Seducing His Heart (17 page)

Is he coming on to me…at a
funeral?
“Thanks.” She took it and sipped,
moving her gaze away from him.

Before he could continue with the
conversation, Mona was on her way back. Whit and the crew trailed
behind. The stormy expression on the widow’s face warned Bess that
it was time to leave. She pushed to her feet and turned toward the
van. But Mona kept coming. She caught up to the pretty baker and
tugged on her arm.

“
I know you! You’re that
chef slut,” Mona said in a voice too loud for the occasion. All
heads turned to look.

“
What?” Bess’s eyes grew
wide.

“
No, no, not chef.
Uh…uh…baking! Yeah, that’s it.
Baking with
Bess
. That’s you. You had your claws in my
husband, you fucking bitch. And now he’s dead.” Mona slapped Bess
across the face.

Tears of anger clouded her eyes. She sensed
the heat in her cheeks. “Get away from me! You’re crazy!” Bess
screamed. Several policemen pulled Mona, swearing and kicking,
away. Another couple of men in blue spoke softly to Bess, who was
rubbing her cheek.

“
Yeah, that’s assault. But
she’s recently become a widow. You don’t want to press charges, do
you? I mean, the decent thing to do is to forgive and
forget…”

Whit grabbed Bess by the arm and steered her
to the van. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He helped her
into the back of the vehicle, got in, and shut the door.

“
Did you hear her? Oh my
God! She’s crazy! Terry was separated, divorced or almost. I’m none
of her business. She hit me!” Bess pulled out a mirror and examined
her swollen lip.

“
Are you all
right?”

She burst into tears. “I’m mourning Terry,
too. She’s not the only one.”

“
Did you sleep with
him?”

“
Of course.”

“
You lied?”

“
I wanted to save her the
humiliation. Besides, it’s nobody’s business what Terry and I did
behind closed doors.”

“
You’re right, you’re
right. Let’s head back, guys,” Whit said.

Bess wiped her eyes with a tissue, but her
skin still stung. The soundman handed back a cup with some ice and
the remainder of his iced coffee. Bess held it to her face. They
drove back in silence. She fell asleep, her head lolling against
Whit’s shoulder.

They pulled up in front of The Wellington.
Bess got out and thanked the men. Crash opened the door, and the
van pulled away from the curb.

* * * *

Whit was on edge when he got to the
studio.

“
What did ya get? Anything
interesting?” Sam asked the three-man crew while she shuffled
through some papers attached to a clipboard.

“
Not much. Interview with
the widow—” Whit began.

“
Great stuff!” Alan, the
cameraman, cut him off.

“
Yeah. Awesome. Cat fight,
tears…the whole shitload,” Barry, the soundman, added.

“
Fantastic! Let’s see,”
Sam ushered them into her office.

Whit grabbed Barry’s arm and pulled him
aside. “What the hell do you mean?”

“
I got the whole thing
between the baker-lady and the cop’s widow. I even had the sound
going for the car ride home.”

“
You can’t use that!”
Whit’s eyes widened.

“
I can and will. Actually,
Sam will. Hell, she was in a news van. What did she think? We’d
stop recording because she was telling the truth? How perfect! Her
confession in the van with no sound interference.”

“
That was a private
conversation. You can’t use that.”

“
Shoulda warned her,
buddy. I got a nose for news. And Sam’s gonna love this.” He shoved
Whit out of the way, entered Sam’s office, and closed the
door.

Whit burst in. “Some of this was a private
conversation. Bess had no idea she was being taped. We can’t use
this.”

Sam shushed him and waved her hand. Alan and
Barry got the tape rolling, and Whit’s mouth hung open. They had
caught the entire fight, including Mona’s accusations and Bess’
denial. Then, they fast-forwarded to Bess’s tearful confession in
the van.

Whit’s heart raced.
This’ll destroy her. She’s a public figure. They
can’t run this.

“
Wow! Great job, boys. And
they say nothing ever happens at a funeral. Hah!”

“
Sam, you can’t run
this.”

“
Oh? And why
not?”

“
You’ll ruin her
career.”

“
She’s a baker. Who’ll
care?”

“
Sam, didn’t you hear?”
Alan asked. “She isn’t just a baker. She’s the baker on
Baking with Bess.
You
know, the show on that shitty cable channel?”

“
Oh my God! She’s the same
Bess?” Sam did a victory dance. “That’s a homerun, a touchdown, a
hat trick…way to go! Get it cleaned up and ready to run. I want it
on the six o’clock…tonight…re-run at eleven.”

Alan and Barry pushed by Whit and left,
congratulating themselves on the great coup. Whit was horrified.
Sweat broke out under his arms. “You can’t use this, Sam.” He paced
her office.

“
I can, and I will.
Tonight. Be prepared, because you’re doing the story.”

“
I’m not. I refuse. Bess
Cooper is a friend of mine.”

Sam narrowed her eyes. “So, she’s sleeping
with you, too? Interesting. Of course, we’ll keep that out of the
story. This is the news, Whit, not kindergarten. You’re doing
it.”

“
I’m not.”

“
You do the story, or
you’re fired.”

“
You can’t fire me. I have
a contract.”

“
We’ll see about
that.”

“
I suddenly feel a bout of
the flu coming on.” He sneezed then whipped out a handkerchief and
blew his nose.

“
If you walk out of here…”
Sam held up a fist.

“
Threatening me? I’d hate
to get everyone on the staff sick tonight. I might be contagious.
Might be bubonic plague. Better get to the doctor.”

“
Goddam it, Whit! Get your
ass in here.”

“
Are you going to do that
story?”

“
Okay, okay, you
win.”

Whit let out a big breath. “Thank you, Sam.
I owe you.”

Whit left her office,
glancing back, not trusting the smile she wore.
This isn’t over. No one wins over Sam.
He picked up news copy for the show and read it over while he
sat in makeup.
That was a close call. Bess
doesn’t need that kind of grief. She’s got enough to deal with
now.

Whit smiled at his courage
in standing up to Sam. Time for his broadcast drew near. The makeup
artist finished with him, and he went to change his tie.
Gold isn’t the best. I must have a purple one
somewhere.
He fished through the small
closet in his cozy office and plucked out the right one.

The lights were on. Whit slipped into his
seat at the news desk, took a sip of water, and cleared his throat.
Glancing over the lead stories on his desk, he did a few speaker
warm up exercises with his voice, waiting for the cameras to
roll.

The teleprompter came on. He focused on the
type. He began with his typical greeting then the screen went blank
for a fraction of a second before a new story appeared.

“
This just in,” he read.
“Confrontation between slain police officer Terrence McNeil’s’
widow and the popular cooking show star, Bess Cooper, today at the
cemetery…” Whit froze and looked down at the paper in front of
him.

“
Wait. Taking this out of
order.” He struggled to keep his hands from shaking. “Excuse me. An
elderly man was struck by a car and killed on Queen’s Boulevard,”
he said, glancing up to see Sam jumping up and down, her face
turning as red as the flesh of a watermelon. She kept making a
slashing gesture across her throat, but Whit ignored her. He kept
reading from the sheet, paying no attention to the words scrolling
by on the prompter.

Finally, the camera cut from Whit to the
film of the day’s events at the cemetery and in the van. Now, it
was his turn to become purple with rage. He was helpless to stop
it. Locking eyes with a smug, triumphant Sam, Whit thought he’d
bust a gut. The story continued to roll on the screen, cutting to
commercial when the tape was over.

Whit knew if he marched
out, he’d be violating his contract and fired on the spot. At this
point, there was nothing he could do. The tape had run. The truth
was out, and he could no longer cover it up or stop it.
The damage has been done. Getting fired won’t
help Bess.
So, he corralled his emotions
and read the second story from the teleprompter.

Half an hour dragged on.
Breaking for a minute of sports and weather didn’t help. He caught
his breath and studied the next story. No time to think. No time to
calm his racing pulse.
He knew Bess would
be watching the broadcast, especially because he had interviewed
Mona. Bess wouldn’t miss that, or coverage of Terry’s burial,
either.

Finally, the program ended. But instead of
tearing out of the studio as fast as he could to console Bess, he
hung around to speak to Sam. “Sam, that’s the lowest thing you’ve
ever done.”

“
That’s news, Whit. Get
over it, or get another job.”

“
Is it news? That’s
private information. What good does it do anyone else outside of
the parties concerned to know that? Nothing but scandal,
titillation…”

“
Yep. Bet our ratings go
up. And I’m gonna re-run that tape tonight, too. So, tell your
little chickie to tune in at eleven.”

“
You have no heart, no
soul.” Whit shook his head.

“
I have a job. That’s more
than you, if you ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“
If I have to take down
someone I care about to keep my job, then it’s not worth
keeping.”

“
Is this your
resignation?” He couldn’t tell if she was hopeful or
nervous.

“
No such luck, Sam. I
don’t give up that easily.” He picked up his briefcase.

“
Good. Because you have a
following, and I’d hate to lose you.”

“
I find that hard to
believe.”

“
Look, Whit. I have a job
to do. And because I’m a woman, I have to be tougher than the guys
if I want to keep it. This isn’t anything against you. It’s a juicy
story that’ll goose up ratings. You don’t worry about that, but I
do. Every day.”

“
I wouldn’t trade places
with you for anything,” Whit said, heading for the door.

“’
Night,” she called after
him, but he didn’t answer.

Thank God, I’ll be in Asia
soon writing real stories instead of digging up shit.
His mouth tasted foul, so he popped a couple of
pieces of gum.
Makes my stomach turn.
Bess, please God, I hope you understand.

* * * *

Bess turned off the television and plopped
down on the sofa. She tried to control her breathing. Her cell
rang. It was Rory.

“
Did you watch the
news?”

“
Of course. Did
you?”

“
Bess, did you say those
things?”

“
I did. I had no idea I
was being recorded. I thought it was a private conversation with
Whit…in the van…” She burst into tears before she could continue.
Rory said something before she hung up, but Bess didn’t
hear.
Whit, how could you? How could you
betray me for a story? I trusted you. Believed you were sincere.
You set me up. Why?

Her heart hurt. As she was
coping with Terry’s sudden death, Whit proved to be a traitor. She
had feelings for him. Now, he had thrown her to the wolves.
Sure hope my producer wasn’t watching. God, what
happens if he was?
A small shudder flashed
through her. She went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the
brandy bottle.
It’s getting low. My
emergency supply is dwindling.
She poured
a small snifter and took a drink. The smooth liquor warmed
her.

She returned to the sofa
and stretched out. Dumpling joined her, and Homer curled up on the
floor nearby.
You park your dog here then
stab me in the back? I love you, Homer, but you have to go.
Bess wanted to be angry with Whit. She wanted to
hate him, throw things at him, but the pain of his betrayal stopped
at simple hurt. She kept asking herself why he did it, but she
couldn’t come up with a clear cut answer.

Another sip of brandy, and her eyes began to
close. The snoring of the pugs lulled her to sleep, but the buzz
from the lobby woke her with a start. She pushed up slowly and made
her way to the intercom. Her Dinner Club friends had arrived. She
heard the voices getting louder as the elevator neared. All talking
stopped once they spied Bess waiting in the doorway.

The women and their dogs filed past their
hostess. Miranda plopped down a bag of take-out from the Chinese
restaurant. Brooke opened it, and they all started talking again.
Rory went to the cabinet for plates. Miranda grabbed
silverware.