If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  Whitney studied the face of the sweet girl cradled in her arms. Rounded cheeks, a swollen little nose the size of Whitney’s thumbnail, slate-colored eyes squinting from the bright light of the room.

  “She looks like Luke, doesn’t she?” Elle asked from her bed, her own nose swollen, her cheeks bright red. Luke sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand.

  “She does,” Whitney agreed with a nod, not looking up from the beautiful baby in her arms. “Luke said you wanted to tell me her name.”

  “It’s Lina.”

  “Aw.” Whitney stroked the pink beanie on Lina’s head. “That’s pretty.”

  “You dork, you don’t even get it. Luke said you wouldn’t.”

  Whitney looked up, confused. “Get what?”

  “Lina, like Barto-lina. We named her after you, Whit.”

  Her lungs compressed. She couldn’t believe her ears. Her eyes, once again, welled with tears, stinging. Whitney brushed each eye with the back of her hand as she held the baby. She’d cried more that day than she had in several years combined. “Are you serious? I—I don’t even know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Elle smiled and extended her hand. Whitney stood, placing Lina in her mother’s arms and kissing Elle on the forehead.

  A nurse with jet-black hair and tiny glasses entered the room. “How’s Mama feeling?”

  “Good. Doctor said my blood pressure’s back to normal.”

  “Excellent.” She folded her hands in front of her waist. “Well, I have to borrow Baby Girl Kingston for just a little while.”

  “Is everything okay?” Whitney asked, feeing protective over her namesake. She surprised herself with this new level of concern, especially since Elle seemed completely at ease with handing over her precious newborn.

  “Yep,” the nurse answered, holding Lina with just one arm. Whitney wanted to cross the room and wring her neck for being so careless. “Standard screenings. Daddy, would you like to join us?”

  Luke rose to his feet, kissing Elle on the forehead. Whitney glared at the nurse, who was still casually holding his daughter with only one hand.

  Two hands, you idiot! We all know you’re a newborn whisperer, stop showing off!

  “She’s fine, though, right? She’s healthy, normal?” Whitney asked

  “Whit, honey, calm down. Lina’s just fine.” Elle turned back to the nurse. “This is my best friend, and she doesn’t know it yet, but she’s also her godmother. Forgive her, she’s a little high-strung, and a lot protective.”

  “Ah,” Nurse Show-off said, placing Lina in her bassinet. “Well, godmother, we’ll be back soon.”

  “Behave yourselves,” Luke said with a wink and followed his daughter as she rolled out the door.

  “Godmother?” Whitney asked, looking at Elle, her eyes watering yet again.

  “Oh geez, you’re almost as emotional as me, if not more. What’s going on with you?”

  “I . . . I’m having a moment.” She shrugged it off, wiping her stinging eyes with a tissue. “So how does it feel? Being a mother? Do you feel different?”

  “I’m still in shock, to be honest. This was so sudden. I woke up a few hours ago, thinking it’d be a normal day at the office. Luke and I were going to see his parents this weekend. Next thing I know, I’m doubled over in pain and my water breaks.”

  “You must have been terrified.”

  “I was, but Luke was a pro. He cleaned me up, got me dressed, and put us both in the car.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls. I feel awful.” Whitney shook her head, crying again.

  “It’s okay, Waterworks. I knew you were probably still sleeping. It was really early.”

  Whitney puckered her lips. “I have a confession to make—I wasn’t sleeping. I was awake, just consumed with work stuff and didn’t process that it was you. Nolan’s been leaving me messages nonstop.”

  “Nolan? What does he want?”

  “No idea. I haven’t spoken to him since Montana. I guess things didn’t work out with Loren Motherfucking Quigley.” She covered her mouth. “Oops, sorry.”

  “You silly woman, it’s a maternity ward, not a library,” Elle said with a laugh. “So what’s going on at work?”

  Whitney shook her head. “They want me to host.”

  “The show?” Elle’s eyes widened. “That’s incredible! Whit, you should do it.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I do it, I have to pretend like Wes and I aren’t together. I don’t want to do that.”

  “It’s only for a few weeks, right?” Elle said.

  “No.” Whitney shook her head. “Not until the finale airs. That could be months.”

  “You can make it work. What does Wes think? Have you told him yet?”

  “Yeah, we were talking about it when I finally saw you’d called. He offered to quit the show for me.”

  “Seriously?” Elle asked, her own eyes welling with tears. “Whit, that’s so . . . so . . .”

  “I know. He’s something else.” Whitney shook her head. “I’m so lucky.”

  “I think you should let him.”

  Whitney recoiled. “What? How can you say that? If he gives this up, he could end up resenting me for years. I can’t stand in the middle of him winning this thing, because he could, Elle. He could win the whole damn thing.”

  “You silly woman. No man makes an offer like that unless he’s serious. Take the job, be the host. You’ll be incredible.”

  Whitney closed her eyes tight. “It’s complicated. His leaving could be disastrous for the entire show. I need to think about it some more.”

  “What’s there to think about? Seize the day, my friend.”

  “All right, Mama, you need to calm down or your blood pressure is going to skyrocket all over again. Lie back. Let’s watch TV or something.” Whitney grabbed the clicker connected to the bed by a long cord. She handed it to Elle. “Let’s see what’s happening with the world. The news should be on, right?”

  “I don’t know what time it is. I barely know what day it is,” Elle said with a laugh as she clicked through the channels.

  “It’s Lina’s birthday,” Whitney said, standing to fluff the pillows behind Elle’s head. “That’s all you need to know.”

  When Elle’s eyes widened and her healthy pink glow turned pale, Whitney panicked. “Ellie, what’s the matter? Are you okay? Is it your blood pressure?”

  But Elle just stared at the television hanging from the ceiling in the corner. “Oh. My. God.”

  Whitney turned to see a man standing on top of the Empire State Building. The words BREAKING NEWS were plastered at the bottom of the screen. Whitney recognized the man.

  “Is that . . . Nolan?” She was horrified. “Is he gonna jump?”

  “He’s holding roses, you idiot. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  “Well, then what the hell is he doing up there?”

  Elle increased the volume until a reporter’s voice boomed into the tiny room. “I’m standing here with Golden Globe winner Nolan Rivera. Nolan, can you tell us why we’re here?”

  “Yes, I can!” Nolan shouted, the wind whipping through his dark hair. He was dressed in a tuxedo, holding a bouquet of roses and a small box. “I’m here to propose to the woman of my dreams, the only one for me.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake . . .” Whitney muttered. It was bad enough that he cheated with Loren and Gina, but now he was about to propose to one of them on national television. “Turn it off.”

  “No way,” Elle said, whipping the remote away from Whitney and placing it on the other side of the bed. “Aren’t you curious which one it is? Who finally got him to settle down?”

  “Not really.” Whitney rolled her eyes. The truth was, she didn’t care. For the first time in years, she didn’t care at all what Nolan Rivera did with his life.

  “Whitney Bartolina!” Nolan yelled.

  “What?” El
le and Whitney screeched in unison.

  “Did he just say . . . ?” Whitney voice trailed off as her hands gripped the sides of her chair.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, baby, but I’m standing here, on top of the Empire State Building just like Tom Hanks in your favorite movie. See, I remembered, baby!”

  Nolan looked entirely too proud of himself and his memory. Trouble was, he was wrong.

  “Sleepless in Seattle?” Whitney asked with a sneer.

  “That’s not your favorite movie.”

  “Nope.”

  Figures.

  “I’m here in front of the entire world, Whitney, asking you to be my wife, to be my forever. Let’s do it, baby! Let’s do this together!” He knelt down, holding open a ring box.

  “Is he insane?” Whitney couldn’t stand, she couldn’t focus, couldn’t see. Her phone started to buzz. And it didn’t stop. It buzzed again and again from her purse.

  “There you have it, folks,” the newscaster announced. “Now America waits to see what her answer will be. Whitney Bartolina, we hope you’re watching, and if you are, we await your answer. This is Rick Tomlin, Channel 4 news.”

  She stared at the vibrating handbag, having no idea what to do. The calls wouldn’t stop—she’d be hounded by friends, family, newspapers, and bloggers. Her ex-boyfriend proposed to her on national television. One of the best days of her life just became one of the most complicated.

  “What the hell am I gonna do?”

  “You’re gonna call him and tell him to go to hell,” Elle said, her chest heaving, her cheeks fire-engine red. “How dare he do that to you. You’re not even together! Oh, he’s so lucky he’s no longer on the show or I’d kill him off so fast his head would spin!”

  “I can’t call him. I have no idea what to say!”

  “Give me the phone. I have plenty to say.”

  “That’s the hormones talking.” Whitney shook her head. “Now calm down before your blood pressure shoots up or your milk stops coming in.”

  “Down.”

  “What?”

  “Milk comes down.”

  “Whatever.” Whitney jumped from her chair and retrieved her phone from her purse. Six missed calls in less than two minutes. “I’ll call him.”

  Nolan answered on the second ring. “Baby, it’s you! I knew you’d call.”

  “Nolan, what were you thinking? How could you think this was a good idea? In what universe is this a smart thing to do?”

  “I love you, Whit. C’mon, let’s do this!”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Elle shouted from her bed. “She doesn’t want you!”

  Whitney placed a finger to her lips, whispering, “Sh, Elle.”

  “I don’t care,” Elle huffed, crossing her arms, acting completely out of character. Whitney chalked it up to postpartum hormones. Her mama-bear instincts were kicking in.

  “He messes with you, he messes with me.” Elle raised her voice again. “I never should’ve stuck up for you, Nolan! Do you hear that? Never!”

  “Listen,” Whitney said, walking into the hallway. “You know my answer, Nolan.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  Oh my God, this man’s such a self-involved moron.

  “On what planet would that be a yes?”

  “I thought we were making progress. You haven’t told me to go to hell in weeks.”

  We haven’t spoken in weeks. Only Nolan Rivera would interpret radio silence as progress.

  “Whit, c’mon,” he persisted. “I thought we had a chance.”

  “We have no chance,” she snapped. “None.”

  “C’mon, I mean . . . I thought this is what you wanted. A commitment, no other women.”

  “So you think because we get married you’ll stop screwing around? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

  “I’ve changed, baby.” His voice lowered. “Please, don’t say no. Please, I’m begging you. You’re the only one for me. Gina, Loren, they mean nothing . . . nothing, Whit.”

  “This stunt doesn’t change everything that’s happened. I’m happy now. I’ve moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

  “What does that mean? Is it the Brit? I’ll kill him!”

  “No, but I’ve met someone. He’s the one, Nolan. He’s . . . he’s everything. I have to go.”

  “Wait, don’t hang up.”

  “I’m sorry, Nolan.”

  She hung up before he had an opportunity to respond and returned to the room, where Elle was once again watching the television screen.

  “Whatever you said, it worked. He just yelled at the cameraman to leave him the hell alone.”

  Whitney returned to her seat, her heart still pounding furiously within her chest. “He’s crazy. I can’t believe he did that. What on earth was he thinking?”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “He knew it was over. He’s known for months. This was completely out of the blue.”

  “That’s Nolan. Remember the Globes? He dedicated his speech to you in front of America.”

  “Yep, and we’d just broken up.” Whitney nodded. “I feel bad for him. He’s always chasing what he could have had.”

  “And what about you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m great,” Whitney said, shaking off the incident as best she could, knowing there was no way Nolan could change her feelings for Wes. “Better than great, actually. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what and who I want. And it’s not Nolan Rivera.”

  Whitney sighed, excited to tell Wes her decision. Excited to seize every opportunity they could. Together.

  Wes was tempted to knock on Chris’s office door during the thirty-minute break. He paused briefly outside, his knuckles hovering. But he didn’t. He took a breath and kept walking. Whitney was adamant that he not quit, and even though it was tempting to surprise her with a grand gesture, making a way for her to accept the hosting job with no strings attached, his respect for her was paramount. This was a decision they’d make together.

  Thirsty, he entered the contestant break room and poured himself a cup of coffee. Joe was reading the newspaper quietly in the corner.

  “Hey, man, you care if I turn on the news?” Wes asked. Since arriving in Los Angeles he’d felt so disconnected from the rest of the world. He was making more of an effort to watch the news and check the headlines on his phone, reconnecting with the world around him.

  “Sure, no problem.” Joe nodded, taking a sip of his steaming cup of coffee. He turned a page of the crisp newspaper and leaned back in his seat. “I barely even know what day it is anymore.”

  “Right?” Wes said, taking a seat at a nearby table after turning to Channel 4.

  The door opened and Charlie joined the two men. There was something about that kid that rubbed Wes the wrong way. He was arrogant, yes, but that wasn’t it. Devious. He seemed devious. Wes couldn’t prove it, but his gut told him that Hutchins was responsible for the various pranks in his and the others’ kitchens. And his gut was rarely wrong . . . except when it came to women. He’d struggled with women like Cyndi in the past, women who played games, said what men wanted to hear and played them for fools. Which is why he was willing to do just about anything to make things work with Whitney.

  Whitney was real, honest, forthcoming. Whitney didn’t play games.

  “Hey, mates,” Charlie said, pouring himself another cup, draining the pot and leaving a pool of coffee on the counter. “What’s going on?”

  He settled in at the third table. There they sat. Three men at three different tables. They’d spent almost two months together and yet they couldn’t even manage to share a table.

  Oh well. To each his own.

  Wes continued to mull over his decision, wanting to make the right one. The truth was, he missed his restaurant, his staff, his creativity in the kitchen he designed. The long days with cameras in his face were getting old, and the idea of relocating to Los Angeles long term to film a daytime cooking show was be
coming less appealing by the day. In a perfect world, he’d move back to Billings and eventually Whitney would make the choice to join him. He knew the chances were slim, especially since her job was here. But something in his gut told him they’d figure it out. They’d make it work.

  Wes had never been so captivated by another human being. Sure, he’d loved Cyndi . . . but his feelings for Whitney were like nothing he’d ever imagined. He was absolutely crazy about her and was willing to do just about anything to make her happy. The idea of leaving Montana wasn’t something he’d ever entertained in the past, but he’d do it for her. He’d do anything for her. The idea of Whitney at his parents’ ranch made him smile like an overgrown child. He pictured her riding his favorite horse, Rifle, helping his mom in the kitchen on Christmas Day, dyeing Easter eggs with his nieces and nephews until they had kids of their own . . .

  He’d often wondered why he was still single at forty-six, when almost all of his younger siblings had already met their mates and had children. But it all made sense now. Whitney was his reason. They simply weren’t ready for each other yet. But he was ready for her now. He was ready to give up anything, be anything, do anything to plan a future with Whitney Bartolina. That is, until he heard her name on the news.

  “What the hell?” Wes mumbled, staring up at the screen.

  The man on the Empire State Building looked familiar, and then Wes remembered why. He’d seen a few episodes of Follow the Sun and had seen Nolan Something-or-Other on the cover of magazines. But why was he saying Whitney’s name? And why in the hell was he asking her to marry him? Whitney had mentioned she was in charge of casting for that show. Obviously they knew each other. What were the chances there was another Whitney Bartolina who happened to know Nolan Whatever-His-Name-Was? Wes would give it a zero percent chance.

  Anger built from the pit of his stomach and climbed his sternum, threatening to erupt from his mouth. His hands wrapped so hard around his ceramic mug, he was concerned he might break it. That is, until Charlie made him want to throw it across the room, shattering it into hundreds of pieces.