“Oh man, that bird. She’s been playing me for a fool.” Charlie rapped his knuckles against the table.
“You?” Wes asked, shocked. “She played you?”
Whitney was dating Hutchins? A movie star was proposing to her? What alternate universe have I stumbled into?
“Oh yeah. We’ve been dating for months, mate. I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t,” Joe said, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Neither did I,” Wes said through clenched teeth. You could cut the tension with a serrated knife as the men stared at Charlie.
“Damn. Can’t believe I had to find out this way. And she’s getting married? What the bollocks is that?” His words were laced with anger, but they didn’t match his eyes. He seemed cool, calm, collected. Was it possible he was lying? Wes needed to dig deeper, push Charlie for more information.
“Did you know about this guy?” He gestured to the television.
“Well, yeah, I mean, she’s been hung up on him for ages. She called me crying from Montana. He cheated on her or something. I don’t really remember, but she was pretty upset about it.”
“Montana?” Wes asked, his breathing ragged.
Calm down, Rancourt. This little shit will feed on your anger.
“So, uh . . .” Wes began, using another tactic, attempting to trick Charlie. “Where is Whitney? Haven’t seen her yet today.”
“Hospital. Her best friend went into early labor. She called me all upset about it. I did my best to calm her down but she was pretty rattled. Not sure how I’m gonna deal with this lunacy, though. I mean, did she really think I wouldn’t find out she’s engaged? Guess she was just stringing me along for the hell of it.”
Wes stood up, crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “And what if I don’t believe you? What if I think you’re fucking with me?”
Charlie shook his head. “Easy, mate.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, swiping again and again until he found something to make him smirk like an idiot with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Wes’s cookie jar.
He turned the speaker toward Wes, who heard Whitney’s voice pour through the speakerphone.
“Hey, Charlie, it’s Whitney. Hmm, I’m just calling ’cause I was thinking about you. You and your adorable arse.” Whitney’s giggle pierced Wes’s ears. “Anyway, call me.”
He turned it off with a smug grin once the click of her receiver reverberated through the speaker. “Sound familiar?”
Wes said nothing. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his cheeks growing hot. He felt duped, cheated, betrayed. And he wanted to wipe the floor with Hutchins.
“Oh, and if you need further proof, well, aside from the pages and pages of dirty texts I have right here, I also have this. Here we are at the Willis Tower, back in Chicago.” Charlie held up the phone. The entire screen was covered by a selfie of him and Whitney in the skydeck. Whitney was nuzzled into Charlie’s neck. Wes could only see red.
“This was right after she convinced me to do the show.”
“What?” Wes’s frustration was growing by the second. His world was spinning out of control and all he wanted to do was pummel Hutchins to the floor, smash his head against the linoleum, and beat him senseless.
“Oh yeah, I never auditioned, mate. She walked into the restaurant where I was working in Chicago to contribute to my brother’s mortgage. She told me I was too talented not to join the show, that I could win the whole bloody thing. I just wanted to keep my job as a line cook, but she told me my abilities were over the top, that I was as good as any of her contestants.”
That’s exactly what she said to me. This cannot be happening.
“But then I got here and thought, ‘Hey, might as well give it a go.’” Charlie rubbed at his chin. “It’ll be hard to give up that piece of arse, though, am I right, mate?”
All of the anger, all of the rage built up within Wes came crashing through his fist as it landed square on Charlie’s jaw, sending him flying backward off his chair. He landed with a thud on the floor, rubbed his chin, and jumped to his feet.
“Is that how it is, mate?” he asked, throwing the fallen chair across the room. “You’re willing to jeopardize this whole thing over a snarky twat?”
Wes charged toward Charlie, grabbing him by his collar with one hand and punching him in the nose with the other. Blood spurted across the room.
“I’m gonna sue you for every last penny you’ve got.”
Strong arms wrapped around Wes, pulling him from Charlie.
“Get off!” Wes yelled, lunging back toward Charlie.
“He’s not worth it, man,” Joe said, his voice low, calm. “He’s not worth it.” Joe turned to Charlie. “Get outta here, you little shit. If you say anything to production, I’ll tell them you threw the first punch.”
Wes stopped struggling, turning to face Joe. As pissed as he was, he was grateful to have someone in his corner. Especially someone as level-headed as Joe. Joe was his control in this experiment in craziness.
“What the fuck?” Charlie screamed at Joe. “Why the hell would you do that? For this fucking joke of a cowboy? He attempts to beat the shit out of me and you’re taking his side?”
“I know what you did to my kitchen,” Joe said, arms crossed, legs spread wide. “You’re a joke, Hutchins. I mean it, say anything to Chris or anyone else and you’re toast. You won’t just have Wes after you, you’ll have me as well.”
“Get the hell out of here, Hutchins,” Wes snarled, wiping the blood from his knuckles.
Like a scared puppy, Charlie scampered from the room, slamming the door behind him. Wes shook his head, still reeling from Whitney’s deception. How was it possible that he didn’t really know her at all? She was a stranger, and he’d been played.
“You all right, man?” Joe asked, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “Sorry about Whitney. If it’s any consolation, I think he’s full of shit.”
But he wasn’t. He knew too much about Montana, about Elle’s pregnancy. And that picture said it all.
“He’s not,” Wes said, running his fingers through his hair. “See ya ’round.”
Wes stalked down the hall, his decision made, for better or for worse. Without an ounce of hesitation, he knocked on Chris’s office door.
The California sun was finally drifting down below the horizon as Whitney arrived home from the longest day of her life. She unlocked the door to her apartment and checked her phone yet again. Despite the constant calls from journalists and bloggers asking for comments, dozens of texts from Nolan begging for another chance, and a few missed calls from the studio, Whitney had no return calls from Wes. In fact, she hadn’t heard from him since he congratulated her on the birth of Lina earlier that morning. It’d been hours with no communication whatsoever, despite her many attempts to call and text. Something was up.
Where are you, Wes?
She tried to call him once again but it went straight to voice mail. She worried something was wrong, that something had happened to him. Normally not the type to worry, she surprised herself with the range of emotions she’d felt since five that morning. She began the day feeling overwhelmed with the opportunity being offered to her and the possible complications it might bring, then feeling absolute terror and anxiety worrying that her best friend might not survive the day. Once she held that sweet baby in her arms and had Elle within arm’s reach, knowing both were healthy, both were all right, she was able to calm and bask in the joy of Lina’s birth, only to be kicked in the gut with a live proposal from the clueless Nolan, who, she feared, would never learn how over they really were. Her day of peace and happiness had turned to embarrassment and stress, but now, hours later, with no contact from Wes, she was finding her emotions reverting back to overwhelmed. She pictured him lying in an alley, having just been mugged, a heavily bruised eye and no phone to call for help.
Get a grip, Whit. He’s probably tied up at the studio.
The in
tercom buzzed and Whitey threw her head back in relief. He was just fine! He obviously wanted to surprise her. Whitney imagined him standing downstairs with a bouquet of daisies, fresh from the shower and looking hot as sin. Even though her legs felt like dead weights beneath her hips, she ran to the intercom and pressed the button.
“Helloooo,” she murmured, feeling a sexy smile emerge on her lips.
“It’s me, Whit. Buzz me in,” Chris said through the speaker.
Shit. If Chris left the studio, so did Wes. Good God, where is he?
She pressed the button, allowing Chris access to the building. She leaned her head against the door, mentally preparing for a lecture from Chris, urging her to sign the contract. She had no desire to talk business, but she understood their need to replace Jameson . . . and fast. Chris had worked too hard for the show to fall apart now.
Much to her surprise when she opened the door, she saw dark circles under Chris’s eyes as well as a brand-new bottle of scotch in his hand. Did people drink scotch to celebrate the birth of a baby? This was all new to her, but somehow that seemed like an odd choice.
“Um, everything okay?”
“No,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Got any glasses? We’re gonna need ’em.”
Her stomach lurched, dreading whatever it was Chris was about to tell her. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more surprises today—in fact, she was pretty sure she’d had about as much as she could take. She reached for two heavy glasses in her cupboard. They clinked together as she rinsed the dusty glasses in the sink. After plopping a few ice cubes in each one, she gestured for Chris to fill them with the thick amber liquid. But he didn’t. Instead, he made her heart crawl into her throat.
“Wes is gone,” Chris blurted. “Although you probably already knew that, huh?”
“What?” she screeched, pressing one hand to her chest. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Oh shit, you didn’t know?” He poured the scotch in each glass and downed his, breathing in through clenched teeth.
“No, I was at the hospital all day and then Nolan pulled this ridiculous stunt, and I—”
“Stunt?” Chris shook his head, his eyes narrow. He poured himself another glass as Whitney’s sat untouched on the island. “What stunt?”
“He proposed on top of the freaking Empire State Building.”
“Oh Lord, will that dumb ass ever learn?”
“I’ve been trying to call Wes all afternoon and I can’t get through. He left? Did he say why?” There was a piece of her, albeit a small one, that hoped Wes was simply trying to surprise her, that he quit the show to allow her to host. But she knew better. She knew something had gone wrong . . .
“Personal reasons. That’s all he said.”
“So he quit?”
“Yeah. I asked if it was about Hutchins and I swear his entire face turned red. He looked so pissed I almost hid under my desk. I guess he knew about the kitchen sabotage, huh?”
“Um, no.” Whitney shook her head, her pulse racing.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. What did you do, Chris?
“Oh, well then I’m at a loss. Unless . . . shit, Whitney, I’m sorry. I just assumed they both knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you dated them both.”
“Did you tell him that?” Whitney asked.
“God, of course not! I was talking about the pranks.”
“Wes didn’t know it was Charlie. God, and now he’s gone, thinking God knows what!”
“And now our entire season is screwed. I don’t know what the hell to do, Whit. I guess Hutchins could go unopposed into the finals, but that’s . . . God, that sucks. Wes would’ve beaten that little shit.”
“Well, yeah, because you guys already arranged that, right?” she said, reminding him of the plan he’d revealed the day before.
“Regardless,” he scoffed, “it screws up the buildup, the suspense, the drama.”
“I know,” Whitney conceded. “But I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened.”
“I don’t know. He looked really pissed when I saw him. He was trying hard to sound calm, but he was holding one hand in the other, and I thought I saw blood.”
“Blood? Did he hurt himself on set?”
Or did he kick the shit out of a certain Brit?
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
Men. How hard is to ask a simple question?
“So he looked upset, his hand seemed injured, and he was furious when you mentioned Charlie?”
Chris nodded.
“And he said he was quitting for ‘personal reasons,’ right?”
“Yeah, that about sums it up. And now I’m screwed.”
“Looks like we both are.” Whitney downed her two fingers of scotch and poured another glass. And then she realized what else had happened that day. Nolan’s proposal. “Oh shit!”
“What?”
“He knows about Nolan. He knows.” Panic spread throughout her body and her fingers trembled. “Someone must’ve told him. Maybe Charlie. Or maybe he saw the news. I have to find him, Chris. I’m sorry, I gotta go.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Rancourt has checked out.”
Whitney’s fingers drummed against the counter, but stopped and hovered above the cool wood. “Checked out?”
“Yes, it looks like he left”—the clerk studied the computer screen—“just before noon.”
Shit!
“Thanks,” she said, nodding, closing her eyes, and holding back the tears. She couldn’t lose him, not like this, over a silly misunderstanding.
You dumb ass. If you’d just told him about Nolan from the start none of this would be happening.
Whitney reached for her phone to call Chris, hoping he wasn’t home passed out. She wanted to call Elle, but she just couldn’t. She had to let her and Luke rest after their exhausting day bringing Lina into the world. She’d fill her in later, but someone had to know her plans.
“He’s gone, Chris. Checked out of his hotel.”
“Shit.”
“I know.”
“So what do we do? Should I call Saul?”
“No. Don’t tell anyone, not yet. Give me a chance to change his mind. I’ll explain everything and he’ll get it. He’ll come back. Just don’t tell Saul. Promise me, Chris.”
“Whitney, you don’t even know where he is.”
I know exactly where he is.
“He’s in Montana. I know it.”
Chris sighed. “Well, then, it’s over, right?”
“No way.” Even after the day she’d had, a jolt of adrenaline gave her all the energy she needed to get her man back. “I’m going home to pack a bag, and then I’m going to LAX. I should be able to get a flight out tonight.”
“Seriously?”
“I have to, Chris. He’s . . . he’s everything and I’m not giving up without a fight.”
“Wow. I’ve never heard you like this.”
“I’ve never felt like this.”
“Well, then it looks like you better get yourself on a plane, Missy.”
“I should be back by Monday, okay? I’ll get a return flight as soon as I can. Just don’t tell Saul. Promise me.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “But keep me posted, okay? If you can’t change his mind by Monday, I’ve gotta figure out what to do. And I’ll need Saul to do it.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best. Wish me luck.”
“I’m afraid you’re gonna need it.”
“Yeah,” Whitney sighed. “Me too.”
Considering it was nine P.M. on a Friday, LAX was packed. This was encouraging to Whitney and she hoped a flight to Billings would be available soon. When she walked up to the ticket counter, she explained her need to arrive in Montana as soon as possible. The woman behind the counter nodded and began typing furiously on her computer.
“There is a flight leaving in two hours. Will that work?”
“Yes, definitely.” Whitney was feeling less helpless. In just
two hours, she’d be on her way to Billings.
“I only have first class available.”
“Okay, whatever, doesn’t matter.”
“The fare is two thousand three hundred and thirty-nine dollars.”
“Holy crap.” Whitney tapped her credit card against the counter. “Um, yeah, okay. It’s more than my rent, but let’s do it.”
“I just need your driver’s license.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Whitney placed her license on the counter with her credit card. The attendant began typing and then stopped, looking up at Whitney.
“Your name sounds so familiar. Whitney Bartolina . . . Bartolina. Wait.” She laughed nervously. “Aren’t you the girl? The one Nolan Rivera proposed to? Is that where you’re going? To see Nolan? Oh my God.”
“Um . . . .” Whitney wasn’t sure what to say.
“Can I get an autograph?” she asked. Whitney was confused—no one had ever asked her for an autograph before.
I can’t pass Nolan on to you. It’s a signature, honey, not an STD.
“Um, sure.” Whitney quickly signed a piece of paper for the attendant, who slipped it into her pocket.
“I can’t believe this. So did you say yes?”
“Um, that’s kind of private.” Whitney swallowed hard, wishing the woman would just print her ticket already.
“Sure,” she said, and winked and laughed as she handed Whitney her boarding pass. “Of course. I mean, you’d have to be a moron to say no, right? That man is freaking gorgeous! And he remembered your favorite movie—I mean, seriously, that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. You two should totally get married up there on top of the Empire State Building. Is that legal? Can you do that?”
Whitney could feel her nostrils flare as she clenched her teeth and shrugged.
“Hold on a sec. My friend will lose it when she meets you.”
Oh my God, I’m in Hell. I have literally stumbled into Hell.
“I really should be—”
“Oh, you have plenty of time to catch your flight. Shaina, come here!” the attendant yelled down the long line of booths. When her friend didn’t respond, she held one finger up to Whitney and made her way to the other employee. Whitney seized the opportunity, grabbed her bag, and ran to security, hoping to God she wouldn’t draw attention to herself and get stopped by the TSA.
If You Can't Take the Heat Page 24