A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,52

back when she remembered they were made of wax.

“Where’s the food?” Con said casually. “My woman’s getting hungry.”

More punishing heat flooded her face, and she wondered if anyone had ever died of embarrassment on camera before.

Gia scurried forward. Gestured to Dino to stop rolling. “They’re having trouble in the kitchen. Can’t get the stove going.” She grimaced. “It was working okay earlier, but there’s something wrong with the gas range.” She came closer. “The chef is having a hissy fit.”

“Maybe Con should look at it. He’s mechanically inclined.” Lizzie said, gathering what was left of her wits.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” Con pushed his chair back, stood up and wandered off into the kitchen. On those bare feet he’d been tormenting her with.

Lizzie dotted her napkin over her heavily perspiring face.

Chapter 13

Out in the backyard, Con rapped on the metal propane tank connected to the range in the kitchen, and it rang back a familiar reply. He tried not to laugh out loud. Clearly this was not going to be the week of all-expenses-paid luxury he’d envisioned.

“Empty,” he called through the darkness. “You got another tank?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll have to order one from town tomorrow,” Gia replied from the doorway. No one had followed him out into the pitch-black garden. It was a relief to get away from the cameras and lights for a moment.

The chef, a serious New York City prima donna, was fuming and stamping and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen, and Con was pretty damn hungry. Something about shrimp had been mentioned earlier and his stomach was growling for it. “Got a barbeque?”

“Not sure. I didn’t notice one,” called Gia.

He walked back to the brightly lit door where the crew thronged, peering anxiously into the garden. “We can build a fire back here on the patio if you’ll help me get some wood together.”

“I bet there are all kinds of huge snakes and spiders and bats out there. I heard the insects down here are ten times the size they are back home,” said Gia. “I think I’d rather starve.”

“Nah, just friendly creatures out here. If any zombies start coming out of the swamp I’ll let you know. Come on, I’ll get started, and you guys figure out where to build the fire.”

The garden was pretty well manicured so he had to walk almost all the way to the bottom, where the bayou gleamed in the moonlight. Fallen branches from the gnarled old trees were stacked in a couple of neat piles. Their limbs pricked and scratched his bare chest as he walked back across the cool grass.

Several crew members had ventured tentatively onto the patio by the time he came back. Dino videotaped as they helped him stack the wood in a circle and lit it with matches. Dry Spanish moss crackled and spat as kindling.

“Where’s Lizzie?” he asked, as the fire started to take.

“I think she’s in the kitchen, talking to André,” said Gia. “He’s the chef.”

Con had a sudden nasty vision of Lizzie left unattended with all those bottles of wine. “I’ll go find her.”

“Sure.”

He noticed the camera’s mechanical gaze on him as he strode across the warm slate of the patio. He probably looked like some kind of backwoods bayou hick with no shoes or shirt and he felt a little clench of embarrassment.

Just what Lizzie wanted, no doubt, and he’d played right into her hands.

“Lizzie?” He pushed into the enormous kitchen, bright light making him blink.

The chef leaned against a vast table in the center, drinking red wine from a large tumbler. A stained apron covered his ample belly. A cigarette, burned nearly down to the filter, dangled from his lips.

“You seen Lizzie?”

“She was here a minute ago.” Hints of a local accent like his gave him a start. “Went upstairs, I think.” The chef lifted a black eyebrow. “Took a bottle of champagne from the fridge.”

Shit. Con pushed out into the dining room, picked his way past all the cables from the now-dormant spotlights and took the stairs two at a time. “Lizzie!”

No answer.

“Hey, Lizzie, where are you?” He strode down the dim hallway. Ancient light fixtures gave off thin yellow light. The door to their bedroom was closed.

He knocked once, then pushed it open.

Lizzie sat on the bed, eyes on him, hands wrapped around an open bottle of champagne. His chest tightened. In two strides he crossed the room and snatched it from her.

“I didn’t take a sip,” she protested.

“You were just thinking about it?” The chilled bottle sweated