For Love Or Money

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e7d45265-005b-5279-9a86-71bc24992edc)

JANIE ALREADY FELT like she didn’t belong. The eight contestants had gathered in a green room—nothing elegant: four walls, used couches, a tray with water and tea, a side bar with snacks, a refrigerator, lockers and television monitors so they could see the stage—for a few moments before being called on stage.

The introductions and instructions were going to be done in front of the camera. On-air instructions and official rules, that was. They’d all been sent an entire packet full of information, instruction, on-air makeup and dress tips, dress code and what had seemed like a million forms to sign.

Throughout the five weeks, any of the footage filmed during this initial non-cooking session could be tapped for airing. A facial expression, a line someone said during separate interview sessions, could be dubbed into a particular show at any time. Not really sure how that worked, realistically speaking, Janie didn’t really care, either. Other than it meant she had to be “on” every single second she was there.

Had to stay focused.

Couldn’t be worrying about Dawson. Not that she had to worry today. He was with Cor and Joe. But what about next Saturday when the first show was being taped? And the competition was on?

She’d focus then, too. And pray there were no Dawson emergencies his therapist couldn’t handle on her own. Everyone at therapy and at preschool knew about Family Secrets—a video of the Thanksgiving show with Dawson had been sent around—and everyone was rooting for her.

Cor and Joe would have him the following week, as well. If there was a problem during his session, they’d handle it.

Her job was to focus.

To let go of Dawson a little bit. Trust him to the world in which he had to live...

Trust that his “gang” would have his back.

She didn’t feel like one of her current gang. Each of the other seven contestants had already cooked for the host of Family Secrets, Natasha Stevens—albeit not on air. They’d all had to audition live for their place on the show.

She’d never cooked for anyone other than family and friends.

Her mailed-in Thanksgiving recipe had won her a spot on the famous cooking show.

She had no idea if she could even pull this off.

At the end of the line, waiting to walk on stage and take a seat—eight bar stools were lined up for this first segment—she pulled her phone out of the waistband of her black skinny jeans. Checked to make sure there were no calls. Sent a quick text off to Cor, asking if Dawson’s ear was okay. Deleted same. Pushed and held the power button. Tucked the phone away and straightened the black silk jacket over her hip bones. All cells had to be turned off.

The line was moving.

It was time for her to go on.

* * *

FROM HIS STOOL at the beginning of the line on the stage, Burke took in the cameras—on rolling stands—that moved around them. He counted three but figured there might be more behind or above them. The guys and one woman working them were straight-faced. Moving, as if on cue, they stared at attached screens. The woman, in jeans and a T-shirt, seemed to be the one in charge. Both men, in black pants and shirts, looked to her more than at each other.

His stomach tightened a bit. So much was at stake. He was a bit...curious, too. He’d never been in a television studio before. And while, in some ways—the intense lighting, for one—it reminded him a bit of an operating room, it was also very...different. As the other contestants came in one by one, each taking a solo walk across the stage for the camera just as he had, he got a little caught up in their excitement, too.

Competition aside, winners or losers, they were all going to be on national television.

Directions rang out. Something clanged in the distance. A door closed someplace. This few minutes of filming was without sound. They were just after clips.

Glancing out toward the theater-style seating holding the hundred or so people that would be their “live” audience during the final round, he tried to find Kelsey. Stage lighting blinded him to anything beyond the edge of the platform.

Number seven was on his way across the twenty-five-foot expanse between the curtain and his stool. In jeans, a black leather jacket and biker boots, he strutted, turned toward the cameras, smiled and strutted some more. The guy was probably going to win. Viewers would eat him up. They’d tune in just to see him, which would boost ratings, and in television everything was always about the money in the end. Everyone knew that.

I’m going to lose. He was on a road that would end with him letting Kelsey down and he had no idea how to change his course. Without letting her down.

Adrenaline pumped through him anyway. Probably feeding off the other contestants. If any of them doubted their ability to win, they sure weren’t showing any signs of it.

He watched for contestant number eight to appear, impatient for their instructions to be given and the tour of the kitchens to take place so he could get home. He had a patient file to peruse a second time. A delicate surgery on Monday that could determine if an athlete ever played again. A surgery that could change the entire course of a young man’s life.

But it wasn’t going to. When it came to orthopedics, Burke had all of the confidence in the world. Confidence his patients depended on.

Eight was on stage. He’d have to lean forward to see her, though, as the other contestants were blocking his view. Conscious of the camera, he didn’t move. Didn’t want to appear as stupid as he felt when the show aired...

Burke leaned forward.

And froze. He knew her. Ripples ran through him.

She took another step. Moving more quickly than any of the rest of them had. He’d never met her before.

But he knew her in the most private way.

He’d been dreaming about her. Had thought she was just a figment of his imagination. And other than the fact he found it a bit odd that his partner-less brain was cooking up the same image night after night, he’d barely given her a conscious thought.

Men dreamed.

It was normal. He was normal.

Except for the part where he’d been dreaming about a real woman without knowing it. And now he knew why. He’d seen her on TV. She’d been the angel who’d infiltrated his thoughts on Thanksgiving—giving him a touch of good feeling in an otherwise dreadful day.

That was...unsettling.

She caught his eye as she neared her stool. Didn’t seem to know him from Adam. He smiled at her—to hide his supreme discomfort. Hoped he pulled it off. Looked away. And wished to God he was anywhere but on stage with a camera on him.

Was this it, then? The part where he lost his mind? How could he have been dreaming about a woman he’d seen on TV and not realized it? Was it because of Lil? Was she messing with him? Making him pay for the fact he’d ignored her last plea for help?

His hands resting lightly on his thighs, the look Kelsey had decided was good for him, Burke had to resist the urge to get up and leave. He had a couple of patients in the hospital, rounds he could do.

“Okay, great.” Natasha Stevens, the show’s host, and the only person Burke had expected to recognize, walked out on stage. “Welcome to Family Secrets, everyone!”

Secrets. He had a secret. Was she in on it, then? This host? Did she know how he’d failed his wife?

Get a grip, man.

He was acting like an idiot.

Because he was nervous. There. He’d admitted it. Being on television, even if only for panned camera shots with no sound, had him on edge.

He’d get used to it.

Television was the least of his worries. He had an at-risk thirteen-year-old counting on him. And a fellow contestant sitting at the other end of the line with whom he’d shared very passionate kisses, in his dreams...

The Stevens woman was giving them a rundown of things he already knew. Procedures and timelines that Kelsey had read to him from the packet sent to his address by show administrators.