If You Can't Take the Heat Read online

  Also by Melissa Brown

  Red Carpet Kiss

  Love of My Life series

  Bouquet Toss

  Champagne Toast

  Picturing Perfect

  Unwanted Stars

  The Compound series

  Wife Number Seven

  His Only Wife

  Mother Before Wife

  Sorority of Three: Freshman 101

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Melissa Brown

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503950702

  ISBN-10: 1503950700

  Cover design by Michael Rehder

  For all of the beautiful, strong women in my life.

  Thank you for your inspiration and support.

  Always.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt: RED CARPET KISS

  About the Author

  Whitney didn’t want to roll over in bed. If she did, she knew exactly what—or, more precisely, who—she’d find. She could hear the familiar sound of his soft snores into her pillow, feel his warm breath tickling the skin at the base of her neck. She pinched her eyes tight and bit into her bottom lip. She used to find his snore endearing . . . Nolan Rivera was an international celebrity worshiped around the globe by women and men alike but his snore (among his other many quirks) brought him back down to earth. Whitney used to love having him here, in her home, by her side, next to her in bed. But now . . . well, now that sound was as frustrating as he was, and she scolded herself for allowing him back into her life . . . again.

  She blamed the cocktails.

  The past eight months were the longest she’d gone without Nolan in her bed since they’d first hooked up two years prior. They’d spent countless hours fighting over just about anything under the sun, then reconciling with intense lovemaking in the back of limousines, on the corner of her desk, and inside his dressing room shower. But after months of incredibly hot sex, she’d been humiliated to find out he was still sleeping with his costar, and ex-girlfriend, Gina Romano. Whitney had ended things immediately, but Nolan was a stubborn man with determination like nothing she had ever experienced. So every few months he’d pry his way back into her heart, convincing her that he belonged only to her, that he was a changed man, blah blah blah.

  And she always went back.

  Even though she knew better.

  He was Nolan and he’d always be Nolan no matter how much he tried to be someone else—someone Whitney deserved. His selfish nature ruled everything in his life, and as hard as Whitney had tried in the past, she just couldn’t trust him. Something in the pit of her stomach sensed that Nolan, despite his proclamations, and the many leaves he’d claimed to have turned over, would never be someone she could be with in the long term.

  And so, again and again, she’d pull away. Nolan would grow angry at her defiance, storm out, insisting she’d change her mind or he’d be done. Then, months later, he’d ease his way back in. Her best friend, Elle, would shake her head and patiently wait for Whitney to come to her senses.

  With each separation, Whitney was able to go just a little bit longer without Nolan, the man who could make her knees wobble in the bedroom and her stomach growl in the kitchen. Aside from his acting skills, he was a masterful cook who loved to spoil Whitney with exotic dishes and delectable desserts. Since she enjoyed food almost as much as sex, she was easily captivated by his talents.

  Whitney turned to look at him and contemplated slinking out of his embrace just as his arm tightened around her belly, pulling her closer.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  His voice was husky, deep, and entirely too sexy for her to handle.

  Damn that voice . . .

  Whitney had made the giant mistake of allowing overconfidence to settle in her brain. She thought that after eight months, she’d kicked her habit once and for all, but fate (if Whitney believed in such a thing) was a deceptive bitch. It was as if he had a radar detecting her growing indifference toward him. When she finally felt strong enough to lower her defenses, that was when he would insert himself back into her life and she would be, once again, blindsided by his charm.

  Like all of the other times she’d fallen off the Nolan wagon, he’d arrived tan, handsome, and confident, rattling off proclamations of love and devotion—that he was nothing without her and that he’d never stray again if she would give him just one more chance. He was fresh from a six-week film shoot in the south of France and his already-tan skin glowed as he’d strolled into her favorite martini bar, Raspberry Moon. Whitney and her sister, Roslyn, had been sharing a decadent slice of turtle cheesecake when she saw him. A mixture of hesitation and desire competed for control of her brain, which was already under the influence of powerful cocktails.

  Desire won. Obviously.

  “Morning,” she responded, clearing her throat. “Coffee?”

  “Mmm hmm,” Nolan murmured into the toned muscles of her back. “Maybe after a workout?”

  One thing Whitney missed about their relationship was their exercise ritual. They were strict and supportive running partners, even completing a half-marathon together the previous summer. In happier times, they would wake early each morning, brew a pot of coffee, run for several miles, and return to her place for scrambled eggs and homemade vegetable juice.

  “You know I need coffee before a run,” Whitney said.

  The pads of his fingertips skimmed her shoulder and a shiver ran down her spine. She turned to face Nolan, unable to resist the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She knew what he was thinking before he even said it.

  “I wasn’t talking about running.”

  Yep, nailed it.

  Even though his deep brown eyes showed signs of drowsiness, Nolan was still one of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on. And despite the nagging voice in her head that screamed this was a mistake of epic proportions, she made a snap decision to tune it out and enjoy the moment with Nolan.

  His fingertips eased under her camisole and she pressed her head into the pillow, arching her back to give him better access. Gently he stroked her nipple beneath the soft cotton and she moaned at his touch.

  “God, you’re so sexy,” he whispered before claiming her mouth with his own. Whitney turned and wrapped her leg around his waist and ran her fingers through his tousled hair, pulling on the ends with a firm grip. Nolan liked it rough.

 
; Just as she sank her teeth into his bottom lip, her cell phone rang—and it was a tone she couldn’t ignore.

  Nolan groaned as Whitney pulled her lips from his and rolled to the edge of the bed.

  “I’m sorry, I have to get this. It’s the network.” She cleared her throat before accepting the call. “Whitney Bartolina.”

  “Yes, Whitney, hi. This is Mia from Mr. Greenberg’s office.”

  A shot of adrenaline rang through her belly as she pondered what the head of the network could possibly want.

  “Of course. Hi, Mia.” She attempted to sound professional despite what she and Nolan had just been about to do.

  “Mr. Greenberg would like to schedule an appointment with you this week. What’s your availability?”

  Saul Greenberg wanted a meeting? What the hell was going on?

  Whitney attempted to hide her confusion. She had to remain calm, cool, collected. “I’m flexible.”

  “Will today work? He seems . . . eager.”

  For almost ten years, Whitney had been in the entertainment industry, working her way up from mail-room coordinator to personal assistant and finally to her dream job of casting director for three prime-time, award-winning television dramas. Saul Greenberg was the president of the network and a force to be reckoned with in the world of television. He was a gruff man who focused on the bottom line in all situations, and a meeting with him could be the best or worst of your career, depending on your productivity. Whitney had discovered several new actors, launching their careers—including Luke Kingston, Elle’s husband, and Nolan Rivera himself. Her gut told her this meeting was nothing to fear, but apprehension took hold of her just the same.

  Whitney paused and took a deep breath, shaking off her insecurities. “Sure. What time?”

  “Eleven? He has a lunch meeting, but I can squeeze you in before he leaves.”

  Whitney glanced at the clock. She had four hours to stress over this impending meeting.

  “Sounds great,” she said, attempting to sound casual.

  She pressed End on her phone and placed it back on the nightstand, immediately bringing one fingertip to her mouth and nibbling nervously on the already shortened nail. It was a horrible habit and she knew it, but it was something she always did in times of indecision or stress. She reached with her other hand to open her nightstand drawer and search for candy.

  Even though Whitney attempted to eat well and exercise consistently, candy was her vice. It helped her through stressful times.

  Nolan rolled to his side and pressed his elbow into the mattress. Whitney glanced in his direction. She loved when he leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, peering at her, especially when he was naked. And he was naked often.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She rummaged through the drawer, but couldn’t find anything to ease her anxiety. “Just a meeting.”

  “But you’re looking for candy.”

  Whitney gritted her teeth at the candy-less drawer and closed it harshly, turning her attention to Nolan.

  “So?”

  “So . . .” His eyes widened. “Something’s up.”

  “It’s nothing. I have to meet with Saul.”

  Nolan cringed and wrinkled his nose. “Yikes.”

  “Thanks a lot. That’s so comforting.”

  “I’m sorry, doll.” He laughed, sat up, and pulled her back to rest on top of his bare chest. “What’s the meeting about?”

  Whitney was surprised. Normally, their conversations revolved around his career, his meetings, his opportunities—not Whitney’s. She was used to their dynamic, but welcomed the sudden interest in her career.

  “No idea, but I’m trying not to freak out.” Whitney shook her head. She could feel his arousal beneath the sheets as his hand roamed to stroke her beneath her panties.

  “C’mon, Whit, I’ll help you relax.”

  “You’re a pig.” She laughed under her breath, feeling herself being pulled into his casual seduction.

  “I’m your pig.”

  Whitney chose to ignore that statement. She smiled, tossed her long dark tresses behind her shoulders, and straddled the man beneath her. An altogether smug smile crossed his face as her knees pressed into the soft sheets and her hands rested on his chest.

  A little stress relief couldn’t hurt, she told herself as she stripped herself of her camisole, then tossed it to the floor.

  There was just something about Nolan Rivera.

  Something sexy.

  Something irresistible.

  And as much as she hated to admit it, something addictive.

  Seriously?” Whitney’s mouth was agape as she stared across Saul Greenberg’s expansive mahogany desk. She knew it was a terribly unprofessional response to his proposal, but she couldn’t help it. He stunned her in the best way possible.

  “As a heart attack,” the stocky head of the network replied, scratching at his chin. A smug smile crossed his round face and he tipped his forehead to Whitney. “Is that a yes?”

  “Um, I mean, I have some questions first, if that’s okay.”

  “Certainly.” He pressed his lips together and nodded. “It’s unlike anything we’ve done before, but that’s exactly the reason we’re doing it. We want to shake things up and reality shows are still huge. The Food Network’s ratings are through the roof and we need to cash in on that, grab some of those viewers. Not to mention, if you can grab us some of those ratings, there could be quite the bonus in it for you.”

  Well, that certainly got her attention. “What kind of bonus, sir?”

  “Thirty thousand if we reach number three in the timeslot. Get us to number one and I’ll sweeten the pot even more.”

  Thirty thousand dollars? Holy shit!

  Whitney’s mind raced with the possibilities for the money. She cleared her throat. “Shouldn’t that be reserved for the producer of the project?”

  “Of course, they’ll have incentives as well. But this is a talent-based project. I need the best contestants to get those ratings.”

  Whitney’s brain buzzed with the opportunity Saul had presented her. A new culinary reality show was on the docket for the fall schedule, and Whitney had been chosen to spearhead the casting calls in ten major cities across the US searching for the next outstanding chef—one worthy of his or her own cooking show on daytime television.

  “Who am I looking for exactly?” With all of her years in the business, she knew this competition wouldn’t be based solely on culinary skill. Personality, confidence, and swagger were just as important to an audience—a competitor would need to impress the judges and dazzle the audience with charm.

  “Great question.” Saul rose from his leather chair and walked around the large desk, making himself comfortable in the seat next to Whitney. “Of course they need to be extraordinary in the kitchen.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “But you know better than anyone that personality is key. We’re looking for star power.”

  “And you think I can find that?”

  Saul crossed his arms over this bulky chest and narrowed his dark eyes. “I know you can.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know, it’s a lot of travel . . .” Whitney wrinkled her forehead and scrunched her nose as she spoke, her eyes taking a quick stroll around the room. Playing hard to get may not have been the best strategy, but it had served her well over the years. Make them want you.

  “C’mon, Whitney. You’re the best in the business. We can’t do this without you.”

  That compliment was in no way lost on Whitney. Saul was a shrewd and brilliant businessman—doling out flattery wasn’t something he was known for. If this man offered you a compliment and the job of a lifetime¸ you took them both. Period.

  Whitney cleared her throat and raised her chin. “When do I leave?”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Saul stood and leaned against his desk. “My secretary will provide you with all the details. All of your expenses will be comped, o
f course, and you’ll choose your staff of production assistants.”

  “And the producer?”

  “Chris Geldermann.”

  Whitney breathed an audible sigh of relief and immediately regretted it. Normally she wasn’t one to tip her hand, but Chris was at the top of his game. Not only that, he was also a kind, professional family man who had never hit on her inside or outside of the workplace. She respected him. Technically, her producer was not her boss—they both answered directly to Saul, but the relationship between a casting director and a producer was an important one. Whitney was hoping for a smooth experience, and with Geldermann, she was confident that would be exactly what she’d have.

  Saul chuckled under his breath. “Glad you approve.”

  “Sorry, it’s just . . .” Whitney considered being transparent with Saul, but something in her gut told her it’d be a mistake to open herself up in that way. “Let’s just say that Chris is an excellent choice.”

  And he was. Whitney had worked with many producers over the years, each with his or her own inconsistencies and flaws. Thankfully she hadn’t ended up with a philandering pig like Rick Allanson, who’d slept with half the upcoming actresses on the network’s dramas. He’d hit on Whitney more times than she could count, so the idea of traveling the country with him made her stomach churn. Whitney was no prude. She was proud of her sexuality and could handle dirty jokes and other politically incorrect behavior from her male coworkers, but Rick was smarmy and gross—not someone she’d ever consider inviting to her bed. Or someone like Loren Quigley, Saul’s protégé—and niece—a classic micromanager who breathed down Whitney’s neck during casting sessions and meetings. Loren overanalyzed every actor’s abilities to no end, and often overruled Whitney’s choices. No, thank you.

  “When should I be ready? Where do we start?”

  “First casting call is June first in Nashville, so that gives you time to finish casting the new fall shows.”

  “Got it.” Whitney was grateful for the breathing room. Elle, the creator of two primetime dramas Follow the Sun and Give Me Shelter, needed her to cast supporting roles for both upcoming seasons. With just over two months to complete that casting, she knew she could get it done without Elle getting nervous or feeling slighted. Not to mention, she’d never been to Nashville. She pictured herself wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer next to a burly country and western singer with blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’d call her up to the stage and serenade her under the bright hot lights as the crowd cheered. Hours and several empty bottles of beer later, they’d go back to her hotel room . . .