If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  “Mmm hmm,” Roslyn scoffed.

  “What?”

  “You just want to skulk off with the cowboy . . . or the Brit. It doesn’t seem like you even know which one you want.”

  “I want them both.”

  “Of course you do, but c’mon. How long can that last? As soon as one of them finds out, you’re toast.”

  “Maybe that’s how guys are in their twenties, but these are mature men. They can handle a little competition.”

  “Oh yeah.” Roslyn narrowed her eyes. “Riiiight. Charlie sounds oh-so-mature.”

  In that unfortunate moment, she was kicking herself for giving Roslyn so many details, including the pass-the-condom incident.

  “You’re such a pain in the ass.” Whitney grabbed the check. As usual, Roslyn didn’t object or try to snatch it away. “Have you talked to Mama?”

  “Not lately. I should probably call.”

  Whitney knew that both of Rosa Bartolina’s daughters were a bit of a disappointment in the communication department. She’d raised two fiercely independent daughters, this was true, but after her visit to Oakland, Whitney knew they could do a much better job involving her in their day-to-day.

  “We should fly her in for a weekend or something.”

  Roslyn crinkled her nose. “I guess.”

  “What’s up with you? Why are you being weird?”

  “She’s pissed at me for leaving her.”

  “Not true,” Whitney said. “She supports you.”

  “You’re just saying that because you always take her side.”

  “What are we, twelve? You wanted to act, and this was the place to be. Mama understood.”

  “Sure, right, whatever, but when I changed my mind, she wanted me to come home, and I didn’t. Things have been weird ever since.” Roslyn stared off into space. “It’s like she thinks I chose you over her or something.”

  “You chose L.A., not me.”

  “I guarantee she doesn’t see it that way,” Roslyn insisted. “She thinks I betrayed her.”

  Whitney played devil’s advocate. “Then go back to Oakland, mend fences. Get a job, sing ‘Kumbaya’ with Mama while you braid each other’s hair.”

  “No way. This is my home.”

  “Fine, then let it go.”

  The waiter returned the check. Whitney signed along the dotted line, and closed the leather folder, hoping to close the conversation as well.

  “Seriously, Rozzie, she loves you. Call your mother, dammit.”

  The two women pushed in their chairs and walked to the parking lot. “God, I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I know.” Whitney linked arms with her sister. “Get used to it.”

  The soundstage was quiet upon Whitney’s return to the studio. All sixty-four participants were seated in folding chairs, focusing on Chris, who was speaking at the front of the set. Whitney stood behind the last row of chairs and listened right along with them, eager to learn the reason for this impromptu meeting. Saul was standing, arms in front of him and hands folded together. Whatever it was, it was important.

  “I’ve just learned from the president of our network, Mr. Greenberg, that a host has been chosen for the show. We are honored and quite lucky to have him aboard and thankful he took time out from his day to be here right now. Please welcome the one and only Jameson Lewis.”

  Whitney’s mouth dropped to the floor. She and Chris had never discussed who the host would be, but she never imagined it would be someone like Jameson Lewis. He was beyond famous—a household name for decades and one of the biggest television stars to ever grace the small screen. A tall, lanky man in his early sixties, he was known as the ultimate playboy in Hollywood, having never settled down. Many referred to him as “Captain Lewis” as he was famously quoted saying he refused to “walk the plank of marriage.” Whitney found herself starstruck as the dapper actor joined Chris and Saul on the set, waving to the applauding contestants with a wink and a smile as Chris handed him a microphone.

  With a quick sniff, Jameson outstretched his hand, urging the contestants to calm their applause. His deeply tanned skin was pulled tight, and Whitney assumed he’d had a recent facelift. “Thank you for that warm welcome. As many of you know, I love to cook, and so I’m excited to be a part of this delightful show. I’m looking forward to filming with all of you and wish you the very best of luck.”

  Chris retrieved the microphone and spoke. “Thank you so much, Jameson. We’re honored to have you.” He then turned his attention to the contestants. “Right. At this time you’re dismissed for the day. Check your call sheets for tomorrow—we’re starting early in those makeup chairs. If you’re familiar with March Madness, you already know how this will go. You’ll face off with another contestant for the first round. If you advance you’ll then meet a new competitor, and so on and so forth. When we reach the final sixteen, we’ll slow things down for the audience at home so they really learn who you are. We’ll invite family and friends to attend tapings at that time, and we may film background videos in your hometowns. That has yet to be determined. Are there any questions?”

  Coralee, the adorable blonde Whitney had found in Nashville, raised her hand. “How many episodes will there be?”

  “I’ll jump in here,” Saul said, stepping forward. “We’ve ordered fourteen episodes. But for many of you, you’ll only be featured on the first one or maybe two. So make an impression on the judges while you can.”

  Several hands shot into the air. “Yes, in the front row.”

  A young man with red hair, pale skin, and freckles stood. Whitney remembered him from New Orleans, but couldn’t remember his name. Jim? John? Jamie? “How will we be matched? In the first round, I mean.”

  “Production is working on matching you all against someone with similar talents. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter, does it? If you dazzle the judges, you’ll secure a spot for yourself in the finals.”

  Jim/John/Jamie didn’t seem content with that answer. His lips puckered as if he had more questions but he held back and sat down. Whitney assumed he was intimidated by some of the other competitors in the room.

  “And the judges? Who will they be?” Charlie asked, turning to lock eyes with Whitney. She shook him off, breaking eye contact. The last thing she needed was for Saul to pick up on the personal relationships she’d developed with Charlie and Wes.

  “We have three culinary judges who are respected in the field. You’ll meet them tomorrow,” Chris answered dismissively. Whitney knew he was bitter about Charlie being a contestant, but she honestly felt he had what it took to go the distance. She could only hope Chris would eventually come around and ease up on his disdain for the Brit.

  Whitney’s phone buzzed from her pocket. She glanced down at the screen and rolled her eyes at the text from Nolan. His first of the day.

  I’m not giving up. Meet me tonight at our spot. 8:00.

  Our spot? We don’t have a spot.

  She sighed and sent a brief response. Working late. Sorry.

  When there were no further questions, Chris dismissed the group. Several contestants headed straight for the door while others lingered to chat. Charlie had Coralee’s full attention. They sat together, Coralee starry-eyed as Charlie amused her with some sort of joke. Whitney shook her head. She couldn’t exactly judge Charlie for flirting when her main goal of the afternoon was to have a conversation with Wes. If only she could find him in the crowd.

  “Hey,” a voice said from behind her, gravelly and deep. Her heart raced and a smile crawled across her face.

  Whitney turned and crossed her arms. “Ah, just the man I was looking for.”

  One side of Wes’s mouth perked into a satisfied smile as he crossed his arms, mirroring her body language. He was as striking as ever with perfectly coifed hair, slight stubble forming on his cheeks and chin—Whitney loved the little bits of gray in his beard. It was sexy as hell. He wasn’t just handsome. Wes was distinguished, rugged, manly.

  “S
o when did you get here?” She was trying to sound nonchalant, but she really wanted to know how long he’d been in Los Angeles without calling, texting, anything. She didn’t want to waste her time on a man who was no longer interested.

  He tipped his head to the side, looking uncomfortable. “Funny story.”

  “I’m all ears.” She swallowed hard in anticipation, suddenly very aware of her own heartbeat. It hammered beneath her chest as she awaited his answer.

  “I almost didn’t come, actually, but my staff convinced me they had things covered.”

  “Okay.” Whitney tipped her forehead toward Wes, urging him to continue. He hadn’t yet answered her question.

  “So I arrived last week.”

  Her gut sank to her toes, and she could feel her face begin to flush, but she remained stoic, not allowing him to see her disappointment.

  “But I had to go back after a day. There was a grease fire in the kitchen and two of my staff were badly burned.”

  “Oh no! That’s horrible.”

  Wes nodded. “Luckily everyone’s okay now, but it was touch and go for a while. To be honest, I almost didn’t come back.”

  “But you did,” Whitney said softly, relaxing her posture.

  Wes stepped closer, nodding as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Late last night. That’s what these dark circles are all about.”

  Relieved, knowing there was a legitimate reason for Wes’s lack of contact, she was more than ready to resume their flirtation. She glanced back at Charlie, who was listening intently to Coralee. Whitney knew it was safe.

  “I didn’t notice any circles.” She moistened her lips, running her fingers down her throat. “You’re as handsome as ever.”

  Wes eyed their surroundings before gesturing toward the door. “Wanna get outta here?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” She nodded. “You go first, and I’ll meet you by the studio gate. Just give me a sec, all right? I need to introduce myself to Captain Lewis.”

  Whitney hoped he’d understand that being seen leaving together probably wasn’t the best idea, especially since she had invited him to compete without consulting Chris. She’d already pissed him off with her involvement with Charlie, and she didn’t want him to question Wes’s legitimacy as a chef.

  “Of course.” Wes nodded with a relaxed expression. He walked to the door and Whitney turned to inspect the room once again. She knew it was important to introduce herself to Mr. Lewis, especially since she planned to remain a fixture on set. Of course, many casting directors considered their jobs complete once a show had adequate talent. But not Whitney. She thrived on set; it breathed life into her in a way that nothing else could. She craved the hum of the cameras, and the excitement of the cast.

  Whitney joined Chris, Saul, and Jameson at the front of the stage. As she approached, the men turned their attention to her.

  “My, my, my, who is this vision?” Jameson asked, extending a hand to Whitney. She placed her hand in his and squeezed, hoping for a quick handshake, but the television star seemed to have no intention of letting go. Slowly, he shook her hand as he drank her in with his eyes.

  “Jameson, I’d like to introduce Whitney Bartolina, our casting director,” Saul began, beaming. “This talented woman is responsible for our batch of contestants.”

  Jameson licked his lips and his eyes took a stroll from the top of her head down to her chest and back again. Finally, he released her hand.

  Gross.

  Whitney made eye contact with Saul before greeting the star. She knew exactly what was expected of her in this situation. Be polite, be interested, fluff the ego whenever necessary. Hollywood was one giant chessboard. And she knew exactly how to play the game.

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Big fan.”

  “Call me Captain,” he attempted to purr and added a wink. Whitney swallowed hard, suppressing the laughter that threatened to ruin her career.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Captain. I’ll be on set every day, so don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

  Jameson raised both eyebrows, leaned in, and took her hand once again. “Oh, I won’t.”

  Whitney cleared her throat, offering a polite smile. “I’m so sorry, but I really must be going. I’m late for a meeting. It was such a pleasure to meet you, sir . . . I mean, Captain.”

  Whitney exited the soundstage and walked toward the studio gate, feeling like she needed a shower after that encounter. Jameson Lewis confirmed he was, in fact, a little slimy. She could only hope that once filming began, his professionalism would overtake his lust and he’d treat Whitney as a colleague, rather than a potential conquest.

  Whitney approached the entrance to the studio and took in the sight of Wes, who leaned against the booth just in front of the gate, one knee lifted with a boot against the building. He was making conversation with Larry, the attendant, a friendly man with tan skin and a sunny disposition to match. When Wes spotted Whitney approaching, he pushed off from the small stucco building and shook Larry’s hand, then walked to meet her.

  “Sorry, that took a while.”

  “It was fine. Larry here kept me company.”

  “Ms. Bartolina.” Larry tipped his hat. “Beautiful day.”

  “It is, Larry, thank you.” She turned to Wes. “Ready to go? I’m parked in Lot A. Did you get a rental?”

  “Everything was closed last night at the airport, so I just took a cab.”

  “Ah.” She nodded, gesturing for him to walk with her. “I’ll talk to Chris. We’ll set you up with a rental for the duration of your stay.”

  “I love when you sound like that.”

  “Like what?”

  His eyes held a twinkle of mischief. “All Hollywood.”

  “You think I sound Hollywood?” A nervous laugh escaped her. “What do you mean by that?”

  Wes took her hand in his. “Hey, I meant no disrespect. I like that you’re a take-charge kind of woman. You’re driven, focused. That’s part of my attraction to you.”

  “Oh.” Whitney relaxed, slightly unsettled, yet turned on. “H-here’s my car,” she stammered. This man had the ability to rattle her defenses like no one ever had. She couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a horrible one. Only time would tell.

  “Where to?” Whitney asked as she started the ignition.

  “Your place.”

  In a dramatic fashion, Whitney whipped her head toward Wes. “Really?”

  Wes laughed. “You just can’t wait, can you?”

  A playful smile crossed Whitney’s lips. “It’s been rough, I’ll say that.”

  Wes leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Not yet.” He dragged one finger from her temple to her chin. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered those simple words, the ones he’d teased her with in Billings.

  “You’re such a tease.”

  He laughed again, this time a deep laugh from his belly. “Not quite. But I do want to see your home.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Larry nodded from the booth, raising the gate. She waved and pulled the car into the road, heading straight for her apartment complex.

  “Is this your sister?” Wes asked as he studied the photo collage on the wall next to her breakfast bar.

  “Yep, that’s Roslyn. She’s a pain in the ass, but I love her. What about you? Any siblings?”

  “Yes.” He took a sip of the beer he’d found in Whitney’s fridge. “I’m the oldest of seven. Four brothers, two sisters.”

  “Oh wow. What was that like?” Whitney took a seat on her olive-green sectional, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, letting one knee rest against the back cushion.

  “A lot of work, actually.”

  “I can imagine. I had one younger sibling and that was a lot.”

  Wes sat next to Whitney, resting an arm on her kneecaps. “Your father was gone, though. That’s tough on any family.”

  Whitney nodded, loving that he’d remembered the det
ails of her life. “I never really knew him. There are a few pictures, but that’s it, really. He left when my mom was pregnant with Rozzie.”

  “Have you ever looked him up?”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head vehemently. She’d blocked her father from her consciousness for so long, it was unnerving to discuss him so openly. But Wes had a way of making her want to open up. “No way. I mean, it’d be easy with technology and everything, but I don’t need him. I turned out just fine.”

  “True,” he said, nodding. “I wasn’t sure if you were curious. That’s all.”

  “I used to be, but I only have one real memory of him, so . . .” Her words drifted off. She felt herself clamming up, almost cowering from the vulnerability that would surely surface if she divulged too much.

  Wes placed his beer on the wooden tray sitting atop her ottoman. He leaned one elbow on the back of the sofa, his fist making contact with his chin, his other hand stroking her knee gently. God, he’s so sexy, especially when he’s listening. Whitney never realized how attractive a man could be when he was silent, contemplative, and listening to her. Really listening. “I’d love to hear it.”

  “I was five.” Her mind drifted back to a fuzzy array of colors, scents, and sounds. “He took me to the carnival. Mama stayed home. She was sick, I think, and super pregnant with Rozzie. Anyway, we went on all the rides, the spinning ones and everything. And I remember, he got sick. Like, really sick on one of them, and I felt bad, because he went on the rides for me. So I used some of my tickets to buy him a Coke. That’s what Mama gave me when my stomach hurt, so I thought it’d help. He kissed me on the forehead, and told me I was his precious girl. That’s what he called me, ‘Precious girl.’”