means to me. You’re supposed to talk me out of this. That’s why I called you . . . so you could make this easier.”
Marin laughed. “Hey, friends aren’t supposed to be about making it easier. Besides, you didn’t tell me this was one of those tell me what I want to hear discussions. I gotta go . . . love you!”
* * *
Marin stood there, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the phone. It was late and she had to be out of the house by seven a.m. for an interview. But oddly, she wasn’t at all tired.
Marin was one of the other kids from the Kate + Nate show, although she had been Kate the cutie’s rival on the show. In real life, they’d liked each other. Quite a bit. Of course, Marin had been jealous as hell of Abigale for a long while, because while Zach had been eyeballing Abigale, Marin had been eyeballing him. She’d gotten over her infatuation. Zach never had, because his thing for Abigale went a hell of a lot deeper. It wasn’t just infatuation, something Marin had figured out a long time ago. He was shitfaced in love with Abigale, but for some reason, he’d never made a move on her.
And if Abigale wasn’t so damned set on planning her entire life down to the nth degree, then she might have figured out one crucial detail. The perfect guy had been waiting for her all along.
“And she thinks I’m going to tell her to back away from having an affair?”
Marin snorted as she turned away.
The only question in mind for her was whether or not to warn Zach.
Nah. She figured it would be more fun for both of them this way.
Chapter Five
Abigale looked up as a rather domineering and arrogant chef appeared in her line of vision. His name was Raul. At least that was the name he’d given her when she’d told him that she was going to help cover for her friend Grace. Grace was supposed to make the desserts at a bat mitzvah and she’d gotten sick—a bad stomach flu was going around and she’d asked Abigale to cover for her. They were friendly and when she could, she liked to help her friends.
Raul was not her friend.
And she’d bet her eyeteeth that Raul’s Italian accent wasn’t authentic. Especially since he kept dropping it when he was pissed off.
Glancing over at the prep for the canapés, she paused long enough to study them, then study the mini-tarts she’d been working on. “Am I being paid to help with the canapés?” she asked mildly.
He gave her a sharp-edged smile. “We believe in helping each other in this business, bellezza.”
“Really?” She smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind when I ask for help opening a door later. You slammed it in my face when I was juggling six bags earlier.” Then she shot a look at what he was working on. If he didn’t get some help, he was going to ruin the food. She didn’t like the asshole, but that wasn’t the fault of the client.
It wasn’t precisely their fault that the guy had an ego the size of California and that he was too stingy to hire out for extra help when he clearly needed it. Wiping her hands on a towel, she headed to the stove and judging by the look of things, she’d made it just in time.
What was he going to do, let it burn? she wondered.
Possibly. Some people would do that just to prove a point. Throw a tantrum.
“How are you doing these?” she called over her shoulder.
“My sous-chef can advise you,” he said, his voice all but reeking with imperiousness.
Abigale decided then, in that very moment, that she wanted to smack him. Hard.
Instead, she gripped the skillet’s long metal handle and rotated her wrist, smiling a little as the smell of onion, bacon, and spice filled the air. He might be an ass, but he knew his way around the kitchen.
“He likes to . . . ah . . .”
She glanced over at the boy next to her. Well, young adult male, she supposed, but he was so nervous, so jumpy, it was hard to call him an adult. When she looked at him, he couldn’t meet her eyes, and when she smiled at him, he tucked his chin low and seemed to wilt while a blush stained his cheeks red.
“Just tell me how we’re doing this,” she said, smiling at