by Jami Alden
“I still don’t think you should have fired him.”
“I didn’t fire him, Natalie. I told him his services would no longer be needed. Which would be true anyway since I’m leaving tomorrow.” And she’d been polite about it. After they’d arrived at her apartment, she’d calmly thanked him for protecting her from the gun-wielding drug addict and written him a check.
“What if you need his help again?”
Reggie blew out a scoffing breath. “Doubtful. And even if I did, I still think Gabe is overqualified for what I need.” When she’d met him in Hawaii, Reggie had sensed an air of intensity, danger even, surrounding Gabe. But last night, he’d gone from mildly irritating to absolutely lethal in a matter of seconds. She had no doubt that if he’d been inclined, he could have killed that guy with his bare hands. As sexy as she found Gabe, she feared the reality of him was more than she was capable of handling. She should thank her lucky stars that he had no interest in getting involved.
So why had she spent the past two days trying to come up with an excuse to call him again?
“Besides,” Reggie continued, “I’ll be gone for six weeks. Plenty of time for Mr. Balls to forget about me and set his sights on some other victim.”
“He can still watch your show.”
“But he can’t get to me.”
“Bullshit,” Natalie said, then paused to study the sweater Reggie had just thrown into her suitcase. “You’re not taking that sweater.”
“Why not?”
“I thought the idea was to take mostly stuff you can wear on camera.”
“Yeah?” Reggie added a slate-blue cotton/lycra button-down and yet another pair of black pants to the mix.
“Reg, a thick wool cable-knit sweater will make you look like a burly fishwife on camera. Take it out.”
Reggie rolled her eyes, but took the sweater out. As much as Natalie’s comments about her size needled, more often than not she was right. Natalie rarely said anything deliberately cruel or insulting, but she had no qualms about reminding Reggie that despite her size-eight figure, she was far from camera ready. “I don’t know why it matters,” she grumbled, even as she put the sweater away. “Don’t you remember how popular Two Fat Ladies was? I bet they never worried about the camera adding ten pounds.”
“True. But they were also never asked to do a shoot for Men’s Only either.”
Great. In addition to her book edits that she’d have to squeeze in on the road, now she had to worry about finding time to exercise too.
Reggie grimaced, wondering how she’d ever let Natalie and Tyler talk her into the photo shoot for the notoriously provocative men’s magazine. Especially since it was scheduled toward the end of her shooting schedule. She never ate well or kept up her exercise routine on the road, and by the time they get to L.A. for the much dreaded photo shoot, she’d no doubt be bloated and flabby.
Reggie hadn’t been particularly open to the idea of a sexy photo layout, but Natalie and Tyler had joined forces to gang up on her. Tyler because it would expose her (no pun intended) to a potentially new audience of noncooking males who might tune in just to look at her, and Natalie because to her, an appearance in Men’s Only was the ultimate validation that a woman was hot.
Natalie took a swig of her diet soda. “Lucky for you they have airbrushing.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, Natalie stayed mercifully silent as her attention fixed on the E! True Hollywood Story on in the background. But like Reggie, Natalie couldn’t stop talking for long. “I still think you should try to call Gabe before you leave. You never know—”
“Natalie, could you drop it, please?” Reggie flipped her suitcase closed and yanked on the zipper. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s a classic example of a guy who’s great in the sack but an asshole in real life.”
She wasn’t entirely sure that was true. She’d spent time—okay, not a ton of time, but time—with him before they’d made it back to his room in Hawaii. She’d found him charming; quiet, but courteous, with a wry sense of humor that snuck up on you. The kind of guy you really listened to because when he spoke, it was for good reason. And the things he’d said to her, especially in bed…He’d made her feel like the sexiest, hottest woman in the world.
Clearly his charm was something he turned on only when he wanted to lure unsuspecting girls like herself into his den of sin. Otherwise, she imagined being in a relationship with him would be like dating the Terminator.
She tugged again on the zipper, still stuck at the halfway mark. She grunted, leaning onto it. No dice. “Nat, get up here.” Natalie obligingly balanced on the lid of the suitcase, bearing down as though that could lend her greater weight. “Dammit,” Reggie strained, wincing as the zipper cut into the flesh of her finger. “We need greater mass. Trade places.”
With Reggie sitting on the suitcase, Natalie had it zipped in seconds. Hah. Sometimes being heavier was an advantage.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” Reggie continued, hands on hips, as she wondered how in the hell she was going to close her suitcase by herself after tomorrow, “Gabe is clearly an example of why you don’t try to make a relationship out of a vacation fling. I’ll admit, when he first showed up, I wouldn’t have minded another round.”
“You’d have to be crazy not to. The man is smokin’. So big and brawny and…big.”
Reggie willed the telltale flush out of her cheeks as she remembered exactly how beautifully, deliciously, powerfully big Gabe was. Everywhere. “Irrelevant. And when I come back in six weeks, I’ll have forgotten that pervy stalkers and rude, impersonal bodyguards like Gabe ever existed.”
By the end of the first day of shooting, Reggie was exhausted. She’d spent almost the entire day on her feet, filming a segment on the street foods of New York. Between shots she tried to find a quiet spot to sit and work on her book, without appreciable success. Which meant she would have to work on it now, instead of crawling into bed with a good glass of red wine and the remote.
She was packing up her laptop and getting ready to head back to the hotel when one of the crew members approached her with an envelope. She thanked him and started to slip it into her briefcase.
“The guy said you should read it immediately. It sounded urgent.”
“What guy?”
The cameraman looked around, his expression growing confused. “He was right there.” He pointed to the busy street corner where thousands of New Yorkers were fighting pedestrian traffic in their quest to get home.
Frowning, she studied the envelope. Nothing was written on the outside and it wasn’t sealed. She pulled out a single sheet of paper, her blood icing over when she saw the familiar cut-and-paste magazine letters.
Darling Reggie,
I hope you’re enjoying New York. The weather is so lovely this time of year. Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Reggie almost laughed at the note’s friendly, casual tone. If it weren’t printed in psycho serial killer cutouts, it would have been like any note any of her friends or colleagues might have sent.
And, of course, there was a picture copied on the bottom. Not a scrotum or any other body part, thank goodness. Rather, this was of a lingerie model in a kneeling pose, hands behind her as her back arched her voluptuous lace-clad breasts toward the camera. But the model’s face was superimposed with a picture of Reggie’s own, taken from a recent article in Good Housekeeping.
“What’s that?” Reggie jumped a foot as Carrie, her producer, seemed to appear out of nowhere. Carrie had wild red hair, her petite, wiry frame draped in baggy khakis and an oversize canvas coat. Her wild red hair practically shot sparks of intensity.
Frowning, Reggie muttered, “I wonder how he found me.”
Carrie’s bright green eyes turned almost feral. “What do you mean, he found you.”
Normally, Reggie liked her new producer’s intense, take no bullshit style, but sometimes the woman downright scared her. Trying to laugh it of
f, Reggie said, “It’s nothing really. Before I left San Francisco, I received some strange communication from a fan.”
“A stalker? And now he’s followed you all the way to New York?”
“I don’t know if you can really call him a stalker.”
“This is not good.”
“Carrie, I’m perfectly safe, I promise.”
Carrie’s breath exploded in a harsh laugh. “It’s not you I’m worried about. If this guy knows where we’re shooting, do you have any idea how he could mess up production?”
Reggie embarrassedly admitted the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.
“I’m going to have to talk to the VPs about this. I don’t even know if we can get a replacement in time.” Carrie seemed to be talking more to herself than to Reggie.
“Replacement?” The mere suggestion sent Reggie into a panic. “You can’t replace me. It’s Simply Delicious, USA, and I’m Simply Delicious,” she said, her voice rising hysterically.
Carrie shook her head, sending her wild mane of red curls in every direction. “No offense, Reggie, but you’re an unknown quantity. You have no location experience, no experience in handling guests. The network is taking a huge chance with you on this, and they won’t support you if you prove to be a liability.”
Desperate now, Reggie grabbed the other woman’s hand. “Carrie, you don’t have to go to the network with this. I’m sure it’s nothing, just a few harmless notes.”
“Reggie, I like you, a lot, but this isn’t personal,” Carrie said quietly. “My butt’s on the line too. You think if we mess this up, they’ll ever let me out of the studio again? I’m really sorry but—”
“What if we hired security?” She was grasping at straws now, she knew.
“This show already has one of the highest per-show costs of anything Cuisine Network has ever done. They’ll never go for it.”
Gabe’s face flashed in her head. “What if I paid for it myself?”
Carrie started to shake her head.
“I know a guy, he used to be in the army Special Forces. Trust me, nothing gets past him.” When Carrie remained silent, Reggie plundered on, “It’s the best solution. You’ll never be able to find another host without delaying production. And think how much it will cost to get another name with this short notice.”
Carrie’s lips pursed as she thought it over. “Are you sure you can get him for the full six weeks, with overlap if the schedule slips?”
“Positive,” she said, crossing her fingers and praying that it was true.
“This is Gabe. What’s the problem?”
“Gabe, it’s Reggie.”
His adrenaline level, which had spiked at the first ring of his emergency line, surged another notch. He gripped the phone, willing himself to calm down. It wouldn’t do her any good if he lost his cool, no matter how the thought of her in danger freaked the hell out of him. “What happened?”
“I’m so glad you answered.”
He began pacing anxiously around his sister’s living room, his phone clenched in a death grip in his right hand. “Are you in any danger?”
“Me? I’m fine. I have a proposition for you, though.”
“I thought I made it clear you’re only supposed to call this number if you’re in immediate, physical danger.”
“Oh, right, sorry.” Her voice was blithely chipper on the other line. He wished he could reach through the phone and strangle her. Or bend her over his knee for a spanking…“I was wondering if I could hire you for the next six weeks.”
Gabe plopped down on the couch, stunned. Now this was an odd turn of events, especially considering the last time they spoke. Oh, she’d tried to be as cordial as possible as she told him firmly that she’d no longer be needing his services. But there was no escaping the aura of fear, mixed with a little revulsion as she said it.
On top of her irritation over embarrassing her in front of a fan, it had visibly freaked her out to see him take down that guy in the convenience store. If that scared her, she’d die if she ever found out about the things he’d done in the name of defending his country.
That night, their client relationship had been permanently terminated, and he’d had no illusions that she ever wanted to see him again.
Which made her phone call even more puzzling.
She spoke without taking a breath for a full five minutes, explaining about the note she’d received, Carrie’s reaction, and most importantly—to her, apparently—the fact that she was in danger of losing her job as host of this show. “I can’t let that happen, Gabe,” she repeated over and over. “I can’t lose this job, and I will if you don’t agree to this.”
Gabe shook his head in disbelief. It seemed to have gone completely over her head that whoever her admirer was, he knew her every move and had obviously taken the time to track her all the way across the country. He should take this job, because Lord knew this woman needed a keeper. “I have to think about it, check my calendar,” he lied, knowing full well the next several months were wide open.
“Please, Gabe, I have to give them an answer tonight.”
A month and a half on the road, in close proximity to Reggie Caldwell. Responsible for guarding her body from danger. Her curvy, succulent, bound to drive him insane body. He was crazy to even consider it.
Then he remembered his assistant’s message from earlier this afternoon. Marjorie’s landlord had stopped by again today, threatening eviction if she didn’t pay the six months’ back rent she owed. She’d stuck by him all this time, accepting whatever payment he could scrape together. Letting her get kicked out of her apartment was no way to repay her loyalty. “I’m going to need payment up front for the first few weeks.” Heat crept up his neck as he issued the demand. He didn’t know why, since this was a simple business transaction, but demanding money from a woman he’d slept with didn’t sit right. But he couldn’t see that he had any other choice.
Knowing he was going to regret it, he said, “Okay, where do I need to be?”
He wrote down the name of the restaurant in Boston where she’d be filming the next morning and glanced at the clock. With luck, he could still make a red-eye.
In the meantime, he told her to switch hotel rooms and have Natalie rebook all of her future reservations.
“Don’t you think that’s being a little paranoid?” Reggie protested. “All he did was send me a doctored picture from a Victoria’s Secret catalog.”
He gritted his teeth, anticipating several weeks in alternating states of sexual lust and frustration as Reggie questioned every single decision. “Listen, Reggie,” he bit out, “if I’m going to help you, we have to do things my way. I don’t care if this guy is sending you Hallmark cards with little kitties on them, we take every communication seriously. If I work for you, your safety is my number-one priority, and everything I do is to further that goal. So if I tell you to change hotels, you change hotels. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.” He could practically hear her sarcastic salute over the phone.
“Good. Now that’s settled, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Gabe showed up at Gianni’s Trattoria shortly before noon the next day. Reggie was still irritated by his high-handed treatment over the phone last night. Clearly, the man had control issues. Still, he was currently her only guarantee of keeping this job, so she mustered up a wave and an approximation of a friendly smile.
Gabe responded with a brief, impersonal nod.
Reggie turned her attention back to this segment’s guest, Gianni Carposi, a plump exuberant Italian man in his mid-forties. Gianni was funny, flamboyant, and harmlessly flirtatious.
Still, the shoot wasn’t without its hiccups, as Reggie struggled to get into the groove and accustom herself to sharing screen time with another person. Gianni was boisterous and talkative in his own right, and they found themselves talking over each other more often than not. Judging from her pinched look and the way she dug her thumbs into her temples, Carrie wasn’t overly impres
sed with Reggie’s performance.
It didn’t help that Reggie had barely slept the night before. Even though she had faith in the room’s deadbolt, she found herself jumping at every ping of the air conditioner, every muffled footfall outside her room. Damn Gabe and his contagious paranoia. After only a few hours of sleep, Reggie woke up feeling like crap and looking worse.
Natalie had offered a quick over-the-phone consult on how to cover up under-eye puffiness and circles. Reggie had swallowed her embarrassment and purchased a small tube of Preparation H from the airport newsstand before she boarded her flight.
She had to admit, in a pinch the ass cream worked. Now if only her on-camera persona could be so easily perked up.
They took a break a few hours later, and Reggie, Gianni, and the crew took the opportunity to snack on the handmade gnocchi with Gorgonzola sauce they had made. She waved Gabe over from his position in the back of the kitchen. Thanking him for coming on such short notice, she made the only available peace offering at hand. “Come have some food.”
He shook his hand, holding up a palm in refusal. “I’m fine.”
Reggie rolled her eyes and grabbed a small plate and a fork, piling on a small helping of gnocchi. His expression was resigned as she approached. “You must be starving. Just have a little.”
“Reggie, it’s not your responsibility to feed me. I carry plenty of food with me.”
She scanned him in puzzlement. From what she could tell, he carried only a small briefcase, nothing big enough to hold enough food to keep a man of his size running.
He pulled something out of the pocket of his sport coat. Reggie took it and turned it over until she could read the label. “Are you kidding me? I have homemade gnocchi for you, and you’re refusing it in favor of Power Bars?”
A tiny vein throbbed at the corner of his jaw. “I prefer not to take meals with my clients,” he said quietly so no one else could hear. “It brings a personal element to the working relationship that I’m not comfortable with.”
So this was how he wanted to live the next six weeks of their lives? Struggling to tamp down her frustration, she waved the fork in front of his face as though feeding a toddler. “Yummy, yummy, open wide.” She pressed the fork against Gabe’s lips. “Come on. Just a bite. It’s really good.”