If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  “Oh, hell yeah. The Brit sounded hilarious, but so not for you. The cowboy is sexy, grounded, and mature. He doesn’t hand a woman a used condom.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” She rolled her eyes. “You and Rozzie and that damn condom.”

  “It’s not just the condom, Whit. It’s everything,” Elle explained, her voice serious. “He just sounded so unreliable, so flippant, ya know? I mean, the accent was hot, but c’mon. There was nothing there. Nothing real. You need a man, not a man-child with a spatula.”

  “Well, he may also be king of the mood swings. I ended things just now and he went nuts—he cried, he yelled. I didn’t expect that at all. I mean, I thought we were just having a good time. He never gave me the impression he had actual feelings for me, not at all. So when he started flipping chairs and acting like a maniac, I was in shock.”

  “Whoa.” Elle paused. “Are you serious? Whitney, this isn’t something to take lightly. That behavior isn’t normal.”

  “He won’t hurt me, he was just upset.” Whitney shook her head, trying to convince both Elle and herself. After his display in the conference room, she wasn’t entirely sure. Either Charlie was the best actor she’d ever encountered and was just trying to garner sympathy from her, or he’d hidden some deep feelings for weeks.

  “You need to tell Chris. He has to know there’s a live wire on set.”

  “Chris already hates him. He doesn’t need more fuel to that fire.”

  “Well, maybe his first instincts were right after all.”

  Whitney considered telling Chris, but again, she’d promised her personal life wouldn’t interfere with the show. “I’m gonna give it a few days, let him cool down.”

  “Don’t be alone with him, do you hear me? You barely know him. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

  “Now I think you’re overreacting,” Whitney scoffed. “You’re making me sound like a helpless character in a Lifetime movie. Tragic Brit Goes Postal starring Tori Spelling. Calm down, Ellie, seriously.”

  Elle exhaled into the phone. “Please just humor me, all right?”

  She could hear the desperation in Elle’s voice. Whether it was her pregnancy hormones bubbling up to the surface or something much deeper, Elle was truly concerned and Whitney had to respect that.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, I will.”

  The door swung open and Coralee entered the restroom, smiling at Whitney before choosing a stall. Whitney knew it was a bad idea to continue the conversation with Coralee nearby. Quickly, she grabbed the door, letting it close behind her before speaking. Elle was freaking out on the other end of the line.

  “Whit? Whitney? Are you there? Whit?” she shrieked.

  “I’m here, sorry.” She looked around the empty hall, having no idea who might be nearby. “Listen, I should let you rest. I don’t want to stress you out with my craziness. Put those feet up and enjoy your sandwich.” She lowered her voice. “Besides, I should get back on set before Marcus tries to get me fired again.”

  “Um, what are you talking about?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. I kind of went off on him yesterday—not my best move.”

  “Oh man, I can’t wait. Wanna come over after work?”

  “Yes, I need some Elle time.”

  “It’s a date. Love you, Whit. Be safe.”

  Whitney ended the call, placed her phone back in her pocket, and walked down the hall. On the way she stopped at the vending machine to grab a package of Swedish Fish. She scarfed down a handful of the delicious cherry creatures before checking her teeth with her phone’s camera and returning to the set with a sense of calm washing over her. She could handle Charlie Hutchins and whatever else that day of filming had in store for her.

  Bring it on, she thought as she took her seat next to Chris, crossed one leg over the other, and watched the cooks busy at their stations. Unlike the day before, Wes looked like his usual self: confident and self-assured. Charlie was laughing as he shared playful banter with Katie, who was assigned his bio. With each question, he offered a wink or a smile, looking into the camera, telling stories of how he’d been cooking “since I was a boy back in England.”

  Interesting. Didn’t he say he started cooking when he moved to Chicago?

  Whitney leaned forward, pressing her elbow into her thigh, paying close attention to every detail he rattled off to Katie, exuding a casual charm that only days ago she found ridiculously appealing. Now, she watched with scorn, with doubt, and utter disbelief. After several minutes, she grew tired of his shtick, and she brought her attention back to the rest of the chefs buzzing about the soundstage.

  With a deep breath, she settled in, knowing that in just a few days, their group of sixteen would be whittled down to eight. And the first time since meeting Charlie in Chicago, she secretly hoped Chris would have his way and Charlie would be eliminated. She wrestled with her ability to influence Chris, Saul, or any of the judges. But she couldn’t do that. Charlie had the natural talent to be a star of the network if he went all the way to the end. It wasn’t her business to stand in his way. That wasn’t her style. She just had to grin and bear it, to rise above his childish behavior and anger.

  She made the right choice for herself, and treated Charlie with honesty and respect. She could sleep soundly knowing she’d handled herself like an adult. That’s all that mattered.

  The sound of Jeff, Chris’s PA, clearing his throat broke Whitney’s fixation on Charlie.

  “Excuse me, Whitney, but these just arrived for you.”

  Whitney turned just as Jeff plopped a heavy vase filled with two dozen red roses and soft, pillowy baby’s breath. It was gorgeous, but her stomach churned at the thought of who they might be from. She held her breath and opened the small card.

  “One flower for every time I’ve thought of you today . . . I’ll never stop thinking of you, Whit. Love, Nolan”

  “Oh Lord,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Rivera again?” Chris asked with a snide chuckle.

  “Afraid so.”

  “He’s not giving up so easy, is he?”

  “Apparently not.” She passed him the flowers. “Here, give them to Melody.”

  “Seriously?” he asked with a furrowed brow. “You don’t want them?”

  She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip.

  “Thanks, you just saved me money.”

  “You owe me one,” she teased with a wink.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be right back.”

  Whitney sighed and focused her attention back on the set, unable to shake thoughts of Wes, Charlie, and Nolan and wondering how on earth she’d stumbled into the craziness that was her love life.

  It was a gorgeous Saturday morning and Whitney wanted to celebrate Wes sailing into the final eight of the competition. He’d impressed the judges yet again with his unique twist on hearty dishes. His corn bread and bacon-stuffed pork chops had Melinda sighing with pleasure after each bite.

  Just like he’d planned an entire day for them in Montana, she’d given him a heads-up that it was her turn, and she was planning a “California day” for them to enjoy together. Since arriving in Los Angeles, Wes had spent almost all of his time at the studio, his hotel, or her apartment. Whitney wanted to take him out on the town. She had a gut feeling that he wasn’t exactly the Disneyland type, so she ruled out amusement parks, saving them for another day. For just a flash, she pictured herself and Wes, walking down Main Street, the smell of cotton candy and chocolate tempting their senses, a toddler on Wes’s shoulders and an adorable little girl dressed like a princess with a crown on her head and a balloon in her hand. A family. And that vision didn’t freak her out . . . surprisingly not at all. In fact, it was nice. Without even realizing it, she found herself smiling from ear to freaking ear as she stared off into space.

  What the hell is he doing to me?

  The phone chirped from her purse and she rolled her eyes. She�
�d been receiving texts and phone calls from Nolan since having her morning coffee. She had no intention of engaging in any form of communication with Nolan. They were done. And no amount of phone calls, groveling, or manipulation would change that for Whitney. For God’s sake, she was picturing herself as part of a family, a unit; whether or not she was silly to do that was beside the point. Nolan was out of her life, and her focus was Wes Rancourt.

  Wes was waiting in front of the hotel, looking as handsome as ever. She hoped he’d enjoy what California had to offer, especially since he was a little bit of a fish out of water to the entire Hollywood scene. He was a Montana man through and through, and she loved that about him, but Whitney was a California girl, and she wanted him to be comfortable in her world as well.

  He slipped into the passenger seat, pressing his lips to her neck, the sensitive spot just below her ear. He was learning all of her “spots.” He knew where to tickle, where to kiss, where to suck at ever so gently . . .

  “Morning, beautiful. You smell amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured as she pulled back. She clapped her hands in front of her steering wheel and used her very best Valley girl voice. “So are you ready for a totally radical, like, insanely awesome California day?”

  “Ooh, that was hot.” His sarcasm was obvious, but one side of his mouth perked up, creating a curious expression. “I’m as ready as I’m gonna be.”

  “Hey, Cowboy, I shot a gun for you, remember?”

  He chuckled, nodding as he scratched his forehead. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget. You were a natural. So where are you taking me, Hollywood?”

  One nickname for another, I guess. Fair play, as always.

  That nickname was, indeed, growing on her. She no longer flinched when he said it, knowing he wasn’t insulting her or criticizing her job, her world, her way of life. And so, as with just about everything involving Wesson Rancourt, it was making its way into her heart.

  “Well, just like you, I’ve planned the day out. Totally. I mean, you have, like, no say in what we do.”

  “Oh Lord.”

  “Don’t be afraid, I’ll take it easy on you, I promise.” She smiled, steering her car toward Hollywood. “We’re starting at Hollywood Boulevard. The Hollywood Walk of Fame, Madame Tussauds, the Chinese Theater, all of that. I’m gonna indoctrinate you with all things Hollywood.”

  “Fitting.” He nodded.

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “No, really, I’ve always wanted to see those places and now I have my own tour guide. Pretty cool.” Wes licked his lips and bit down on his bottom lip as he watched the palm trees sway in the breeze. “Except maybe the wax museum. That seems a little . . . I don’t know, odd.”

  “It is, but you have to see it.”

  When they arrived near TCL Chinese Theater, Whitney found long-term parking and ushered Wes toward the building. Wes stopped to stare at the large red pagoda and the huge dragon across the facade.

  “Okay, this is cool,” he said behind his aviator sunglasses, marveling at the historic landmark. “I’ve seen it in pictures, of course, but it doesn’t do it justice.”

  “Come with me.” She led him to the forecourt. “Do you have a favorite actor? Wait, let me guess . . . John Wayne?”

  “Nice try, Hollywood. But no. I’m not much of a fan, actually.”

  “Okay, who do you like?”

  “Jack Nicholson is great. And Robin Williams. God, he was incredible, wasn’t he? When I was a kid, I wanted to be him.”

  “You did?” Whitney loved this soft side of Wes and wanted to hear more.

  “Oh yeah, Mork & Mindy.” He moved his hands up near the top of his head to create fake antennae with his fingers. “Na-nu Na-nu. He was such an original. There was no one quite like him, and there never will be again.”

  “You’re right,” Whitney said, trying to remember where Robin’s hand and footprints would be located. “We’ll have to find him.”

  “Tom Cruise.” Wes knelt down in front of Tom’s hand- and footprints. He placed his hands on top of the indentations. “Whoa, these are tiny.”

  “Yeah, I think mine are probably bigger.”

  Together, they strolled, taking pictures of one another kneeling in front of various actors’ cement blocks. Whitney, a huge fan of Whoopi Goldberg, loved that she’d dipped her dreadlocks in the cement right along with her hands and feet. Wes was pleased to pose by blocks for both Robin Williams and Jack Nicholson, as well as legends such as Frank Sinatra and Jimmy Stewart. When they’d taken it all in, they strolled down the Walk of Fame, looking down at the stars with the signature gold emblems in the center indicating the profession of the celebrity.

  “You know, I didn’t think I’d like this. I didn’t think it’d be my thing. Of course I was willing to do it to get to know you better, see more of your environment. But it’s actually pretty cool. I’m enjoying myself.” He pulled her close as they stepped on the star belonging to Marilyn Monroe, his hand wrapped around her waist. The wind tickled the hem of her sundress as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “And there’s nothing better than spending time with you.”

  “Nothing?” she asked, teasing. “Not even wrestling a six-hundred-pound steer to the ground? Not even firing off round after round of shots at the range? Not even—”

  “Nothing.” He kissed her softly, his warm lips soothing and enticing her own. “Not one thing.”

  He took her hand in his and they walked, visiting some gift shops while skipping others. A man dressed as Captain America approached them. His friend was in a Spiderman costume.

  “Two of my favorites,” Wes said, taking in the sight of the superheroes. As much as Whitney loved his boyish smile and chipper demeanor today, something she’d never seen before, she had to warn him not to stop. Just keep walking.

  Before the superheroes were within earshot, Whitney leaned over, attempting to warn Wes. “Don’t take a picture with them.”

  “Why?” Wes looked confused. “What’s the harm?”

  “Hey there, folks. Wanna take a picture with us to show the kids?”

  “Uh, no, that’s okay—”

  “Sure,” Wes said, eyes bright. “Could be cool to show our little ones, huh, darling?”

  Whitney was speechless.

  Little ones? Did he stop for a drink when I wasn’t paying attention?

  Wes raised his aviators and gave her a quick wink, standing between the two superheroes. Whitney sighed, knowing he had no idea what was coming. The men smiled for a quick picture and then Captain America dropped the bomb that she knew was coming.

  I tried to warn you, Cowboy.

  “Thanks, folks. That’ll be ten dollars.”

  Wes’s boyish grin disappeared. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Ten dollars,” Spiderman repeated, crossing his arms. “What, you think we do this for free?”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Wes held his hand up in protest. “You mean to tell me, you’re running a business this way? Offering photos to people but not telling them up front that they have to pay for a picture they took on their own phone?”

  “Listen, man, it’s only ten dollars.”

  Wes crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, guys, I gotta tell you—your business model sucks.”

  Whitney started to dig through her purse, giggling to herself that Wes seemed to be offended by their scam. She just wanted them to go away. She’d never seen guys like this back down before.

  “Hold on.” He touched her wrist lightly, giving her a reassuring nod. “Does this work for you guys? Do you like scamming people, tourists, little old ladies who’ve dreamed of coming to the Walk of Fame for half their lives?”

  “You don’t look like a little old lady,” Captain America said, leaning in with a sneer.

  “Oh, I’m not.” Wes bared his teeth, his biceps flexing beneath his black T-shirt. He towered over both of the men, who glanced at each other to avoid his intimidating stare. “And I’m not playing into your scam.�
�

  “Listen, dude, I don’t have time for this.” Spiderman took two steps back. His friend followed close behind.

  “Move along, guys. We’re done here,” Wes said, his cowboy boots planted firmly, his stance wide on the star of Clint Eastwood. Spiderman flipped Wes the bird as he retreated, but quickened his pace, approaching a group of unsuspecting teenage girls. Whitney shook her head and laughed under her breath as she likened the standoff to Eastwood’s famous speech. Her cowboy was just as hot and just as intimidating as Clint when he warned, “Go ahead, make my day.”

  Wes watched them with a smirk.

  “I tried to warn you,” Whitney reminded him.

  “That’s right, you did.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer as they walked to Madame Tussauds wax museum. “Should’ve listened to you. This is your town.”

  “Yep. And don’t you forget it.”

  The two laughed and teased one another as they walked among the dozens of wax figures. Whitney realized that she loved the two distinctly different sides of him. Most of the time he was stoic—strong, silent, thoughtful, and strong. But there was a lighter side, a sweet side, a sentimental one. Was he a jokester like Charlie? No, but that was okay. His humor was genuine, subtle, ironic. He teased her gently, but always followed any ribbing with a compliment or a kiss.

  Whitney insisted they take photos with the many celebrities, posing for selfies with Brad and Angelina, Quentin Tarantino, and Johnny Depp.

  “We’ll be able to fill an album by the end of the day,” Wes teased her. “My selfie queen.”

  She playfully elbowed him in the ribs, but she couldn’t help enjoying his use of the word we. She liked the idea of being a we with Wes. And more and more, she was feeling them slide into their own version of we with no hesitation, no games, no outlandish grand gestures. It was happening all on its own.

  They wandered to the Disney Studio Store and Ghirardelli Soda Fountain, where they stopped for a sweet treat.

  “How about we split a butterscotch sundae?” Wes asked, surveying the menu. Whitney flinched. “Don’t tell me you don’t like butterscotch. That could be a deal breaker for me.”