The Real Heat

by Aurora, Lexi

  "Really, Milton? Do you really need to ask? I'm surprised at you," Wesley said, his grin more real this time, more present. It was a grin Milton the bartender returned easily, and Wesley was reminded of why the guy was so damned good at his job.

  "I know, I know. But it never hurts to ask, you know? For all I know you've got a palate that's just changed. Haven't you heard? Everything in our bodies changes every seven years. Don't like what you see in the mirror? Nothing to worry about, is there? All you've got to do is wait seven years. Your palate, along with everything else, will be something different."

  "That is a wonderful fact, one I'll be sure to work into my show whenever it seems fitting. In the meantime, I must not have served my seven-year sentence because these taste buds haven't changed."

  “Excellent, governor, then a scotch neat it’ll be.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it’ll be.”

  “What the hell, buddy? You starting without me?”

  A hand clamped down on Wesley's shoulder, gripping him with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Wesley glanced over said shoulder and saw Adam McClain standing there and smiling. It was the million-dollar, megawatt smile only trust fund babies and top executives could pull off. Fortunately for Adam, he happened to be both of those things. He slid easily into the deep leather stool sitting beside Wesley and snapped at Milton, who was in the process of retrieving Wesley's drink. In return, Milton gave Adam a look that Wesley understood to be dislike, which in turn made Wesley like him more. It wasn't that he didn't like Adam McClain. When everything was said and done, Wesley counted Adam as one of his friends. They couldn't ever be real friends, the kind of friends that talked to each other about personal subjects and issues, but that was okay. Wesley doubted that Adam had many things he didn't feel comfortable talking about. It was probably why the guy always looked so damned chipper. Honestly, Wesley wasn't usually the type to hold secrets locked inside of his head, either, but today that didn't feel so true. Today, his thoughts just didn't feel quite like his own, and he was beginning to regret not calling Adam up and canceling their semi-regular drinking date. He was in need of some good time to ruminate on things, and that was a task better done alone.

  "How the hell are ya, Adam?" he asked, shaking the man's hand heartily. For a minute, he thought he saw some kind of question in Adam's face, and when it cleared, he was more than pleased. He was relieved.

  "I'm a lot better now, that's for sure. Nothing like the old fashioneds my man here makes," Adam said as Milton approached with a drink for both men. It was a smart move on Milton's part. While Wesley appreciated the back and forth repartee found in many a classic movie between a barkeep and a regular patron, Adam decidedly did not. He liked being catered to and was so sure he deserved to be that it didn't occur to him the bartender might not enjoy it also. It wasn't the kindest thought, and Wesley felt bad about it, but that didn't make it any less true.

  “Your drinks, gents,” Milton said graciously.

  "Good man!" Adam crowed, toasting the air in front of the older man. He turned to toast Wesley next, grinning from ear to ear. After that, he set out to look around the room, the reason for which Wesley did not need to be informed. Adam McCarthy was, forever and always, on the lookout for a girl to entertain him for the evening. Never for longer than one night, that part was important, but nevertheless, he took the task very seriously. His eyes narrowed as he did his scanning and then he elbowed Wesley hard enough in the upper arm that the perfect glass of scotch neat sloshed dangerously close to the top of the glass.

  "Jesus please us, buddy, will you look at that?" He groaned appreciatively. Wesley followed the direction of his friend's eyes. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else, and one Wesley didn't feel all that great about. The chick Adam was checking out was good looking, there was no denying that. Normally Wesley might have allowed his eyes to linger a little longer, the way he might on a painting in a museum: good to look at but not for sale. This afternoon was different, though. This afternoon his head just wasn't in the game, and he didn't feel like pretending, either.

  “Hey, I have to tell you, the woman you sent in my direction this afternoon was pretty great. I can see why you wanted to hire her,” he ventured. He was careful to make his words sound casual, almost like an afterthought, and then wondered why he would care about a thing like that. Adam was one of his show’s executive producers, after all. The guy was one of the reasons The Wild Man’s Mission had been and still was as successful as it was. If there was anyone it made sense to discuss the new production assistant with, Wesley didn’t know the guy. For that reason, he was caught totally off guard by Adam’s look of vague puzzlement.

  “I’m sorry, buddy, but I don’t know what you're talking about.

  "The new production chick," Wesley prodded gently, "she came in to see me this morning. She seemed kind of nervous, but aside from that, I got a good vibe off of her. I think she'll do a good job."

  “Right, that’s good, but I think you got your wires crossed somewhere. Lesley isn’t in town yet.”

  "Lesley?" Wesley asked blankly. The name didn't mean a damned thing to him. Of course, it was possible that he had his wires crossed somewhere, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the case. Names were something he had always been good at, one of his specialties, one might even say. It was helpful in his line of work to know who everyone was. It made people feel important and that, in turn, helped open doors and grease wheels. If pressed, he would have bet his not inconsiderable fortune on this one fact; the woman he had hired was named Liza, not Lesley. He ought to know. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head since watching her walk into his office.

  "Sure, Lesley," Adam went on, unaware of Wesley's uncertainty and undeterred, "the chick who's going to be working with you. She's kind of a bear if you want to know the truth, but she’s fucking brilliant at her job."

  “That’s good to know. What do you mean a bear?” he asked distractedly.

  "You know, a right bitch, if we're being frank. She's ugly as sin, too, but I figured that was a plus when it came to you," Adam said with a salacious grin. He dropped Wesley a little wink, and both of them knew where that was coming from. Bonding over partying and picking up chicks was what had brought them together in the first place, and Adam knew Wesley's propensities. Wesley didn't often waste time thinking about how many of his secretaries and production assistants he'd fucked, but he knew the number was pretty high up there. Adam knew it, too, and was likely doing his best to cut the problem off before it could really get going.

  "You're probably not lying," Wesley said. He smiled to let Adam know he wasn't pissed but the smiles were distracted, too, and it wasn't fooling anyone.

  "Alright, what is it, bro? You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked, tossing back his drink and snapping his fingers for another one. Wesley considered saying nothing but rejected the idea quickly. Adam knew him too well for the bullshit, and he had no qualms about calling Wesley out on said bullshit should the occasion arise.

  "You sure you really want to be asking that?" he asked. He sounded like a chick, but he couldn't help it. Every time he got to thinking on the subject of his ex, Megan, he wanted to put his fist through a wall.

  "She's back at it again, huh?" Adam asked with a commiserating look. He didn't need to hear anything but that one question to know what they were talking about. That's how much shit Megan had pulled with Wesley over the last two years, on and off, of course. Not that he hadn't pulled his own fair share of stunts in return. He had. He was sure he'd fucked up plenty of times, in fact. When it came to chaos, though, nobody was as good at it as Megan was. He had been the one to end it this last time, and he was determined not to go back again. He'd been down that road before, and he knew where it led. Melodramatic or not, in his own personal opinion, it led straight to a living hell. He wasn't willing to say she was a terrible person or anything like that but when the two of them got together for very long, they beca
me the worst versions of themselves. That was the kind of thing he hadn't started thinking about until recently, but once the idea had planted itself, he couldn't make himself shake it off again. For probably the first time he was coming around to the idea that maybe there was more to his dealings with a woman than a great rack and a luscious ass. Maybe what he was looking for was genuine companionship, as hard as the thought was to swallow. What he knew for sure was that whatever he needed, he was not going to find it with Megan. That, and she was not going to just ride off into the sunset and leave him be.

  “You know she’s gunning for you, man, right?” Adam asked, feigning sympathy but with a grin on his face that made Wesley think he was enjoying himself mightily.

  "I'm not surprised to hear it, but I think it'd be best if you told me what you mean," he answered slowly, his head starting to really pound.

  "She called me up if you want to know the truth. She said she fucked up, her words, not mine."

  “Yeah, I just bet,” Wesley laughed humorlessly, “because apologies are her specialty.”

  “God’s honest truth, my man. And that’s not all she said.”

  "You better just tell me quick. Like ripping off a band-aid, only more painful."

  “She said she’s not going to let you go, man. She said she’s got a plan and she’s going to make it work no matter what.”

  Wesley didn't doubt that, either, and wondered if Megan intended to make him feel like a man taking his last long walk down death row. He was too tired for this shit, and he was getting too old. If she was coming up with plans, he needed to get one too, and before she ambushed him with anything he couldn't defend. For some reason, the girl from his office popped into his mind then, the girl who wasn't his new production assistant, after all. He couldn't shake the look in her eyes, the way she'd smiled with just the corners of her mouth. He wanted to know who she was and what she had been there for. He had an idea, an admittedly lunatic one, that she might be able to help him with his little problem. For a price, but what did that matter? Everything had a price. You just had to make sure you were the guy who was willing to pay it.

  Chapter Three

  Liza Morris

  The second time spent sitting in the waiting room was even worse than the first. Liza wouldn't have thought that possible, but there it was. For one thing, the receptionist's expression was even less friendly than the previous morning, another thing she wouldn't have believed unless she saw it. Instead of disdain, she was opting for outright hostility, her cherry red lips pursed as if someone had brought a pitiful stray dog to a fancy cocktail party. It was also very full, uncomfortably full, and Liza felt like she was about to be the subject of a great prank that would be hilarious to everyone but her. God, she wanted to leave. She wanted to say fuck it and get out of there before things got any worse. Only things weren't really bad, at least not yet, and if she fled they most definitely would be. She needed the job. She reminded herself of it over and over again, her new mantra of the moment. She needed the job, and for some reason, she had been hired by Wesley Baker himself, which had to count for something. The only way things would certainly going to get worse was if she bailed before she went through with this second meeting with Mr. Baker. If she did that, she might as well walk herself to a staffing agency and pray for the best.

  "Um, Liza? Liza Morris, I think it says?" the secretary called out, rolling her eyes again dramatically. Liza bit her tongue to keep from saying something she might regret. She had about five retorts hanging on the tip of her tongue that were dying to come out but actually saying one of them wasn't going to help anyone, least of all her. She bit her tongue, stood, and followed the barbie-esque introductory face of the company without saying anything at all. The walk was even worse this time, now that she knew where she was going. Being led to Wesley Baker by surprise was one thing. It left no time to obsess over what kind of impression she would make and whether or not she was going to say something stupid. This time, it was a whole other ball game. This time she was pretty much positive she was going to say something stupid, do something stupid, or both.

  “Mr. B?” the receptionist called through the closed door, popping her gum extravagantly, “You’ve got somebody here to see you. You were, like, expecting her?”

  "Show her in. And don't say ‘like,’ it's unprofessional," Wesley barked through the door in return. Liza's stomach did an uncomfortable somersault and then clenched up like a vice when she heard that. There was nothing in his tone that sounded like the guy she'd met the day before. This version was all business, and he didn't sound particularly happy to have her there. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the acidy bile trying to force itself up the back of her throat. She glanced at the receptionist and then looked away quickly. The girl was flushed bright red, and her eyes had that too-shiny look a person got when she was trying not to cry. Liza wasn't interested in being friends with the girl, but this was sort of uncomfortable.

  "Looks like you're good to go. Good luck to you," the girl said, brushing past Liza quickly and hurrying back to her zone of comfort. Liza turned to the door, once again trying to work up the courage to step inside. Take a deep breath, let it out, and turn the knob. That was all she had to do and in exactly that order.

  "Come in, if you're out there!" he called from inside, and did that sound like a bark more than a friendly suggestion? It did to her, but she was past the point of feeling like she could trust her own perceptions. As a matter of fact, she was starting to get tunnel vision, a very bad sign indeed. If she couldn't do the breathing thing and get herself calmed down, she was going to wind up passed out at Wesley Baker's doorstep. That was something she was sure she would not be able to live down. Deep breath, let it out, turn. She took the plunge.

  “Hello, Mr. Baker, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if-”

  “Come in, shut the door,” he interrupted, “and no need to apologize. If you’re thinking I’m annoyed with you, don’t worry. I’m not. It’s that girl working up front. She’s been here two months and doesn’t seem to have the first clue how to do her job.”

  "I'm sorry, I'm sure that's frustrating," Liza stammered. She was completely at a loss as to the proper response to this kind of greeting. She just stood there, reminding herself to stand up straight and not shift from side to side. A favorite teacher had told her when she was young that it was never more important to project confidence than when you felt as though you had none. There must have been something on her face, though, a momentary look, because Mr. Baker's face softened. He even looked a little guilty, which perversely made Liza want to apologize.

  "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm talking to you about this. It's really not your problem, and you certainly shouldn't have to listen to me bitch."

  "That's completely fine, Mr. Baker, I don't mind," she answered automatically. It was a habit she'd gotten into when she was young, this automatic apologizing. She did it for everything, even the weather outside if it wasn't exactly to somebody's taste. It was as automatic a response as breathing, but she wanted to kick herself for it now. If she was trying to come off as strong, this wasn't the way to do it.

  “You should mind,” he insisted, “and I feel like an asshole.”

  "There's really no need," she smiled uncertainly. That urge to flee was back with a vengeance and with it came an irrational level of dread. There was no phone call to distract him from her this time, no small period of time in which for her to gather herself and get her bearings. There wasn't even a desk between them to act as a safety barrier. He was standing in front of it, leaning on the edge with his arms folded in front of himself and looking at her intently. Something was wrong, and he didn't want to tell her. She wanted to speak up, to tell him not to say anything and just pretend he had, but of course, she couldn't do that either. She couldn't do anything but wait for what part of her had known was coming from the first time she had walked into his office.

  “Actually, there is, and I feel like a real prick saying this.”r />
  "It's probably best that you just say it, then. Like pulling a band-aid off quickly, don't you think?" she offered. She had to be the most monumental idiot to give that kind of advice in her current position. It didn't take a genius to see what was going on here. He was letting her go. He was letting her go before she ever got off the ground and his charming, sad smile was what she got as a consolation prize.

  "You're a pretty impressive woman, aren't you?" he asked, looking so much at her as into her. She squirmed in her seat and wished only for the whole mess to be over.

  “I don’t know, sir. I don’t really know how to answer that,” she said truthfully.

  “You don’t have to. I already know the answer. That’s why this feels so shitty,” he sighed.

  “Because?” she prompted.

  "Because I made a mistake. Yesterday, when I hired you. I made a mistake."

  “I understand. Really, I do. Thank you for your time. I’m sure you’re looking for someone with more refined qualifications,” she said quickly, trying not to sound as sad as she felt.

  “No, it’s not that, really. It was just a colossal misunderstanding. I’ve got a new production assistant coming in sent to me by one of my top producers. It turns out her name is Leslie, but I didn’t know that when you were in my office yesterday. I thought you were her.”

  "Just a case of wrong place at the wrong time, I get that. It could happen to anyone," Liza said with that stupid smile still plastered on her face. She stood as quickly as she could, but it still wasn't nearly fast enough. Her knees were knocking together so violently she was sure Mr. Baker could hear it. They felt like rubber, and it seemed entirely possible that they would just give up on supporting her weight. She stuck out a hand to shake, then thought better of it and slipped it into her pocket. Because there was nothing else she could think of to say, she pivoted on heels that were just a little too high for comfort and practically sprinted for the door. She was almost out, ready to do a very unique kind of walk of shame when Wesley cleared his throat loudly. She hesitated, unsure whether or not he was doing it for her benefit or by accident. It felt like it was for her but it could just as easily be wishful thinking. That was what people did in situations like this.