by Stacy Finz
“I’m making short ribs. Your beef, my recipe.”
“What about LA? ChefAid?” She appeared to be in a good mood, which seemed odd given her situation. He’d kept up. There was nothing to celebrate.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. Damned reporters found my hotel and chased me to work every day.”
He noted she hadn’t answered the real question. “Are you out of a job?”
“I own the frigging company, Sawyer.”
“What about the rest of it?”
“ChefAid dumped me…or at least it’s in the midst of dumping me. The company’s signing Candace.”
“And you know this how?”
She teared up, trying to pretend it was from the onions. “They told my lawyer and canceled our meeting next week. I’m only guessing about Candace. But, come on. It’s got to be her. As far as my show, I don’t know yet. FoodFlicks isn’t returning my agent’s calls. So, you tell me.”
He cocked his hip against the counter. “You have a plan?”
“Yep,” she said, trying to hold it together. But she was cracking. He could see the fission marks all over her face.
“Rebuild,” she continued. “Make a new pilot. I was sick of the Italian shtick anyway. Ancestry.com says there’s not a lick of Italian in me. Adopted, remember?”
He nodded. “Have you given up on proving that the story about you and Clay is a sham?”
“What the hell’s the point? My reputation is in the toilet, my revenues are in the toilet, and I hate these people. I hate them, Sawyer. I hate them so much.” She pressed her face against the wall and her body heaved with silent tears.
He pushed off the counter and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry.”
“Easy for you to say.” She wiped her nose on the front of his shirt. “Everything I did…all the hard work…gone.”
“You ever hear the saying ‘There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself’?” His lips hovered over her hair. “You’ll come back bigger and better.”
“Maybe. Or maybe that was my one shot, my fifteen minutes, and now it’s over. For good.”
“Nah, you’re too talented. And, Gina?” He gently grasped her chin and lifted her face so their eyes met. “The truth will eventually come out. You’ll be vindicated.”
“Yeah, when I’m like ninety.” She sniffled.
He ripped a paper towel from the holder and held it to her nose. “Blow.”
She tilted her head and gave him a look.
He laughed. “I guess that came out…uh…not right.”
Gina took the towel from him and wiped her watery eyes and then her nose. “You’re a good friend, Sawyer Dalton.”
For some inexplicable reason the word friend stuck in his craw. They were more than goddamn friends. To prove it, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her until he lost control. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until now.
She was into it too, kissing him back with a fervor that belied mere friendship. Her hands slipped into his back pockets and pulled him closer until they were grinding into each other, hungrily.
He angled her head and took the kiss deeper as he touched her breasts through her T-shirt. Her nipples hardened through the soft fabric and a growl escaped his mouth. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so much he could feel himself straining against the fly of his jeans.
She ran her fingers over the stubble on his chin. It was more tender than sexual, but the gesture made him hot just the same.
“You want to take this to the bedroom?” He started backing her out of the kitchen.
“Mm-hmm.” She moved her hands under his shirt, lightly touching his stomach and he shuddered in a breath.
They didn’t waste any time once they got to his room, tearing off their boots, shoes, and clothing. He pushed her down onto the bed and fell on top of her. She felt so good, everything about her. Her soft, damp skin. The hot pull of her mouth. The way she arched under him, silently begging for more.
She grabbed his hips and pulled him harder against her, crushing her breasts against his chest. He kissed his way down her neck to her chest, then, one at a time, rolled her nipples between his lips.
Her head thrashed against the pillow as she grabbed fistfuls of the top sheet while he spread her legs wide with his knee.
“You ready for me?” He touched her and found her already wet. “Oh, yeah, baby,” he whispered in her ear, his chest expanding at the knowledge that he could do this to her. That he could make her so damned aroused.
He slid open the nightstand drawer and blindly searched for a condom. When he had it on, he entered her in one hard thrust. She called out, moaning his name in satisfaction, then thrusting up to meet him stroke for stroke.
He thought about her dancing in the kitchen, her body moving to the beat of the music. Her ass shaking and he nearly came.
“Let’s slow it down for a second.” He held her hips still while he moved slowly inside of her.
“Don’t want to.” She shook his hands away and tried to roll him under her, but he wouldn’t let her.
“I want to make it last. I want it to be good for you.” He kissed her neck.
She turned her head to the side to give him better access. “I…”
“What?” he whispered.
“Nothing. It’s just so good.”
The best he’d ever had. Because of her, because of the way he felt about her.
With one hand, he held her arms above her head and began to thrust harder, simultaneously working her with his fingers. She squirmed against him, panting and trying to break her hands free. He let them loose and she gripped his shoulders, bucking wildly against him.
“Oh, Sawyer…Sawyer.”
He kept kissing her. Her face, her lips, her throat.
“I’m—I’m—” She shuddered before she could get the words out. Her breathing quickened and her muscles clenched, and Sawyer felt her climax.
He bent her knees up so that her feet were flat on the bed and went deeper. Harder. Within a few seconds he was lost in the euphoric feeling of his own release.
He collapsed on top of her. Though completely sated, he wished their lovemaking had lasted longer. But once enveloped inside her warmth, he’d been unable to hold back. Sawyer was surprised he’d made it as long as he had.
He rolled her on top of him to save her from his weight and cushioned her head against his chest. They just lay that way. It was different than any time with her before or with anyone, for that matter. It felt permanent. Right.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” she said.
He hitched his brows and his mouth curved into a half-smile. “Good thing. I’d hate to be dead.”
She traced a line down his chest with her finger. “Thank you, I needed that.”
And just like that the spell was broken. He rolled to the other side of the bed, angry. “Glad I could oblige.” Maybe next time he could get her a blowup doll.
He hung his legs off the bed, crossed the room to the bathroom, got rid of the condom, and took a quick shower. Afterward, he found Gina in the kitchen, stirring her short ribs.
His phone rang and he was thankful for the distraction, because he had been about to say something to Gina that he probably would’ve regretted. Something to the tune of “I’m not your fuck buddy.”
Chapter 19
Conflicted didn’t even begin to describe the way Sawyer twisted Gina into knots. She was falling so deep for him, she was drowning. With everything else going on in her life, she couldn’t deal with any more noise.
Then why the hell did you sleep with him?
Because he made her feel things she’d never felt before. Like she was more than her fictional TV persona. More than someone who was constantly trying to prove herself to the universe. More than the loser deep down inside she�
��d always feared she was.
But she couldn’t let herself fall in love with him. When the time came to give her heart to someone, she would have to be back on top. Not needy and in a position of weakness.
Sawyer turned off the music, took his call into the bedroom, and shut the door. The only sounds in the house were the hum of the air-conditioner and the gurgle of the short rib juices in the Dutch oven.
She couldn’t hear Sawyer’s telephone conversation and assumed it had something to do with his work or the ranch. Alone with her thoughts, she thought about what he’d said.
“There is nothing stronger than a broken woman who has rebuilt herself.”
She rolled the quote around in her head. She’d never heard it before, but glommed onto it like an anthem.
It would be tough to win back an audience with the rumors still swirling, especially while the beloved Candace played the victim. But eventually, people would realize that she hadn’t run off into the sunset with Danny Clay and that the man was conspicuously absent from her life.
Little by little they’d forget. By then, Gina would have her house in order. A new pilot to sell to the networks and new brands to represent. This time, she wanted her names on the products and licensing rights.
Lord knew she had the money to make all these things happen. She just had to work hard and have patience. But she couldn’t do that from the ranch, even if the idea of leaving hollowed out her insides.
Tomorrow, she planned to talk to Wendy about getting the paparazzi off her back. She’d even be willing to hold a press conference if it meant she could be rid of the hacks and live in peace.
Sawyer returned to the kitchen, breaking into her thoughts.
“That was Paolo Renato from Eater.” He waited to see if she recognized the name. When she nodded—everyone in her world knew Paolo Renato—he continued, “There’s a rumor that Danny Clay set the whole thing up when he found out his wife was divorcing him. Apparently, she’d always been jealous of your success and Danny wanted to stick the knife in. Humiliate her in public. But it backfired, because he’s out of a job and it’s a PR nightmare. FoodFlicks wants nothing to do with him. Paolo says he can’t corroborate the story, but it’s spreading through the food industry faster than a California wildfire.
“It explains the texts and the dick pic. How easy. He uses one of those fake-message apps to make it look like you two are having a text conversation, then, through one of his minions, leaks it to the press.”
“Danny?” She couldn’t believe it. He’d seemed as surprised as her when the story had first broken. “Is Paolo working on nailing it down?”
“Everyone is, according to Renato. For the tabloids this new revelation would give the story a second news cycle. For the mainstream media this is legitimate news. A celebrity capsizing an innocent person’s career is no joke. I’d like to help Paolo get it first. Eater is reputable.”
“Are you kidding? It’s one of the few food publications that’s read by both the general public and the industry. It would go a long way to absolving me. But how? Unless Danny confesses, I don’t see any way of verifying that it was him.”
“I sent Renato the duplicate photo of Candace and Danny,” Sawyer said. “Made him promise our conversation was off the record. You need to call my mom. Tell her that I talked to Paolo and that he wants the story.”
“I will. But Sawyer, do you think it’s strange that Danny would put himself at such risk like that? Why would he make himself look like a cheater? How would that buy him anything?”
“Revenge against Candace for divorcing him. You’re younger, more successful. He wanted to mortify her in the public eye.” Sawyer hitched his shoulders. “Hell, cops say marriage alone is a motive for murder. Twenty-five to life has never been much of a career starter. Yet, people kill their spouses all the time. He was probably so blinded by rage he didn’t think about the consequences.”
She supposed he was right but what an awful extreme to go to. And to take Gina with him. That was the part that angered her the most.
“I’ll call your mom. Thank you for contacting Paolo.”
He didn’t respond. After sex he’d grown distant. She started to ask him about it when his phone rang again.
He answered and handed her the phone. “Speak of the devil.”
She gave him a quizzical look and took his cell from him. It was Wendy. Gina told her about Sawyer’s latest revelation and put the phone on speaker. They all talked at once.
“I’m hearing the same thing,” Wendy said. “But at this juncture it’s just idle gossip, nothing to work with.”
“What about holding a press conference? I could say I don’t know who fabricated the story, but it’s not true. Show the original photo of Candace and Danny on the beach. Tell them that regardless of whether they believe me or not, Danny and I are not engaged, dating, or otherwise involved.”
“We could’ve done that weeks ago, Gina. Until we can give a corroborated version of the true story, what does it buy you? Nothing. It only draws more attention to the negative story.”
Gina looked at Sawyer to see if he agreed with his mother. Poker face. He either approved of Wendy’s advice or didn’t want to get in the middle.
“Okay, but I can’t stay here forever. The rest of my business is flailing without me.”
“Give me a couple of days to see if I can at least calm things down here as far as the media situation, throw them the Danny rumor. Let them chase him for a while,” Wendy said.
“I’ll start packing.” This time, Gina knew she’d be leaving for good.
* * * *
The next day, Gina hiked across the ranch to Aubrey and Charlie’s store and studio. A month ago, she’d despised the place: the dust, the ticks, the cows, and the log cabin.
She still wouldn’t call herself a country girl, but Dry Creek Ranch had come to hold a special place in her heart. Even the cabin had grown on her, or at least it had lost some of its creepiness. The view outside her window might not be the Pacific Ocean, but the creek and endless skyline of mountain peaks were breathtaking. And the peacefulness of the ranch had wrapped itself around her like a soft blanket. But it was the people, most of all that, she’d come to love.
One in particular.
She stopped to catch her breath and leaned against a tree trunk, knowing that she’d broken her self-imposed rule. She’d let Sawyer in too deep and now he was embedded in her soul. She tried to fool herself into believing that a 500-mile separation wasn’t that far and they could still see each other. But intellectually she knew they were doomed—like all her relationships. There wasn’t space in her life for a full-time man, nor did she have the emotional wherewithal to make the room.
She pushed herself off the tree, emphatic that the two of them weren’t meant to be and kept walking until she reached the old barn. Charlie was busy showing two women a farm table made from reclaimed barn wood. Gina quickly ducked into Aubrey’s office, sight unseen.
Aubrey waved, pointed to the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder, and made the crazy sign with her finger.
“Laney, calm down. She’s right here.” Aubrey handed the phone to Gina and mouthed “Good luck.”
“What’s going on?” Gina asked on full alert, afraid that the paparazzi had discovered her hiding place and had descended on the coffee shop.
“I need you to get your tiny butt down here. Jimmy Ray has the flu and I’ve got a party of thirty-eight due at one o’clock. It’s Tiffany’s birthday lunch and I ain’t canceling it.”
“You want me to cook?” Gina asked, confused. Why did everyone assume that the title “chef” meant she’d worked in a restaurant kitchen?
Her first job out of culinary school had been in the kitchen of Steven Spielberg and Kate Capshaw’s home, making healthful meals for their family. It had been a plum job, because in LA it wasn’t wha
t you knew, it was who you knew.
She’d gone straight from the Spielberg home to FoodFlicks, never once interning under a restaurant chef or even flipping burgers at a fast-food joint.
“Yes, I want you to cook,” Laney trilled on the other end of the phone. “I’m up shit’s creek here without a paddle. Now get movin’, young’un.”
“Laney, I can’t—” There was a dial tone before she could finish her sentence. Gina turned to Aubrey. “She hung up on me.”
Aubrey laughed. “Of course she did. She didn’t want to give you a chance to say no.”
“I don’t want to leave her in the lurch, but…”
“You’re a world-famous chef, not a short-order cook.” Aubrey took the phone from Gina and hit instant redial.
Gina wrestled it away and pressed the end call button before anyone picked up. “I’ll do it.” She could handle thirty-eight people. She’d done dinner parties for the Spielbergs dozens of times, though it had been years. It was like riding a bike, she told herself. Besides, it would be her last hurrah in Dry Creek.
“You’re sure? You certainly don’t have to.”
“No big deal.”
She went home, found her floppy hat and sunglasses, and managed to get to downtown Dry Creek without getting lost. There was a parking space in front of the coffee shop. Instead of going through the front entrance, she slipped through the alley and pounded on the back door.
Laney answered, took one look at Gina’s getup, and rolled her eyes. “No one’s gonna see ya in the kitchen, girl.”
“I had to get here first.” She squeezed past Laney’s ample bosom and came inside. “You’re welcome.”
She looked around the small kitchen, which was hot as hell. It was a far cry from the gleaming stainless-steel restaurant kitchens of her chef friends. Absent the overwhelming smell of cooking oil, it was spick-and-span, she’d give it that.
“Where’s the menu and my mise en place?”
Laney found one of the restaurant’s greasy menus and shoved it in Gina’s hand. “I don’t know what that last thing is.”
