For the past several years, she thought she could do that as the city’s top chef. Then, in one moment of pique, like an overdone soufflé, those plans had imploded.
So now, maybe she’d found another path, one as a performer, closer to what her father had been. “Let’s just say I’m rethinking my goals,” she replied cautiously. “I took this production assistant job because I wanted to get to know Leonie McCutcheon. I thought maybe I could team up with her in her catering business.”
“That’s Nick’s aunt, the show’s executive producer, isn’t it?” her mother asked. “The one who interrupted your dinner last night?”
“Right. But rather than establish an amicable rapport with the woman, I seem to be crossing her at every step.”
“So catering’s out?” Evan asked, cutting to the chase.
“Not necessarily, but ingratiating myself with the woman is going to be an uphill battle. In the meantime, a microphone was stuck in my face at a comedy club last night. It was love at first sound bite.”
“Good one, Sis.” Charley uncapped a bottle of water as he joined them at the table.
“So, what do I do about it?”
Evan, gulping from his own bottle of water, drew up a chair and settled next to her. “Sounds like you’ve got to find a way to get yourself in front of the camera.”
“We can be your production team,” Charley offered. “Before you’ve got a paid staff, anyhow.”
“Production team? Why would a production assistant need one of those?” she asked.
Charley sat back in his chair. “Sorry. I got ahead of myself. I was thinking long-term.”
“Long-term?”
Charley gripped his hands like the coach of an athletic team, explaining a play. “You know, learn the ropes on this job. Make a few contacts. Get yourself a killer concept and
voilá
—that’s the word, isn’t it—you’ve got your own show and everyone in the world will know what a great chef you are.” He grinned, obviously pleased with his plan.
“Whoa, boy. Slow down. I like to think big, but you’re going too fast even for me.”
“Why not focus for now on the show you’re on?” her mother suggested. “Is there room for a co-host? Or how about doing your own segment?”
“I get the feeling Nick would be open to either suggestion, but his aunt would be dead set against anything in which I’m involved. As I said, she’s taken a strong dislike to me.”
Evan picked up his own bottle in one hand and Charley’s in his other. “Consider a double-barreled approach. While you’re seeing how this Nick guy feels about having someone else host with him, make nice with the aunt.”
“Euww! I was afraid you were going to suggest something like that last part,” Reese moaned. “I’ve had to work with many a hardened ego in my career, but I hate being nice when I don’t feel that way.”
“The catering thing still might be a possibility,” her mother threw in, “if you could bring her around.”
Now bottleless, Charley grabbed a salt shaker and held it next to Evan’s water bottles. “There’s a third avenue. You said I was rushing things, but start thinking about your own show just in case things don’t work out with this current gig.”
“My own show? What kind of show?”
Her middle brother cocked his head, his brown eyes, so much like his mother’s, intent. “That’s my point. Plan ahead so you’re ready, if need be.” He put the shaker down on the table. “If you’ve got a back-up plan, you won’t be afraid to be yourself and go for what you want right now.”
“Back-up plan? That’s what I thought I had at
Solange
, and look what happened there.”
Charley shot an inquiring look at their mom. When she simply shrugged back at him, he went on to say, “Sis, that was an assumption, not a plan. A plan means you’ve got all your ducks in place and you decide when to launch them.”
Ouch! Charley’s comments were like a kick to the stomach. But he was right. She’d assumed another high-end restaurant would pick her up whenever she needed a job. And didn’t do anything to prepare for it.
“A three-pronged approach, huh? Not so unlike a three-ingredient dish, I suppose.” She gave her impromptu support team a broad smile. “Thanks, guys. And Mom. Something made me come home today, but I didn’t know what. Now I do.”
****
Nick was toweling off from his shower following his usual Sunday racquetball game. Nearly got smacked twice. He kept seeing Reese Dunbar instead of the ball and reliving his time with her the night before. He barely tasted his meal. Now, he didn’t even remember what he’d ordered. He’d been too engrossed watching her collect grains of salt from the rim of her glass and draw her finger across her lower lip. God, it’d been all he could do not to slide around the table and place that finger on his own mouth.
His cell rang.
“What was going on last night?” Dave Macklin.
“Don’t suppose you’re up and dressed and want to hear about it over breakfast?”
“Just barely. Meet you at Scorpio’s in thirty.” He beat Dave to the coffee shop. When his friend did arrive five minutes later, he was clad in a rumpled T-shirt, old jeans, and he’d not taken time to shave.
“I need a pitcher of Bloody Marys and a basket of bagels. And you’re paying,” Dave announced. “What was with the babe last night? Reese. She’s a cook?”
“Chef.”
“Chef, right. To say she’s a knockout doesn’t do the woman justice.”
“Yeah, she is quite attractive.”
“Why the kiss?”
“Simply a male marking his territory. You were getting too close.”
“Your territory? The two of you got something going?”
Nick took a deep breath. “Not like that.” He told Dave how he’d met Reese. “Since she was out of work, I offered her a job as a production assistant. I thought she’d add something to the show.”
Dave steepled his fingers and brought them to his chin. “Let me get this straight. You were aware she was a chef and yet you still hired her?”
Nick nodded, knowing what was coming.
Dave leaned forward, nearly shouting, “Are you crazy?” His question drew stares from the woman at the next table.
“I didn’t think so at the time.”
“I was visiting you in California when she tracked you down and begged you to come back home and do that cooking show for her.” He glanced to both sides and, lowering his voice, said, “I may be the only other person besides your aunt who knows you can’t cook. Why invite trouble by bringing a cooking expert on board?”
Nick scratched his head, debating how much to tell his friend. He really needed to talk to someone. “It’s complicated.”
“Un-complicate it for me.”
“I’m tired of pretending to be this great chef and putting one over on the audience. I feel like a fraud. Hell, I am one. Plus, I couldn’t even audition for an off-Broadway part because I knew I couldn’t juggle that and hosting the show. So I want out.”
Dave offered his hand. “Finally! Congratulations. When do you leave?”
Nick took a breath. “Leonie wants me to stay. At least until the network picks up the show.”
“Haven’t you done enough for her?”
“I can’t just leave her, Dave. She didn’t tell me I couldn’t go, but you know how helpless she can sound sometimes.”
Dave shook his head. “Boy, has she got your number. You’re what makes the show, man. She’s not going to let you walk away. Not now, not ever. If you’re serious about leaving, you just have to do it.”
“I’ve already told her I was going.”
“And?”
“Begged me to stick around until she got a meeting with the network people. As long as she’s convinced I’m the only one who can keep the show going, she’ll pull out all her tricks to keep me there. That’s where Reese comes in.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I brought her on as my replacement, hoping she and Leonie would hit it off, and eventually Leonie would trust her enough to hand her my hosting duties.”
Dave finished his first Bloody Mary and wiped his lips. “Let me guess. Leonie welcomed her with open arms.”
Dave knew Leonie too well. He’d witnessed more than one coed or girlfriend suddenly disappear from Nick’s life after she’d met the infamous Leonie McCutcheon. “Not exactly. Reese isn’t one to kowtow to Leonie’s need to dominate everyone in sight.”
“I knew I liked that woman.” Dave sipped his second Bloody Mary, remaining thoughtful. “You know, from what little I observed last night, you may have lucked into the solution to your problem. The lady chef is a real crowd pleaser.”
Nick slapped his thighs. “I thought that too.”
“But,” Dave cut in, “I think you should forget about this grand scheme to get around Leonie. You don’t owe her anything. When are you going to see that?”
Nodding his head, Nick didn’t disagree. “I get this close to walking and then back off.”
Dave didn’t say anything. He simply sat there, sipping occasionally from his drink.
Nick took his cue and stopped talking as well.
At length, Dave pushed away from the table. “Enough libation. I gotta get some more sleep.” He stuck out his hand to Nick again. “I liked Reese. If she does turn out to be your successor, you’ve chosen well. But from what I saw last night, even if you can walk away from the show, I have my doubts about your ability to walk away from her.” He turned on his heel and left.
Nick watched his friend disappear through the revolving door. Good old Dave zeroed in on the problem Nick had been attempting to deny all day—his attraction to Reese Dunbar could be an even bigger challenge than his attempt to leave the show.
Chapter Nine
Nick brooded about his dilemma the rest of that day and the next. After her antics with Dave the night before, he was more sure than ever that Reese would make a great host for the show. She had even seemed to enjoy the spotlight, which he would gladly hand over. That meant he had to accelerate his campaign to get her in front of the camera.
Problem was, the only way to do that was to stay personally involved. How was he going to do that without getting himself in too deep with her?
On Tuesday morning, he opened the blinds in his light and airy bedroom, the one room in his apartment where he’d drawn the line at Leonie’s decorating efforts. On the streets below, everything glowed golden. How could it be such a beautiful June morning when his life had become so murky?
Because it’s morning, dummy.
And that’s when it came to him—confine his efforts to the unblemished light of day, and he stood a chance of keeping his attraction to Reese in check. He left for the studio shortly thereafter but used the rest of the day to outline his plan.
At the end of the day, he interrupted Reese and Trudy’s work session. “Quitting time, ladies. How come you’re still here?”
“Breaking down this week’s script,” Trudy replied. “What’s with this urban picnic we’re doing?”
Nick flipped open Trudy’s script. “Some fancy name my aunt is calling a get-together in Central Park.”
“Weird,” Trudy replied. “Where does that woman get her ideas?”
Nick shrugged. “Damned if I know. But it should be easier than usual. Picnics are pretty simple.”
Trudy smirked. “What planet do you live on? Nothing your aunt does is simple.”
He chuckled. “Point taken.”
Reese didn’t participate in this exchange. She appeared to be wrapped up in her script, making notes. Or was that a ruse? Had she expected him to call after Saturday night? Or worse, had he offended her with that adlibbed kiss meant to shut up Dave? If he were to stop and think about it, some might say he’d been jealous. But that was crazy. He hardly knew the woman. She was his ticket off the show, and he hadn’t wanted Dave messing with that.
He wanted to try out his new idea on Reese, but not with her partner around. “You look wiped, Trudy. Why don’t you take off a few minutes early? Leonie’s nowhere to be seen.”
Trudy didn’t need much convincing. She immediately stood, retrieved her purse from her desk and fled.
Reese continued to work on her prep notes.
Settling a hip on Trudy’s abandoned desk, Nick spotted a stress ball laying on top and gave it a squeeze. He set it down, grabbed it again, and repeated the routine several times. What did it take to get the woman’s attention?
Reese finally shot him a noncommittal, questioning look. “Was there something else?”
“I want to tag along on your shopping trip tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
He seemed to have thrown her. He liked that. “Another new segment I’m considering, besides the restaurant reviews. If there’s enough material, thought you might want to take it on.” He paused, waiting for her reaction.
“Me? Be on the show?”
He nodded. “That’s the plan, though it’s still in concept form.”
“
Concept
?”
He snatched the stress ball and resumed his crunching routine. “It’s still a concept because I need you to convince me that it’s a good idea. That’s why the excursion.”
She tucked her papers into a neat pile and stuck them into a folder. “Okay, then, come along tomorrow. Do I need to prepare something to say?”
He gave up on the ball and stood. “This’ll work better if we keep it spontaneous, you provide commentary as we go.”
“Spontaneous? I don’t do spontaneous.”
He didn’t care whether she prepared or not. He just needed for her to agree to participate. “Maybe you could write up some notes tonight then. Like why you like to go to that particular place, a little about their specialties.”
“Uh, sure.”
“I’ll meet you outside at eight tomorrow morning.”
He watched her glide across the room like a regal princess. Regret soured what should have been anticipation. The woman really intrigued him, but he didn’t need the complications of a personal relationship right now. When he left the show, he didn’t want any ties remaining. Not with his aunt. And not with Reese Dunbar.
Still, he liked her. She had smarts. And she could adapt to whatever challenge presented itself. The show needed her. That point was becoming increasingly evident.
Now, to work on Leonie. If only they made subliminal messaging systems. That might be his best bet to convince her she wanted to put Reese on camera.