If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  “How was I, love?” Charlie asked when the entire first group was dismissed from the studio.

  “You were fantastic. The camera loves you.”

  “And I it,” he said with a wink. “Care to join me for lunch? I’m famished after cooking a dish I’m not allowed to eat.”

  Whitney clenched her teeth. “I wish I could, but I need to stay here for the day to see all of the contestants.” Or just one . . .

  “C’mon, I’ve missed you. It’s been a few days.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Whitney bit her lip, shaking her head, knowing he was missing her naked beneath him. It’d been over a week since they’d slept together, and after her encounter with Wes, she wasn’t quite sure if there’d be another roll in the hay in Charlie’s future. But she knew it would be foolish to cut things off completely, seeing as she and Wes were just getting to know each other. She checked her watch, knowing she could slip out to eat and return for Wes’s debut on stage.

  “Okay, a quick bite, but then I really need to come back.”

  His face brightened as he clapped his hands together. “All right. Let me wash this shite off my face and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Meet me at the gate,” Whitney said, grabbing her purse.

  “You got it, Boss.” He winked again before walking back to the dressing rooms.

  You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s okay. It’s just lunch. It’s okay.

  Overcome with anxiety, Whitney walked to her car, calling Elle on the way.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “What do you mean?” Elle asked, surprise in her tone.

  “I feel guilty. Like really guilty.”

  “Wow, a new emotion for you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

  “Well, I mean, c’mon, Whit. Let’s be real.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Tell me what’s up.”

  “It’s Wes. He came over yesterday and we had sex.”

  “Finally!” Elle cheered and Whitney smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm. “I knew that cowboy couldn’t hold out for long. Wait, was it bad?”

  “Ellie, it was incredible—I had multiple orgasms, and you know that’s never happened before.”

  “I have them all the time,” Elle giggled.

  “Don’t remind me. That man is perfect, isn’t he?”

  “Okay, sorry, I wanna hear more.”

  “The thing is, it’s more than sex with him, more than chemistry. He listens, he cares . . . or at least, it seems like he does. He asks questions, ya know? Like, we talked about my dad. I told him the carnival story. It’s like he wants to know me, like . . . really know me. I thought it was a line when we first met, like it was part of his shtick. But it’s real. It feels real.”

  “He sounds wonderful.”

  “Nolan couldn’t even remember how I liked my eggs after we’d had breakfast together hundreds of times. When I’m with Wes, I feel like I’m the only woman in the world. How is that possible? I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, my sweet friend,” Elle murmured. Whitney heard her sigh, and became confused. Her voice sounded all-knowing, like she’d figured it all out. But Whitney hadn’t.

  “What? Seriously, help me. I don’t understand. I’m having lunch with Charlie, and I feel awful about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you been listening to me? Because of Wes!”

  “Did you discuss whether or not you could see other people? I mean, c’mon, Whit, you’ve been here before . . . many times, actually. Even when you were with Nolan, you agreed to see other people at times.”

  “This is different.”

  “Why is it different? That’s what I want you to tell me.”

  “I don’t know.” Whitney threw her shoulders up, raising one hand toward the sky in defeat.

  The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

  “Yes,” Elle said softly, “you do.”

  Even though she was outside, Whitney felt like the walls were closing in on her, like the world might open up and swallow her whole. She closed her eyes tight, doing her best to pretend Elle hadn’t said those words, pretending she didn’t feel what she was feeling. A finger tapped her shoulder and she jumped.

  “Oh, geez, sorry,” Charlie said, backing up, raising his hands into the air. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I, uh . . . I thought we were meeting at the gate.”

  “I know, but I saw you standing next to your car, and I just thought I’d meet you here.” His smile was awkward, forced. He knew he’d interrupted an important conversation. Whether or not he heard all of it remained to be seen.

  “Ellie, I gotta go.”

  “We’re not finished here,” Elle scolded. “Call me tonight.”

  “Will do.” Whitney ended the call, took a deep breath, and turned back to Charlie. “Shall we?”

  “You sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No, it’s nothing. My best friend, Elle, is pregnant, and I worry about her.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I see. My sister-in-law is, too. My brother called to tell me a few days ago.”

  “Oh,” Whitney said, still not completely committed to the conversation as part of her brain was still piecing together her discussion with Elle. “How far along is she?”

  “Uh, I have no idea. I know he told me, but . . .”

  “You don’t remember,” Whitney finished his sentence.

  Charlie shrugged. “Babies are so not my thing.”

  “They’re not mine either, but she’s my best friend. And she’s almost to her third trimester. She works way too hard, and I just . . . I can’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Let her husband worry about that. You’ve got enough on your plate.” Charlie climbed into her passenger seat. Whitney rubbed her eyelids, surprised at his response. This was not the Charlie she knew. Was it? How well did she actually know the charming former-athlete-turned-aspiring-chef?

  “How’s your burger?” Whitney asked as she held a steaming Cuban sandwich. Her stomach growled as her teeth pierced the crispy bread. The perfect blend of rich juicy pork, spicy mustard, and salty pickles danced along her taste buds. She moaned with her first bite, wiping melted Swiss cheese from her lips.

  Charlie wiped the grease from his own mouth, using the back of his hand. “I’d say it’s worthy of America’s next cooking star.”

  Whitney’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. “Awfully confident, huh? I like that.”

  “Have you seen my competition? Bunch of wankers if you ask me. I’ve got this in the bag. There’s actually a bloke who thinks he’s some sort of cowboy.” Charlie pretended to tip an imaginary hat and spoke slowly, imitating John Wayne. “Look, here, pilgrim, while I slap a cow on the grill—”

  Whitney shook her head, interrupting Charlie’s fun at Wes’s expense. “He grew up on a ranch. It’s not an act, it’s who he is.” Whitney knew her words must sound defensive, but she couldn’t help herself. Wes was occupying her thoughts and her heart.

  “Ah, well, Mr. Rancher is going down. Mark my words, love, I’m the next superstar of the network.”

  “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure you’ll be a finalist.”

  “I’m sure I will too.” Bruno Mars blared through the loudspeaker of the restaurant, and Charlie sang along with the lyrics. “This bloke is brilliant. Why aren’t you singing along?”

  “He’s not my favorite.”

  “Oh, right.” Charlie smirked. “You prefer Bono and his whiny rubbish.”

  Whitney couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt a shift between herself and Charlie, a bite to his words, a negative spin on his perception of her and the competition. Clearly, he had his game face on and was determined to win it all—that she respected, but she didn’t understand this sudden change in his disposition.

  When she remained silent through most of their meal, Charlie leaned in and took her hand. �
�Come back to me, love. Where are you?”

  Whitney held her breath, ready to end things with Charlie, ready to focus all of her energy on Wes with a clean conscience.

  “Listen, Charlie, we’ve had a lot of fun, and you’re really such a great competitor—”

  “Is this about the drive here? I’m sorry, love, I get a little cranky when I’m hungry. I meant no harm.”

  “No, it’s—”

  “Listen, I’ve loved getting to know you.”

  You don’t know me . . . not really.

  “And I don’t wanna screw this up. I know my competitive attitude can seem cocky—I can’t help it. I don’t wanna send you running for the hills.”

  “You’re not, it’s just—”

  “Then give me another chance, please. I’m begging you.”

  Whitney looked down at their hands, locked on the table of the diner. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.

  “I’m seeing someone else . . . and I like him. I’m sorry—”

  “What are you sorry for?” Charlie squeezed her hand. “You’re a grown woman. Besides, I took Coralee out for dinner yesterday. It was casual, of course.”

  Whitney smiled. “I had a feeling.”

  “Listen, we’re both adults and I want to keep seeing you. I can’t be arsed about the other bloke, because I know I’ll win you in the end.”

  “Awfully confident . . . again.” Whitney smiled, feeling his casual charm win her over yet again.

  “Always, love.” He rose from his seat, kissing her on the forehead. “Always.”

  Charlie Hutchins was in survival mode. Full on survival mode. When he’d approached Whitney at her car, he heard her words. He knew she was falling for that bloody cowboy. He heard her say his name, saw the look of confusion and despair on her face. And he knew she was slipping away. Not only that, he knew he had to stop it. His entire career depended on her loyalty, her connections, and all the strings she could possibly pull for him with those bloody judges.

  Charlie slammed the door to his hotel room and pulled at the roots of his short hair, pacing as he set out his plan of attack. He had to turn things around, sway the casting director in his favor. He knew she had pull with production, he wasn’t stupid. It was that pull, that control, that power that drew him to her back in Chicago. She could make or break his chances in Hollywood. The fact that she found him charming had made it easy to pass the first audition. And the fact that she was hot as hell and an excellent lay had made things fun, and only slightly distracting. But now, he realized he’d allowed his dick to be sidetracked by that sweet southern belle Coralee, and while he was off with her, Whitney was getting cozy with Wes whatever-the-hell-his-name-was. Charlie had to get things under control, it was time to get serious. And if that meant saying good-bye to the blonde, then so be it. She was good in bed, and her accent was silly yet slightly endearing, but she was collateral damage at this point. It was him against the cowboy.

  “The cowboy!” he grumbled into the empty room, throwing his hands into the air. Yes, the contestant from Montana had that whole “I’m so ruggedly handsome I don’t even know what to do with myself” look about him. But Charlie thought he’d kept Whitney busy enough to not even notice him. Obviously he’d misjudged her.

  “The bloody cowboy!”

  Charlie flung himself on the bed, running his fingers through his hair. This wasn’t going how he’d planned. He thought he’d charm the lovely Whitney Bartolina for the duration of the season, and she’d see to it that he’d advance to the finals. He’d dazzle the audience with his accent (American girls loved a man with an accent), his sense of humor, and his creativity in the kitchen. He’d take home the grand prize and soon enjoy his very own time slot weekday mornings on the most popular network in America. He’d no longer be the fallen rugby player with nothing ahead of him. He’d be a star, a household name, a force to be reckoned with. He’d regain the respect of his mates back home, and Camilla, the bitch who’d broken his heart. He just had to stay strong . . . he had to keep his eye on the prize. He couldn’t let the cowboy muck it up any more than he already had.

  A thought crossed his mind. “Right.” He sat up straight and retrieved his phone from his pocket, dialing his brother, Campbell, the doting father-to-be back in Chicago. “Brilliant.”

  “How’s it going out there? Has your white arse gotten a proper tan?” Campbell chuckled, but Charlie wasn’t amused. He had no time for small talk. He had work to do.

  “It’s fine. Listen, mate, how far along is Auden?”

  “What?” Campbell seemed surprised, with good reason. When he’d called days ago to announce that he and his wife were expecting their first child, Charlie couldn’t have cared less. He’d offered a generic congratulations, then quickly changed the subject to the show. “I’m surprised you even remembered she was expecting.”

  “Oh, bugger off. Come on, it’s important.”

  “What are you up to, Charlie?”

  Campbell, a pediatrician and devoted husband, was one of the few people who Charlie allowed under his skin. They were brothers who’d shared a bedroom and a childhood. But at their core, they were very different people. Campbell was always helping others to such a degree that it irritated Charlie. He stopped even attempting to keep up with the good deeds of his brother long ago, knowing he’d already been labeled the selfish one of the pair. Why not just own it and live his life?

  “Just some damage control. Now, tell me, how far? Like a month or something?”

  “Thirteen weeks.”

  “So . . . three months.” He scoffed at his brother’s overly precise assessment.

  “No.” Campbell’s tone was harsh. “Thirteen weeks. There’s a difference.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Oh, bugger off, not everyone’s a doctor. It’s three bloody months, Chester.”

  Charlie knew Campbell hated that nickname, one he’d given his brother when they were less than ten years of age. Campbell was ace at chess, one of his many talents, and instead of praising his older brother, Charlie teased him, attempting to knock him down a peg or two.

  “What’s got you so barmy, mate?” Campbell asked from the other end of the line and Charlie felt slightly guilty.

  “Sorry, I just want to make sure I win this thing, that’s all.”

  “And what does Auden’s pregnancy have to do with your reality show?”

  “It’s complicated. Too hard to explain. Besides, you wouldn’t approve.”

  Silence.

  Yep, exactly. Disapproval from the good doctor.

  “Why the panic?” Campbell pressed. Charlie hated that his brother knew him so well. “You sound off your rocker.”

  “A slight roadblock is all.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not really.” He knew Campbell would never approve of his relationship with Whitney. In fact, he was certain his brother would attempt to talk him out of it, and he had no plans for jumping ship. He was in this to win.

  “I know you really want this, Charlie. Just do your best, mate.”

  “If only that was enough.”

  “You’ve got what it takes, Charlie. You always have.”

  “Thanks, brother.” Charlie felt too distracted to continue the conversation. It was time to say good-bye. “Listen, I’d better go. Thanks for the info.”

  “Sure. Good luck, Charlie,” Campbell said, and Charlie could tell he was attempting to sound positive. There was a slight pause on the line. Charlie braced himself for whatever his brother had up his sleeve. “Hey, be good.”

  Charlie shook his head in amusement. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  “I mean it. Don’t let the nonsense get to your head.”

  “Easy for you to say, mate.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Think about it, Doc.”

  Campbell cleared his throat and Charlie prepared for a lecture. “Look, I know letting rugby go was hard.”

  “You have no idea.”

&
nbsp; “But these things happen. You’ll move on to something even better.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do!” He could feel his cheeks growing hot. Anger was consuming him. Whenever anyone brought up his fallen rugby career, he just couldn’t help it. If he’d just gotten out of the way. If he’d just avoided that crushing blow from that arse McCaw. If he’d been faster, smarter, more strategic on the field, he’d still have a bright future ahead of him. He’d still see his name up in lights, feel the hum of the crowd, have women fawning over him night after night at the local pub. He was a star.

  “Okay, fine,” Campbell warned. “But don’t sell your soul to do it.”

  He had no response for Campbell’s advice. His successful brother had no idea what he was feeling. He was content in all aspects of his life. Proper career, hot wife, baby on the way. He didn’t understand what it was like to have the world in the palm of your hand, only to have it ripped away by one terrible, haunting, career-ending injury.

  Charlie said good-bye to his brother and resumed his pacing of the small room. His mind buzzed with dozens of thoughts . . . some positive, filled with confidence. Others dark, forlorn, defeatist—the part of his brain he didn’t allow much control. He’d gotten a taste of success and wanted to harness it, hold on to it for dear life, and he wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way. Not a cowboy, or even a casting director. Whitney was brilliant in the sack, but he could tell she was slipping away and it was time to change his game plan. Wooing her was not the way to go about this, and he certainly had no intention of bonding over the pregnancy of her best friend. That was just distracting noise.

  Screw that shite.

  He had to approach this like a rugby match—he had to harness every trick he had up his sleeve, even if it meant playing dirty against that cowboy. He’d hold on to Whitney for as long as possible, play with her emotions if need be, whatever it took to win. Sparing her feelings was, in no way, a priority—he wasn’t stupid, he knew she had her sights set on Rancourt and that he, himself, was quickly becoming a thing of the past. McCaw may have broken his leg and ruined his career on the field, but he’d never stop playing to win. He just had to get to the finals, and everything would fall into place. He’d be discovered by another network who’d see his potential for stardom. He’d try The Amazing Race or that one where people marry a complete stranger—hell, he’d marry anyone for six weeks if it meant he’d have a dozen cameras following his every joke, his every quip.