The Fireman Who Loved Me (13 page)

“It’s okay.”

In the past, she would have been furious with her father. But in this case, he hadn’t exactly ruined things. The opposite, really.

She said an awkward good-bye to them both and drove away in a fog. This time, she had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t blame it on wine. She couldn’t blame it on a door. She couldn’t even blame it on him, since she’d been the one to initiate the kiss. Maybe she could blame it on his bare chest, which ought to be illegal, not to mention the tool belt slung around his hips. That sight would be enough to make any woman, no matter how professional, lose control.

Two days until the special. It would be a miracle if she managed to keep her clothes on until then.

T
he day before the taping, Ella stretched out on the chaise by her pool to refresh her tan. She yawned into her cell phone. “Hey there, beautiful,” Ryan was saying. “Saw you on the news last night. You read that story about celebrity moms real well. They should have just kept the camera on you instead of showing all those ugly movie stars.”

“You mean like Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow?” Ella stretched her tiny, toned body. This phone call was boring her to death.

“Yeah, who cares about them? We want us some more Ella Joy, baby.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You go tell that news director to get rid of all that other boring stuff. It just takes away from the main event. You.”

Ryan said all the right things, but still . . . something was missing. After she hung up, Ella crossed one leg over the other and gazed at her frosted-plum toenails. Damn, she felt restless. She was always restless when she wasn’t on the air. She loved the moment when that magic red camera light went on. It meant she could shine the way destiny intended. It meant she could speak, live, to thousands of people, people she didn’t have to listen to.

Not that she wasn’t a “people” person. She preferred being with people. Being alone sucked. What was the point of trying on her new lime-green string bikini if no one was there to tell her how great her ass looked in it, and that she ought to go switch the pink Gucci sunglasses for the white Versace ones? In her dream life she would have an assistant, a stylist, a nutritionist, a manicurist, and so on. That’s what she needed—an entourage. If she had an entourage, she wouldn’t be lounging alone by her pool.

She sauntered back into her house, grabbed the other pair of sunglasses, and poured herself a sugar-free iced tea. Why couldn’t she just relax? She worked hard; she deserved a couple hours of downtime. But her foot kept tapping, and she couldn’t get comfortable on her chaise. Stupid five-hundred-dollar chaise that she’d seen in
InStyle
magazine. If she had an assistant, the girl (or eager gay guy, or hot young stud) would have thoroughly tested it before letting her purchase it.

The thought of a hot young stud made her mind wander to Ryan. He was a sweet guy, gorgeous as a movie star, but the challenge had disappeared. Once he’d fallen for her, he seemed dull. In fact, her life seemed dull. By the end of tomorrow, the Thanksgiving special would be history. She had nothing else to look forward to. Of course, if it turned out well, it could be her ticket to a bigger market.

She flopped back down on her chaise and crossed her perfectly tanned legs, which gleamed like the sand on a Tahitian beach.

She grabbed her cell and dialed her agent. “Don, have you heard anything more about the spot in LA? I heard they’re not renewing that old hag.”

“Ella, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“I sure hope it’s a meeting about my future. I have to get out of here, Don. I belong in Los Angeles. Can’t you call that Everett Malcolm?”

“I have. No go. Won’t even look at your tape. But he had good things to say about someone you work with.”

“Who?”

“Do you know Melissa McGuire? He thinks highly of her. Maybe she can put a good word in for you.”

Furious, she clicked off the phone.
Melissa, Melissa, Melissa
. As if Melissa would ever help her out. She’d already tried to bribe her with a hazelnut latte.

“Ella,” she’d said, “I can’t recommend that place as long as Everett Malcolm is news director. You can’t trust him. He has no conscience. He’s destroyed a lot of people’s careers.”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating because you screwed him and he dumped you.”

Melissa had nearly choked on her biscotti. “You know about that?”

“It’s old news, honey. But that’s not the main point. What about the old hag who’s leaving?”

But Melissa had clammed up. “The only thing I’m going to say is that it’s true Everett dumped me, but I never had sex with him.”

“Maybe that’s why he dumped you.”

“Don’t mess with him, Ella. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ella recrossed her legs and downed her iced tea. Melissa would be no help at all. Unless  . . .

An idea formed. Maybe it was time to get more proactive. All she had to do was get Everett Malcolm to San Gabriel. Once he saw her in person, he’d change his mind.

W
hile she was on the phone with a party rental company, one thought kept running through Melissa’s mind. What had Brody been about to say?

Melissa, how would you like to—?
Like to what? Have dinner? Fly to Paris? Crochet a placemat? She wanted to scream just thinking about it. Had he almost asked her out? If so, why hadn’t he called her later to finish the job? Or maybe it was business-related, something like,
How would you like to interview Vader in his muscle shirt?

One thing she knew—she wanted Brody. She thought about him all the time. Even now, when she was supposed to be arranging for tablecloths and extra card tables, she was thinking about him.
If you really want Brody, why don’t you just go for it? Have a fling. It won’t kill you. No one has to know. No one has to get hurt. Other people do it all the time.
So what if he was recovering from being dumped by his ex-wife? A little sexual healing would be good for him. Good for both of them. So what if they were all wrong for each other? That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other on a physical level.

What if things had gone differently at his house? What if he’d leaned her against the door frame, opened her blouse one slow button at a time, rubbed his thumbs over her nipples? What if he’d traced warm fingertips along the curves of her torso, murmuring, “Touch me. Put your hands on me,” in a rough whisper? What if she’d opened his pants, reached her hand inside, and felt his heavy, burning erection . . . ?

“Miss, did you say you wanted the ivory, or the cream?”

Melissa shook herself out of her fantasy. “What the hell’s the difference?” Her whole body felt flushed and restless. And who was this idiot asking stupid questions on the phone?

“No need for that attitude. It doesn’t make any difference to me what you choose.”

“Sorry. Uh . . . better make them a darker color, white doesn’t look good on camera.” This had to stop before she made some bonehead mistake, she thought as she hung up with Party Central. Maybe she should just get it out of her system. As soon as the special was over, she was going to jump his bones. Where did this madness come from? She’d never even used the phrase “jump his bones” before.
Get a grip
, she ordered herself.

She picked up the phone to call Rodrigo. Twice now she’d had to cancel a meeting with him when some “crisis” came up with the Thanksgiving special. Before she could finish dialing, Loudon stuck his head into her cubicle. She quickly hung up. Was she in trouble?

“I’m hearing good things about the special. You’re shooting tomorrow, right?”

Whew. “Yep. I think it’ll turn out pretty well.”

“I have no doubt. You’re my ace in the hole. My clean-up batter. My consigliere.”

“Are you about to dump another project on me? Because you promised . . .”

“Hang on, tiger. I’m a good guy today. If this special knocks ’em out the way I expect, there’s a new title in it for you.”

“And a raise?” she asked quickly. Titles were a dime a dozen in this business.

“Greedy minx.”

“Stingy penny pincher.”

“We’ll discuss your precious pennies if and when the time comes. Make it sing, Melissa. Make it sing.” And he took his drooping face and streaming eyes back to the dim office that was his natural habitat.

Melissa sat back with a happy sigh. A new title and a raise. Maybe things were finally going her way. Leaving LA for San Gabriel had been a huge step backward, career-wise. But maybe things were finally going to turn around. She’d work like crazy on the special, hold on to her professionalism until it was wrapped, get her promotion, and then jump Brody’s bones. She was beginning to like that phrase.

She forgot all about the call to Rodrigo.

Chapter Thirteen

C
aptain Brody gazed in horror at his normally neat-as-a-pin fire station. He saw a scene of utter chaos, worse than any four-alarm fire. Piles of camera equipment filled the training room. Cables cluttered the floor, technical people snapped at anyone who got in their way. His usually confident, cock-of-the-walk firemen tiptoed around or stood in stunned clusters. He saw Vader try to inch out of the room, only to be scolded by a scruffy man in shorts wheeling a large light.

“Careful! Watch where you’re going, big guy.”

“Sorry,” muttered Vader, and quickly rejoined his comrades. The scruffy man plugged in the light, and suddenly the entire room was filled with a white glare. The firefighters blinked and threw their arms over their eyes. Brody shook his head in disgust. How could his guys, who would run into a burning building, turn into such wimps just because they were going to be on TV?

“Hey!” he called to the lighting guy. “Could you turn that god-awful light off?”

He found himself the subject of a withering stare. “We have to get the lighting set. We’re only two hours from taping.”

“You’re telling me that light is going to be on the whole time?”

“How else is anyone supposed to see anything?”

“We’re supposed to eat dinner with giant lights shining in our eyes?”

The man shrugged. “I’m just the lighting guy. I set the light so Ella looks good, take my paycheck, and go home. Have a beer. You got a problem, talk to someone in charge.” He moved to the opposite side of the room and plugged in another light. The glare doubled.

Brody groaned. He should have known it would be all about making Ella look good. “How much light does it take?”

“We’ll have to play with it. Do you mind?” The man elbowed Brody out of the way.

Brody stepped back, feeling his temper rise. When he’d agreed to this project, he’d been under pressure from the fire department’s public relations officer, who had emphasized the wholesome picture it would present, and the plugs for the Widows and Orphans Fund that the station had agreed to run. He certainly hadn’t imagined anything like this insanity.

Fred bounced into the room and immediately tripped on a cable.

“Captain! Can you believe this? Isn’t it awesome?”

“Find Melissa for me, Stud. Hollywood. I need to talk to her.”

“Sure, I think I just saw her outside.” And he ran off, once again tripping on the cable. Fred was probably the clumsiest of his crew, but that didn’t relieve the TV people of responsibility.

A sudden shriek of feedback made everyone jump. Brody turned to the source, ready to let fly. A skinny blond girl with a ring in her nose was turning knobs on a mixer.

“Sorry, dude,” she muttered as he glared at her.

“Dude?” said Brody, ominously. “How old are you?”

“I’m legal. But I’m not interested, sorry.” She tapped a small microphone, and he jumped again.

“Damn it!” The word blared across the room, and startled faces turned toward him. He looked up to find a big, fuzzy microphone hovering over his head. It was attached to a long pole balanced on the shoulder of a burly man in a tie-dyed T-shirt.

Melissa’s cool voice intervened.

“Hank, get that mic out of the captain’s face, you know better. Dina, there’s no need for the boom mic to be live right now. Turn it off. And someone come tape down this cable, it’s a hazard.” As her crew scrambled to follow her orders, she made her way toward Brody. She looked calm enough to be strolling through a garden party. “Hey there, Captain. Everything’s going great, as you can see.”

“Can I?” He scowled at her. What he really wanted to do was kick the whole lot of them out of his station. Barring that, he could at least yell at the producer. “This is pure chaos. My guys are going to go blind and deaf. You have a thirteen-year-old club kid working for you, and I think she just propositioned me—”

“No way! You’re too vanilla for me,” objected the skinny blonde.

“—and don’t you people have any kind of dress code?”

Melissa seemed unfazed. “They’ll get used to the light. We’re almost done testing audio. Dina is twenty-five, and apparently not interested. And behind-the-scenes people tend to dress however’s most comfortable. They have a tough job. Anyone who thinks TV is glamorous hasn’t seen the way it works.”

“So this is normal?” Brody shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“This is more organized than normal. Come on, I’ll show you the production truck. We’re going to switch and record the show in there.”

“I shouldn’t . . . my guys . . .” He shot a worried glance at his crew, who were now exchanging ogling looks with Dina. But Melissa took his hand, and how could he resist that? He followed her through the tangle of lights and cables.

“That’s Greg behind the camera, he’s the best cameraman this side of the Mississippi.” She blew a kiss at the young cameraman, a dead ringer for Kobe Bryant. Brody found he didn’t like seeing one of her kisses aimed anywhere but toward him. He scowled, which she seemed to misinterpret. “I know this part’s boring, but we’ll be getting started soon.”

“I don’t think they’re bored. Bedazzled is more like it.” Her hand felt good in his, soft and cool. Too bad she dropped it when they reached the production truck. A crew of two filled the small space packed with monitors and editing machines. They pointed out the two monitors that showed what was happening in the fire station. On one of them he saw Dina showing Vader how the mixer worked. The other camera hadn’t been set yet, and it was pointed directly at the hairy legs of the lighting guy.

Melissa exchanged some technical talk with the director, gave a satisfied nod, and led the way out of the production truck. “I have to check on Ella, I’ll see you in a little bit,” she said, and hurried off. But the next time he saw her, she had another crisis on her hands. The tablecloths were apparently the wrong color, and Melissa sent the intern to return them. When she came scurrying back, they had to quickly reset and redecorate the table.

Over in the kitchen, where Ella would be shown stirring cranberry sauce and basting the turkey, Melissa had to do some last-minute “set dressing.” Brody felt a bit guilty about that—the night before, there had been a barbecue sauce incident, and no one had cleaned up properly afterward. Melissa decided there wasn’t time for scrubbing, so she cleverly positioned a pile of plates and a scattering of autumn leaves over the worst of the stains.

Brody stayed out of the way, watching with bemused admiration. Melissa seemed to be everywhere at once, but never looked rushed or panicked. The intern almost had a breakdown when it turned out the new tablecloths were still the wrong color. But Melissa quickly soothed her. “As long as they’re not white, we’ll make it work.” She spoke into her headset. “Burt, how do they look?”

She listened, then gave the tearful intern a quick thumbs-up. “He says fabulous, darling. Don’t worry about a thing. Now run and take this script change to the prompter. The black-haired guy in the corner.”

The grateful intern trotted away.

Ryan appeared at Brody’s side. “This is something else, huh Cap?”

“Sure is. I didn’t know what I was getting us into. I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

“Why would you? It’s the most exciting thing around here since that big apartment fire last year. And no body bags here.”

“Unless that lighting guy bugs me again,” muttered Brody under his breath.

“And check out Hollywood. She’s all over this thing. Really knows her shit.”

Brody watched Melissa cross the room. She was wearing soft black pants that were probably meant for comfort, but happened to cling to her ass in a particularly sexy manner. When Brody saw Ryan checking her out, he stifled an urge to smack him.

“She does,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to stare at her.”

But Ryan was now staring in a different direction, his jaw nearly on the floor. Ella strolled in as a hush fell over the room.

Even Brody gave a silent whistle. Among the raggedy crew members and uniformed firefighters, she looked like someone from a different species, an exotic butterfly landing among a crowd of sparrows. Her hair had been molded into soft brown-sugar waves, and her eyes, outlined in smoky black, were a dazzling china-blue. Her lips shone glossy pink. A clingy dress the color of a ripe plum caressed her tiny golden body. She looked fragile and perfect, like a doll.

Until she opened her mouth. “Melissa, this intro is crapola. Who cares about the Pilgrims anymore? That was, like, centuries ago.”

Melissa hurried to her side. “Little children love the Pilgrims. I think it’s because of the hats. But if you want me to take out that line . . .”

“Fine, never mind. But what about—”

“You look amazing, Ella. That color really brings out your eyes.”

“Thanks. Do you think it’s appropriate for Thanksgiving? Rust tones seemed so boring.”

“I think it’s perfect. Now take your first mark, so we can fine tune the lighting.” Ella obediently moved toward the pieces of tape on the floor in the dining room. She smiled at the camera and, as Dina helped her put on the mic, she whispered something sultry into it. The stage manager gave a shout of laughter. Brody realized this was Ella in her element. All the things that seemed over-the-top and absurd about her under normal circumstances seemed glamorous and fascinating under the lights and concentrated attention of a production crew.

Brody looked over at Ryan and saw he was completely transfixed. Poor Hoagie. In his lazy way, he’d fallen for Ella Joy, even though he complained about her high-maintenance ways. Ryan had been spoiled by all the girls who fawned over him, did his laundry, filed his taxes. Brody could have told him it was a full-time job to keep the attention of a flirt like Ella.

Ella sent a teasing smile to the slack-jawed firefighters. “Are you guys ready to make TV magic?” A little cheer went up from the dazzled crew. “You’re all going to be superstars, and no one’s going to remember me at all. Now gather round, let’s take a group photo before the show starts.” She beckoned imperiously toward the intern, who dug in her fanny pack for a digital camera.

“I told you she earns her money,” murmured Melissa, at Brody’s side.

“She sure is a sight to behold.” He shook his head admiringly and felt Melissa’s sharp gaze on him.

“So you’ve changed your mind about her?”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen her in action. Now I see what the fuss is all about.”

“Right.” Melissa looked away, fiddling with her headset. “Well, like I said, she’s good. Don’t you want to be in the photo? I’m sure she’ll sign it for you.”

“I’m happy where I am,” he said firmly. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Good luck with the show. Do you TV people say break a leg? Or in Ella’s case, a nail?”

“Very funny.” Melissa smiled. “Good luck carving that turkey. Untold millions of people will be watching.”

“Trying to make me nervous? I’ll have you know I have nerves of steel.”

“Any problems, just imagine the cameramen naked.”

“Not the producer?” He gave her a devilish wink and a quick flick of his eyes down her body. Imagining her naked seemed like a fine way to pass the time.

Oh boy, Melissa thought faintly. She had a show to produce, just minutes away. And now her knees felt a little shaky and butterflies fluttered in her belly. In her headset, she heard the director say, “Two minutes.’’

“Two minutes,” she called, for those without headsets. Leaving Brody’s side, she hurried to her spot next to the big monitor the guys had set up for her.

Suddenly the atmosphere turned serious. Ella took a last-minute look at the scripts she held in her hand. The stage manager settled the firemen and women into their spots. He adjusted his headset and called out, “Thirty seconds.”

Everyone else fell silent as he continued the countdown. Then he gave Ella a hand gesture, and when the red light went on, she beamed a huge smile at the camera.

“Good evening, and happy Thanksgiving! We’re so glad you’re joining us for this very special dinner with the Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel. I’m sure all you little children out there  . . .” Melissa winced at this ad lib, but Ella took no notice. “You know all about the Pilgrims, and how they cooked the very first Thanksgiving dinner for the Native Americans who had helped them survive here in the New World. These firefighters you see behind me devote their lives to helping us survive, and that’s why we decided we should cook them a Thanksgiving dinner. First, let’s meet these brave men and women who put their lives on the line . . . all in a day’s work.”

At this point, the camera closed in on the firefighters sitting behind Ella. Melissa, watching with an eagle eye, saw their expressions of mingled self-consciousness and embarrassment, and quickly spoke into her headset to tell the director to dissolve to the prerecorded story about the station.

As the piece ran, quiet reigned in the room. Ella looked over the next script, and the firefighters sat as though afraid to move an inch. Melissa listened to the audio from the prerecorded piece. It was one of her favorite parts of the show—she’d pieced together the best parts of all her interviews with the crew.

In the piece, Ryan talked about how he could instinctively feel the flames and guess their next move. Double D told the story of the time they managed to save the local church, with a congregation trapped inside. “I figure we got an automatic pass to heaven after that one,” he joked.

Vader gave Ella a ride in Engine 1. The cameraman got some great shots of Ella wearing a helmet, Ella climbing into a set of turnout gear, Ella talking on the radio.

And then came the aerial segment. They’d shot the segment very carefully. Melissa had climbed up the aerial while the cameraman stayed on the ground, zooming in over her shoulder, while Ella provided the voiceover.

“Look how high we are, and how precariously we’re perched. This is called manning the ladder pipe. Now imagine you’re holding a hose shooting six hundred gallons of water a minute at the flames. Someone’s property is being destroyed. Lives depend on you. Sometimes being a firefighter is a lonely job.”