. “Do you have radar or something?” she demanded.

  His gaze traveled the length of her, heating up from a mere smoldering to full-blown sizzle by the time it met hers again. “The outfit is good.”

  “Tell me again, exactly what does being a sex goddess have to do with cooking?”

  He grimaced at her loud voice, took her arm and pulled her inside his office. She had to stalk the length of the room a few times because it was hard to gather her temper again after that brain-cell-crunching look he’d just given her, but not impossible.

  “I didn’t say sex goddess,” he said.

  “Leo said—”

  “I said sex kitten.” He grinned when she whipped around, practically snarling.

  At least he wasn’t wearing black leather or those sunglasses today. At least they weren’t outside where his nearly black hair gleamed and so did his smile, not to mention the motorcycle that had given her quite the interesting fantasy the past few nights.

  But the truth was, he didn’t need any of that to be dangerous, because it was all in his eyes, in his smile and most definitely in the way he looked at her.

  “What I said was, you needed to be coached from serious queen to sex kitten.”

  She crossed her arms. “And that you were going to be the coach.”

  “Yes.”

  Just the single word caused a ripple of awareness. She ruthlessly stomped on it. “What does that coaching entail?”

  “We’ve already covered this. The walk, the clothes, the smile.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You’re not quite ready for the rest yet.”

  Well, darn if that didn’t send another little thrill rippling through her body. But that couldn’t be right, she couldn’t be…excited about this, could she? “I think I’d at least like a hint,” she decided.

  “No.”

  There was something incredibly intoxicating about how close his mouth was, about being able to—if she so chose—slip her arms around his neck and lose herself in him.

  If she so chose.

  Which, of course, she wouldn’t.

  His eyes were shining with approval and a good amount of heat. “You’re going to knock `em dead today, Dimi. Do you have any idea how incredible you look?”

  “For a sex kitten, you mean.”

  Running a finger over the gauzy material covering her shoulder, he slowly shook his head. “You look like a woman full of life, confident and all too happy to show the world what she can do.” His gaze met hers. “So, what can you do, Dimi?”

  Anything. That’s how she felt when he looked at her like that. She could do anything. “I want to pick the recipes we use,” she managed to say. “If I have to walk, talk and dress like this, you can give me that.”

  “Okay, what direction do you see yourself and the show going in?”

  She’d done this before, pitched her vision. No one had ever wanted to believe in her, and as a result, she’d been stuck with tried, true and boring recipes. “I want to try new things across the board,” she said. “For instance, I’d like to show quick-and-easy low-fat foods that promote good health but that are also innovative and fun.”

  Mitch nodded.

  Buoyed, she spoke faster. “I want to do themes, like specializing in California cuisine for a week. Maybe highlight regions.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Hope surged. As did an almost unrecognizable joy. This was becoming a bit overwhelming, all these emotions for a man she wanted to resent with all her heart.

  “You walk the walk and talk the talk,” he said. “And you can cook whatever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Because Dimi? The outfit…” He tugged on the gauze. “It stays.”

  “Did you know I can’t even bend over in this?” she asked in frustration.

  His eyes glimmered. “Yep.”

  * * *

  By the end of the week the entire town was abuzz with talk about the new and improved Food Time.

  The change was unbelievable, including the ratings, which made Mitch’s job all the easier. If it kept up, he’d be out of here in no time and back on his home turf with some new project. Just what he wanted.

  So what was that strange pang he felt deep down in the pit of his stomach? It couldn’t be regret. He didn’t belong in a place this small. There wasn’t enough room for him in a town like this. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

  And he missed… Hell. He missed exactly nothing.

  But that didn’t mean he’d miss this place, either.

  “Check it out,” Suzie said as everyone gathered for their early morning staff meeting. She lifted the local paper and read. “‘Food Time modernizes. Hip hosts, great chemistry, not to mention fabulous new recipes. Don’t miss it.’”

  Mitch noted the date at the top of the paper. “That’s from last week.”

  “Yeah.” Suzie gave him a sheepish smile. “I just worked my way through my stack of mail last night.”

  “So what do they say about us this week?”

  “I don’t know. It hasn’t come out yet.”

  Mitch came from a town where one could get the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times and just about every other major paper on any street corner. Daily. “You’re kidding me.”

  “It won’t come out until tomorrow.”

  Exactly his point about this place, Mitch thought as everyone smiled with fondness for their little town with only one newspaper once a week.

  Dimi rushed into the conference room, a suspicious, mysterious mass in her arms covered with a black towel. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “What do you have there?” Leo asked.

  Dimi shot a look at Mitch. “Nothing.” She shoved the thing under the table, sat and folded her arms. The picture of calm.

  Unless one looked deep enough, which of course Mitch did. She looked ruffled, unnerved and damned distracting while doing it.

  “Thirty minutes to air,” Gracie announced, checking her watch.

  “Okay, anyone have anything else before we disperse?” Mitch asked, keeping his eyes on Dimi, but no big surprise, she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Just maintain the status quo,” Suzie said, consulting her clipboard. “Yesterday’s calls topped our record. They’re loving it all.”

  “The new recipes?” Dimi asked, coming to life.

  “Well, yes. Among other things.”

  “Such as?” Mitch asked.

  “Such as you and Dimi and your chemistry. They loved yesterday’s bread-making show.”

  “The recipe,” Dimi said, shining with pleasure. “I knew it. It was a fabulous one, from Romania—”

  “Uh, no.” Suzie shook her head and laughed. “What they really enjoyed was watching you and Mitch and how you kneaded the
dough together, remember?”

  Mitch remembered. Their hands had gotten entangled in the gooey, sticky mess Dimi had so expertly created, and at the touch, the two of them had nearly gone up in flames. Startled, they’d stared at each other like two star-crossed, unsatisfied lovers, and the camera hadn’t missed it.

  Not that, and not later, when every time they accidentally touched—which he perversely made sure was as often as possible—it had only upped the heat. They’d shaped the dough, stroking and stretching and pulling, and every motion had become a sensual sort of dance.

  Indeed, as he already knew, the phones had rung off the hook, people wanting more. Hell, he wanted more. And no, he had no idea where his this-was-just-a-job mentality had gone.

  “People are definitely really into this new look for Dimi,” Leo agreed. “They keep tuning in to make sure she doesn’t revert to her earlier dowdiness—Er, um, I mean…”

  “Thanks,” Dimi said dryly. She rose. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Well, look at the time,” Suzie said, glancing at her watch and rescuing a miserable Leo. “Dimi, you need costume and makeup, pronto.”

  A perfect mix of fear and reluctant thrill crossed Dimi’s face. “How bad is the costume today?”

  Suzie looked at Mitch and managed to keep a bland face. But both of them knew today’s costume was the best yet. “Not bad at all.”

  A squeal startled them all. Dimi jumped, blushed and tried to look innocent.

  But Mitch knew that squeal. Frowning, he looked at her, suddenly recognizing the lump beneath the towel. “You brought Brownie to work?”

  “I had to. Tanner’s painting my kitchen, and she hates the fumes.”

  “We’ve got to get rolling, gang,” Suzie said, tapping her watch.

  “I’ll take Brownie,” Mitch offered. “She can hang out in my office.”

  Dimi looked concerned. “But—”

  “But what? Do you think I’d terrorize your hamster?”

  “She won’t strut and smile and dress on command.”

  “But will she be nice to me?”

  Dimi smirked. “No, she’s shy. And very serious about her food. Don’t put your finger in the cage. She doesn’t know you, she might bite.”

  “Got it.” Mitch shook his head when Dimi was gone and pulled Brownie out from beneath the table. “Hey, girl,” he said softly. “Remember me?”