Wes said nothing, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his brow furrowed and his lips still pursed. “He listened to your bio, Wes. He knew you were invited into the competition instead of auditioning. He just regurgitated your words, don’t you see that? And now that you left, that little worm is gonna sail into the finals. If you wanted out of the competition, that’s one thing. If you can’t take the heat—”
“I can take the heat!”
“Then how could you leave? How could you roll out the red carpet for him like that?”
Wes’s chest heaved with her accusations. She knew he was ready to burst. He stalked toward her. “I never wanted to win. I wanted you,” he huffed. “That’s why I left. You were all I wanted, Whitney, and I couldn’t see straight. You were already gone. So I left.”
“I was never gone. You had me. You still do. Why can’t you see that?”
“I told you no games, Whitney.” She ran her fingers through his hair, the silver strands dancing beneath her fingertips. “I was with someone for years who told me exactly what I wanted to hear. I’m not gonna do that again.”
“I’ve never played any games with you. I’ve been honest with you every step of the way.”
“You never told me about your superstar ex. Maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have been blindsided by his proposal. Then to have that sad excuse for a human being rub salt in the wound, offering to show me your dirty texts, playing me your voice mail. I couldn’t take it. If I’d stayed, I’d have killed him. I’d have killed him with my bare hands, Whitney, I swear to God.” His hands hung at his waist in tight fists.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t commit murder, but why’d you leave? Why didn’t you just talk to me? Give me a chance to explain . . .”
“In that moment, I had no idea who you were. I told you, I was blindsided.”
“I was blindsided, too, when Chris told me you were gone. Do you know what that felt like?” Whitney pressed her palm to her belly. “It was a punch in the freaking gut. I couldn’t reach you, couldn’t get you to answer me. For God’s sake, I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere until Chris showed up at my place.” Her voice softened. “Look, I’m sorry about Nolan. And you’re right, I should’ve told you about him. I’m sure I would have eventually. But the thing is, I wanted a fresh start. He’d plagued my life for years and I couldn’t let him have that control anymore. I wanted us to have a real chance.”
Wes was quiet once again, staring at her with conflicted eyes. Frustration built within her. She felt like this was a battle she was incapable of winning. She wanted to strangle Charlie and smack Nolan for continuously getting in her way.
“I’m so sick and tired of stupid, selfish men getting in my way! I’m in love for the first time in my freaking life, and they’re still fucking it up!” She paced. “God, I could kill them!”
“What did you say?”
“What?” She retraced her steps in her mind, stumbling upon the one thing they hadn’t yet said to each other, realizing it had flown out of her mouth.
“Fine.” She threw her hands in the air. “I love you. Are you satisfied now that I’ve washed your freaking dishes, shoveled shit, and now emptied my heart into your stubborn hands? I love you, Wesson Rancourt! I thought I loved Nolan, but it didn’t feel like this. This is . . . I can’t even describe it. It’s like, I can feel this open space ahead of us—it’s flexible and full of so much happiness, happiness I didn’t even know existed. You told me to adjust my expectations, so I have. Now what are you gonna do about it?”
Wes’s eyes softened and he wrapped one arm around her waist. His hand traced a line from her temple to her chin. But still he said nothing. His fingers lingered as she filled the tense air with more words.
“C’mon, Wes. This is me. I’m not Cyndi and you aren’t Nolan. I don’t want to leave your side, but you can’t leave mine either. If we’re gonna do this, we have to do it together. Adventures taken together, not apart, remember?”
He nodded, cupping her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers with an urgency she hadn’t felt in all her years. Immediately he deepened the kiss. Flooded with relief and excitement, Whitney jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.
“I love you, Whitney,” he murmured before kissing her again. “I love you.”
“Oh, thank God.” She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me?”
“I was hoping you’d come. That I was wrong about everything. And I was. But I had to know for sure. I had to know you were the woman I thought you were before I walked into that break room.” Wes hugged her tightly, pressing the tips of his fingers into the small of her back. “I guess we both have to adjust our expectations.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “I guess we do. So what now?”
“Now we clean ourselves up, have dinner with my folks, and get on the next flight back to Los Angeles.”
Whitney pulled back. “You mean you’re coming back?”
“Damn right, I am. There’s no way I’m letting Charlie Hutchins go to the finals.”
“Oh, thank God!”
Wes raised one eyebrow. “But on one condition.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she tipped her chin and raised her eyebrows, accepting the challenge. “Name it.”
“You take Saul’s offer and host the show. You can’t squander this opportunity, I won’t let you. If we need to keep our distance, so be it.”
“Let me deal with Saul.”
“So is that a deal?” Wes asked.
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. She was surprised when he pulled away quickly.
“All right, then, let’s get you in the shower, Hollywood.” Wes raised both eyebrows playfully and hoisted her over his shoulder, smacking her square in the ass. “You’re starting to stink up the place!”
“Do your worst, Cowboy.” She laughed, her hair dangling toward the ground. “Do your worst.”
Whitney’s knee bobbed rapidly beneath the conference room table early on Monday morning. She was waiting for Saul to arrive and the anxiety was threatening to get the best of her. Chris was seated across from her, like he had been just days before.
“Why can’t you just tell me your decision, Whit? Why the secrecy?”
“There’s no secrecy, I just want to tell you at the same time.”
“Ugh.” Chris rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Nothing good ever started that way.”
“Not true. Just be patient.”
“Says the woman who hasn’t stopped moving since she got here,” he teased, eyeing her fingers tapping against the table.
“Shut it.” She avoided his prying eyes, knowing he’d be able to break her resolve and get her to spill her guts. And she didn’t want that to happen. She had to be smart.
Saul, looking flustered, walked in holding a tray from Starbucks. “I know, I know, I’m late. Here you go. Your assistant said you like Americanos.”
He placed the steaming cups in front of Whitney. Chris’s mouth hung open. Saul Greenberg didn’t bring coffee to anyone. And he certainly didn’t take the time to find out an employee’s beverage of choice . . .
Maybe this will go just fine after all.
“All right, young lady, let’s end the suspense.” Saul plopped into his chair, grabbing one of the cups.
Whitney cleared her throat. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, gentlemen. And the truth is, I’m interested. I’d love to host.”
“Excellent!” Saul boomed, rising to his feet. “Let’s draw up the papers.”
“Wait,” Whitney interrupted, gesturing for Saul to sit back down. “There’s one condition.”
“Oh no,” Chris muttered. “I was waiting for that.”
“It’s Wes.”
“Wait.” Chris sat up straight, his eyes wild. “You said he was back. He’s back, isn’t he?”
“Back?” Saul looked confused. “What do
you mean, ‘back’?”
“Um . . .” Whitney took a breath. “Wes had to go home for the weekend. They needed him at the ranch, but he’s already returned. He’s in makeup right now.”
Chris released a dramatic sigh, sitting back, pressing a hand to his heart. Saul still looked puzzled.
“You’ve lost me,” he said, shaking his head, looking at the ceiling.
“I’m in love with Wes. We’re, um, we’re a couple, and I won’t deny him. So I can’t sign your contract, not as it stands.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m asking you to remove the nonfraternization clause. I understand why it’s there, but the idea of pretending he and I aren’t a couple is . . . well, it’s not something I’m willing to do.”
Saul drummed his fingers on the table. “I see.”
Her heart pounded furiously.
Stay strong, Whitney. You’ve gotta follow your gut.
“I would never flaunt it. On set, I’ll be completely, one hundred percent professional and I won’t treat him any differently than the other three finalists. But off-set, my personal life is my own business and I won’t pretend. I’ve waited far too many years to meet someone like him and I’m not about to give him up. Not for a job, not for anything.”
“I respect your moxie, Bartolina,” Saul said. Sweat built on her neck as she tried to interpret that statement. But Saul had the best poker face in the business.
“Thank you, sir.”
“What if we modify the clause?”
Yes, yes, yes. Let’s modify the crap of out of it!
She wanted to smile, but stayed professional. Her foot, however, continued to bob underneath the table as she awaited the possible modification. “I’m all ears.”
“If your clause only pertained to on-set behavior, it sounds like you’d be open to that, yes?”
“Definitely. On set, he’s a contestant, but when we wrap for the day, I can’t be held to a standard or a contract. I have to have my life.”
Saul said nothing, but nodded along, his lips pressed into a thin line. He extended his hand and Whitney’s body flooded with relief. “You got yourself a deal, young lady.”
She wanted to jump up and down, jump over the table, and hug Saul with all her strength. Instead, she offered a modest smile and simply said, “Thank you, sir.”
“On behalf of the network, let me just say this pleases me immensely. You know I never liked that Rivera character, but his stunt on Friday?”
Why on earth was he bringing up Nolan? “Yeah?”
“It couldn’t have worked out better,” he said. “The timing was serendipitous.”
“What do you mean?”
“People know your name now, Whitney. And when they see you on their television screens in a few months, they’ll remember you. That works in our benefit like you wouldn’t believe.”
Saul was right. She remembered the airport employee who recognized her name immediately. She hadn’t given that young woman much thought, until now.
“But I said no to Nolan. Won’t that be a bad thing?”
“Doesn’t matter. He brought you into the fray. And if my predictions are correct, he just landed us killer numbers for the premiere. Even our announcement in Us Weekly will get a boost. So long, Jameson; hello, Whitney! Everyone will be curious about the woman who turned down one of the biggest movie stars in the world. The ratings will be through the roof.”
That explains the Americano in my hand.
“Sounds like one heck of a silver lining, sir.”
“I’ll say.” Saul grinned, raising his cup to Whitney. “Now get yourself to makeup. We’ve got a show to film.”
I never thought I’d say this, but thank you, Nolan.
Whitney knew the results before she read them from the envelope in her hand. Saul and Chris were quite clear with their plan, but still she was nervous.
Keep it together. Be objective, impartial.
“And now, America, it’s time to find out who our last two cooks will be. Are you ready, finalists?”
The four contestants stood next to her, facing the judges’ table. “Our two finalists are . . .” Slowly, Whitney opened the envelope, gave a generic smile to the camera, and read the two names. “Joe Brez.” She paused for the applause that editing would add in later. “And Wes Rancourt.”
Coralee hugged both men, but Charlie stood silently, staring straight ahead with his lips pressed tight. Whitney continued, following the teleprompter. “Coralee, Charlie, congratulations on making it this far, but unfortunately it’s time for you to leave the competition.”
Coralee thanked Whitney and waved to the cameras as she walked off stage. Charlie, however, walked past Whitney, mumbling, “This is bollocks.”
Chris moved one finger around and around in the air, instructing the cameras to keep rolling as Charlie stormed toward the exit, whipping his apron off, then stopped at Wes’s station and rammed his arms across the stovetop, sending several pots and pans crashing to the floor. Melinda gasped from the judges’ table as Saul smiled wide. Whitney remained calm and stoic, knowing that editing would have a field day with Charlie’s exit.
Once he’d left the soundstage, she continued, shaking hands with Wes and Joe, and directing her attention back to the camera.
“That’s all for tonight, folks. Once again, I’m Whitney Bartolina. Join us next week for the final round, where either Joe or Wes will win The Great American Cook-Off.”
“And cut!” Chris yelled from the sidelines. “Thanks, guys. I don’t think we’ll need another take. Be back tomorrow, bright and early. Read your call sheets for specifics.”
Wes and Joe shook the hands of the judges before joining Whitney at the center of the stage.
“That Hutchins is something else, huh?” Joe asked, looking off-stage. “He just couldn’t keep it together.”
“Spoiled sport.” Whitney shrugged. “But the two best cooks are standing right here. Congrats, guys.”
“Thank you,” Wes said, then extended a hand to Joe. “Your show will be a huge success, Joe.”
Joe narrowed his eyes in confusion and Whitney resisted the urge to tip her hand. She couldn’t let Joe know she was in on Wes’s plan. “What?”
“Well, the best cook is gonna win. And in my opinion, that’s you.”
“Huh,” Joe said, a half smile on his face as he glanced around the soundstage. “Well, I can’t say I agree with that, but thanks. May the best man win.”
The men shook hands before parting ways. Whitney stayed on set with Chris to uphold her deal with Saul. But when she heard slams coming from the hallway, she eyed the producer. She’d told herself she’d let things go with Charlie, but it was impossible. She had one last chance to confront him before she would (hopefully) never see him again. Chris knew exactly what she wanted to do.
“Leave it alone, Whit. He’s not worth it.”
She narrowed her eyes, staring down the hallway, hearing Charlie screaming in the distance. She couldn’t let him off the hook after the stunt he pulled in the break room.
“Yeah, but I am. And so is Wes.”
Chris threw his hands in the air, teasing her. “Fine, whatever. I’ve lost control of everything anyway.”
“You’ll be fine, Geldermann. I’ll find you in a minute.”
Whitney took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her neck. She was ready for a fight.
She found Charlie in his dressing room, screaming at Sheila.
“Are you kidding me with this shite? That bloody cowboy got his hooks in—”
He stopped abruptly when Whitney slammed the door behind her and placed both hands on her hips. Charlie’s nostrils flared and he tossed a hand towel to the floor, daggers in his eyes pointed right at Whitney. “Well, look who it is.”
“Sheila, will you give us a minute?” Whitney asked in her most confident voice. Sheila nodded and left the room.
Charlie sat in his makeup chair,
crossing his arms in defiance. “What do you want?”
“So . . . you thought you had it in the bag, huh?”
“Honestly?” he asked with a wicked smirk, his dark hair hanging across his forehead. “Yeah, I did. Those judges really mucked it up.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. If you ask me, they’re sending home a lying weasel who didn’t deserve to be here in the first place.”
Charlie rose from his chair and stalked toward Whitney. Her pulse raced. “That’s not what you thought when I was fucking you in Chicago.” He closed his eyes and raised his voice several octaves, imitating her in the bedroom. “Oohh, yes, harder, harder. Give it to me, Charlie.”
“You’re a piece of garbage, you know that?” Whitney stayed strong. “But at least I finally know who the real Charlie is.”
He gritted his teeth “And who is that?”
“A liar, a cheat, and one hell of an actor. You actually had me fooled, you know that? The chair-throwing, the tears . . . you had me convinced I broke your heart.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed. “You were a means to an end, love. No more, no less. I did enjoy fucking you, though. You were an ace in the sack.”
She shook her head, letting his smug attitude roll off her back. “I’m so glad I didn’t waste any more time on you.”
Charlie walked around her and lowered his voice, talking softly into her ear. “Did you tell the cowboy you like it rough?”
She crossed her arms and responded with a sardonic laugh. “I told him everything, Charlie. I have nothing to hide.”
“How lovely.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now you can ride off into the sunset, I suppose.”
Whitney smiled. “Possibly. And what about you?
“I’ve only just begun, love.” He winked an icy blue eye and Whitney’s stomach churned. She grimaced, knowing that just a few months prior, that wink would’ve had a completely different effect on her.
“Audiences will hate you. Is that what you wanted?”
He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
If You Can't Take the Heat Page 27