Delicious

by Jami Alden

  “What about Craig?” Natalie asked. “He still hasn’t forgiven you for stealing his show.” Natalie made little air quotes around the stealing part.

  Gabe looked at Reggie expectantly. “Craig?”

  “My ex.”

  “You stole his show?”

  “It’s stupid, really. I was helping him with a cooking demo, and I guess I sort of took over.”

  “Reggie can talk a lot while she’s doing something else,” Natalie interjected.

  Gabe smiled as though at a joke only he knew. Her cheeks burned as she wondered which of the many things she’d said during sex he might be remembering.

  “I didn’t know, but Craig had invited Max to the demo. Max has developed other shows for the Cuisine Network, and Craig was hoping to work with him. I did my usual thing, kept up the chatter and asked Craig questions so he could show off. After the demo, Max called me and we came up with the idea for Simply Delicious.”

  “So it’s possible he wants to get revenge, shake you up a little.”

  Reggie shook her head. “We broke up over a year ago. Why would he wait until now?”

  “Because you’re a much bigger star now,” Natalie said, scowling, “at least in your little Cuisine Network world. And you have a new show. He has to be pissed about that.”

  “But he didn’t know about that until last night. Besides, Craig is too egotistical to stay anonymous.”

  Gabe asked for Craig’s last name and said he would check him but conceded, “With all the Internet search tools available, it’s ridiculously easy for someone to procure private information. Is your real name the same as your professional name?”

  Reggie nodded.

  “That makes it much easier for people to look you up.” He looked at her pointedly. “What is your full name, anyway?”

  “Regina Jane Caldwell,” she said quietly.

  “Ah, Regina. That explains it.”

  Natalie perked up instantly. “The Gina thing, you mean? I don’t know why she—”

  Natalie mercifully was interrupted by the strange techno ring of her cell phone. Within minutes she was rushing out the door, muttering about a callback.

  “Don’t forget to send my travel schedule to Tyler!”

  Natalie answered with a vague wave as she rushed out the door.

  An awkward silence fell. Uncharacteristically tongue-tied, Reggie looked at Gabe with what she hoped was a semicomposed expression. She took several deep, calming breaths in an attempt to keep her hormones from spiking out of control. Bad idea, she thought, as she caught the citrus and sandalwood scent of his cologne.

  She wondered what he would do if she loosened his tie and ran her tongue along the tan skin of his throat.

  “Wow, so this is a strange coincidence, huh?” Reggie cursed her fair complexion as she blushed for what had to be the fiftieth time since Gabe had arrived. Great, she made it sound like they’d met each other at a cocktail party instead of spending several hours twisted naked around each other. “I have to admit I always wondered about you after I left.”

  She didn’t realize how badly she wanted him to say that he, too, had thought about her since their one night until she was met with deafening silence. He tugged at his tie and cleared his throat.

  Reggie winced at the carefully blank expression in his eyes.

  “I was hoping to avoid any awkwardness, but at least we have this out in the open.” His voice held all the emotion of Data from Star Trek. “We have a strict company policy about getting personally involved with clients. I’ve found that doing so inhibits my ability to do my job well and puts them at risk. So I’m hoping we can put our past encounter aside and keep our relationship on a strictly professional level.”

  Well, that settled that. “Of course,” she said tightly. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

  A brief nod was his only reply. Did the guy have no social skills? The least he could do was reassure her that there were no hard feelings, especially when she was about to spontaneously combust with embarrassment.

  Gabe flipped his notebook closed. “Okay, so I’ll check these guys out over the weekend—quietly, of course. I try to interfere as little as possible in my clients’ day-to-day lives. I’ll also schedule for the security system to be installed sometime this weekend.”

  He stood to leave. “I’ll also want to get a sense of your schedule next week, see if there is someone you see every day that might be behind this.” He pulled out a card and wrote something on the back. “This is a cell number for emergencies only. I can’t stress that enough. I only give it to clients in special cases, and if it rings, I assume you’re in immediate danger. If you need to reach me, please use my main cell number.”

  Though he did his best to maintain an unemotional, robot-like exterior, it was obvious he wanted to get the hell out of there.

  Reggie closed the door after him and slumped down against it. How was she supposed to deal with having him around for the next God knew how many days?

  She looked at the clock. Five-fifteen. Her book deadline rode like a monkey on her back, but after the afternoon’s events, she needed a little sustenance.

  Reggie rifled through her pantry and refrigerator, nearly crying in relief when she found all the makings for homemade mac n’ cheese.

  She cranked up the stereo, hoping the blare of classic rock would help blot out the sound of Gabe’s voice, so cold and emotionless as he told her it was company policy not to get involved with clients. While it made sense, it still stung.

  Obviously he viewed their time together as a one-night stand, never to be repeated, no matter that fate had seen fit to throw them together. She stirred her roux with more vigor than necessary, sloshing milk all over the place. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t felt the very same way, so why was she so upset?

  Because, she admitted as she moved her wooden spoon through the slowly thickening sauce, when the guy who had provided endless fantasy material for the past year had unexpectedly shown up in her living room, she couldn’t help but indulge in the hope that maybe she’d end up naked with him again soon.

  Yet it was hard to reconcile the quietly intense, infinitely passionate lover with the cold, aloof man who’d just left.

  She shook her head as she drained the macaroni. Just goes to show, just because you know all the spots on a man’s body that elicit an immediate erection, doesn’t mean you actually know him as a person.

  Funny, she’d never felt an iota of shame about her one and only one-night stand in Hawaii. But now the thought that she’d let such an unemotional jerk do all those…things to her gave her a slightly sick feeling.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said to her empty kitchen. “I don’t need to be friends with the guy just because I slept with him. He’ll be gone in a few days, and then I’ll never have to see him again.”

  Reggie laughed mirthlessly at all the times over the past year she’d wondered if things would have been different if she hadn’t snuck out without a word. Let herself fantasize that if she’d only left her phone number, her e-mail, Gabe would have tracked her down.

  Obviously he hadn’t felt the same connection, hadn’t wondered if maybe their casual romp could have turned into something real. If nothing else, today had ensured that she’d no longer entertain naive illusions about the one she left behind.

  The high trill and bumping backbeat of Natalie’s cell phone pierced the quiet of the hallway where thirty other actresses pored over their scripts, trying to come up with the perfect inflection that would make a viewer run out and buy a comfort fit bra.

  The casting director’s assistant, or Attila, as Natalie had mentally dubbed her, shot her a dirty look. Geez, she knew her ring was obnoxious, but so were all of the others included in her new Nokia.

  One of the other actresses shot her a sideways glance and nodded at something on the wall above Natalie’s head: PLEASE TURN CELL PHONES OFF.

  Crap.

  Natalie glanced down at the display. Reg
gie. Double crap. She knew exactly why Reggie was calling. Natalie still hadn’t gotten her travel schedule over to Tyler. Everything was good to go, but she hadn’t had a chance to type it up yet. She planned to go over to Reggie’s right after her audition to borrow her computer and e-mail Tightass Tyler the info he needed.

  Her thumb hovered over the power button. But she had promised Reggie that she would get her act together. And as much as she hated to admit it, Reggie was saving her ass out of the goodness of her heart, because God knew, her strategy of moving up to San Francisco to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond had certainly backfired.

  At this point, her mercy job as Reggie’s assistant was the only thing keeping her decently housed and clothed.

  “Hi, Reg. I’ll have the schedule over to Tyler tonight.”

  Natalie only half heard Reggie’s protests as she realized that Attila was stomping in her direction, clipboard clutched to the front of her perfectly pressed white shirt.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “if you’re going to take a call, you have to go outside.”

  Natalie raised a finger in the universal “give me a minute” signal.

  “You have to leave,” Attila insisted.

  Natalie pressed her thumb over the tiny mouthpiece so Reggie couldn’t hear. She was already irritated at Natalie’s tendency to drop anything and everything in favor of an audition. “But I’ll lose my place in line.” She’d already waited over an hour, and the open call was first come first serve for only the next forty-five minutes. No way she’d get in if she had to hop back in at the end. Natalie’s eyes darted around the room in search of a sympathetic face.

  Attila’s glare was uncompromising. “And don’t think you can get someone to hold your place.”

  “Are you listening, Natalie? You already flaked on my makeup this morning—which I managed with your cheat sheets, so thanks for that. But believe it or not, I hired you because I actually need help.”

  She was so tempted to hang up on Reggie she could taste it. But she could only push the flaky younger sister thing so far. Gathering up her purse, she shot a sneer at Attila that would have done a thirteen-year-old proud and stomped down the hallway.

  A rush of cool fall air hit her face as she stepped out onto Battery Street and let Reggie end her tirade.

  Hoping to shift her sister’s focus and satisfy her own curiosity, she asked, “So what happened with hot Gabe the bodyguard after I left?”

  “Nothing,” Reggie said with uncharacteristic curtness. “Even if he was interested in picking up where we left off—which he’s obviously not—he made it very clear that he has a strict policy against dating his clients.”

  Natalie winced in sympathy.

  “When he came over to install the security system, he could have been a turnip for all the emotion he showed. Speaking of which, I need to give you the code.”

  Natalie fished out a lip pencil and scribbled the six-digit code on the back of her hand. “Too bad. He doesn’t sound anything like you described him.” As she remembered, Reggie had giggled like a teenager and given her disappointingly sparse details about her night of acrobatic sex with Gabe, but cold was definitely not a word she had used. “Why did you tell him your name is Gina, anyway?”

  “Stupid impulse. I gotta go. We’re about to start the second taping and gorgeous Gabe is supposed to be here to watch. Oh God, I hope I don’t accidentally call him that to his face. Tyler will be here later if you want to stop by this afternoon.”

  The line went dead, and Natalie trotted down the street to grab the bus. If she typed fast, she should be able to get the schedule ready in plenty of time to swing by the studio. She spared a fleeting thought for the lost commercial opportunity. Not that she wanted to flit around in one of those ugly geriatric-looking bras, but still, a paycheck’s a paycheck.

  She sighed and slumped down on her seat, ignoring the investment banker type who kept leering at her over his paper. Definitely not her type—slightly puffy in the face and neck, a sure indicator that under the fine tailoring of his suit, he was all white skin and flabby man boobs.

  The woman next to her was flipping through a magazine. She nudged Natalie in the arm. “That Reggie Caldwell. Don’t you just love her?”

  Natalie looked down at a two-page spread of her sister’s giant grin as she hovered over a big plate of sandwiches dripping with cheese. She felt like a knot of yarn was caught in her throat. “Yeah, she’s great,” she managed to croak. She wondered what the lady would say if she pointed out that for all the teeth and crinkling eyes, Reggie was faking that smile better than a porn star fakes an orgasm. Ten to one odds Reggie had been suppressing the urge to vomit when that photo was taken.

  The cheesy sandwich? Reggie wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole because it was made with yellow American, which Reggie considered an abomination.

  Not that it ever stopped her from using it in a recipe if she thought viewers would like it.

  Natalie sighed and once again did her best to stifle the evil resentment that threatened to rear its ugly head whenever Natalie was reminded of Reggie’s sudden fame and success.

  She was happy for Reggie. She really was. But she’d be a hell of a lot happier if she, Natalie, were still the more recognizable of the two. Even if it did mean Natalie was recognized from her frolic on a beach, expounding on the wonders of douche.

  She let herself into Reggie’s apartment, helping herself to a diet soda on her way to Reggie’s office. Her stomach grumbled, all but begging for solid sustenance. She hadn’t eaten anything all day on the off chance that the casting director would want to see how she looked in her bra, and now she was starving. She dug through Reggie’s refrigerator and liberated a bag of baby carrots.

  One good thing about Reggie’s cooking—she always started out with healthy stuff. The key was to get your hands on it before Reggie doused it with oil, butter, or non-American cheese.

  A thought occurred to her as she flipped on Reggie’s computer. Why couldn’t she have her own show on the Cuisine Network? She had as much, if not more, screen presence than Reggie. Of course, she didn’t cook, but so what? There were lots of shows that employed a sidekick whose sole purpose seemed to be to ask questions so the hotshot chef could highlight his amazing skills.

  Maybe she could do a healthy focus show, where they cooked low-fat, low-calorie dishes, and Natalie could serve as an example of what viewers could look like if they stopped shoving so much food into their heads. As she keyed in Reggie’s travel information, she planned it all out. She’d pitch it to Reggie’s producer, Max, who had developed several shows for the Cuisine Network. He was always looking for new ideas and fresh talent.

  Too bad Max was most likely gay. Not that Natalie ever succumbed to the casting couch—she wasn’t that desperate for douche and cat food commercials—but she wasn’t above using her sex appeal to push a guy in the direction of giving her what she wanted.

  No matter. Max would have to be blind not to see the potential. And by the time she headed for the studio, she not only had a printed copy of Reggie’s itinerary for the next six weeks, she had a one-page proposal, complete with sample recipes. Hopefully whatever chef they found could help jazz up the titles a little bit. Lettuce with lemon juice probably wouldn’t fly.

  He’d put it off as long as he could. Gabe checked his watch. He needed to get to the studio before they finished taping for the day so he could get a feel for the people she worked around, see what security, if any, was in place during a busy taping session.

  At least he wouldn’t be alone with her. He’d almost lost it on Saturday, after the guy from the alarm company left and he’d walked Reggie around the apartment to show her what was wired and how it worked. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her, clean shampoo and something else that smelled a whole lot like cinnamon buns.

  It was all he could do to resist the urge to bend down and take a bite out of her buns.

  Now that train of thought will get you in t
rouble.

  Four days later, and he was still reeling from his unexpected reunion with his hot little Hawaii fling. The woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind after all this time. He was ashamed to admit it, but it still stung, the way she had snuck out on him without so much as a a see you later.

  Now, why’s that, jackass? Did you think you’d get her number and try to make a romance out of it? Aren’t you forgetting that you only fucked her in the first place to forget the last client you were stupid enough to get involved with? You know, the one who dropped you like a poisonous snake and all but ruined your career. Keep your distance, Randy Andy. You can get laid when you’re off the job.

  Resolve bolstered, Gabe entered the building and made his way to the studio, making a mental note that the guard at the security desk didn’t ask for ID or call to make sure it was okay to send him up.

  They were almost finished setting up for the next episode when Gabe walked in. Wrestling his expression into one of calm detachment, he greeted her with a silent wave. She gave him a tight smile and refocused on her conversation.

  The tall, thin man had to be Max, the producer. He was probably in his early forties, and he wore a lavender fitted button-down shirt with black slacks, his leather belt sporting a brushed silver buckle. His hair was tousled just so.

  But Max is gay. Natalie’s assertion echoed in his brain. Personally, his gaydar wasn’t particularly refined, so he figured he’d have to take her word for it.

  Still, there was something about the way Max stood, a little too close to Reggie, even if he was reading a script over her shoulder. Reggie didn’t seem to notice anything odd about it at all.

  Probably nothing, but he didn’t like the way Max invaded her personal space.

  Reggie marked something down on the script and handed it back to Max, then waved her hand in Gabe’s direction. Max walked up and introduced himself just as Natalie and a big blond guy in a suit walked in, bickering fiercely in loud whispers.

  “I apologized for forgetting the book signing in Dallas, okay? I’ll fix the schedule,” Natalie said through clenched teeth.