The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,26

cameras are forced to pivot and give attention to their star. I can tell Nadia is furious. If she was a cartoon, there’d be smoke coming out of her ears.

But, there’s nothing she can do. How does it feel? I think as I stare back at her. You can’t do shit. I make a mental note to thank Stephen for this little stunt, but for now, I’ve got precious time to make my case for the menu.

I start from the top and work my way down as Stephen listens intently and shifts his position to my other side. I swallow hard at the close contact and the smell of him. Instantly, I’m flooded with memories from the bar top.

We’re being professional now, of course. No more of that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still imagine it. I finish, and Stephen nods, stepping between us and addressing the camera.

“Now that’s very fucking impressive. You can see how each piece ties right into the next, giving a thematic palate, without letting any items feel like they’re lost. I can tell you’ve put a lot of heart and expertise into it.”

I smile at him and catch sight of Nadia looking grim to my right. Maybe TV isn’t so bad after all.

Twenty

Stephen

The saying, “recipe for disaster”, is something I never understood on a gut level until this shoot began. Turns out, the only ingredient necessary for this particular disastrous dish is Nadia.

She’s making Cynthia miserable, which, in turn, is making me miserable. Every night, I plot how I can deter Nadia’s undermining of Cynthia. Then the next day, Nadia seems to have some new way of stirring the shit.

It would be impressive if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.

But what can I do? Sure, I step in when I’m able. I deflect some of Nadia’s snarkier comments. I give space for Cynthia to shine. But there’s only so much oxygen in the room, and with every inhale she takes, Nadia uses most of it up.

The execs wanted Nadia, and they’re definitely getting all of her. I remind myself that bringing Nadia along was the only way to save Cynthia’s restaurant. We just have to ride it out. My only hope is that whatever damage Nadia wreaks to Origin and Cynthia is repairable.

After shooting for a solid week, we come to the first food challenge. As a tri, we’ve finally settled on a few items for the new menu. Now Cynthia’s chosen to prepare Nadia and I one of those dishes – a creamy risotto with crispy chicken thighs.

Cynthia places the plates before us, then takes a step back and watches as Nadia and I examine the dish.

“Well plated,” I say.

“I got a very tiny thigh,” Nadia says, holding it up for the camera. “My chicken must have been one of those rich Connecticut yoga-vegan-soccer moms!”

I quickly take a bite of the risotto. “Mmm. The texture on this risotto is perfect. The cheese and the mushroom flavors are combining really well.”

Cynthia’s eyes glow with pride. As do mine.

Then Nadia takes the tiniest of tiny bites from her fork, the kind where she pulls her lips wide to avoid smearing her lipstick and just takes a piece off the edge of the tines. It reminds me of a horse grabbing an apple out of someone’s hand.

She barely chews before she says, “The risotto is overcooked. It should be al dente.”

The light in Cynthia’s eyes dims, and the ire in my belly ignites.

“I don’t agree,” I tell Nadia. “There’s a subtle range of acceptable doneness for risotto, and I think this falls in the sweet zone.”

“At my restaurant, we do a creamy risotto,” Nadia says. “With truffles, FYI, not mushrooms, and I’ve whipped my cooks into shape when it comes to the pasta. I’m just saying, I would never plate up risotto this overdone.”

Cynthia swallows any words of defense and just gives a curt nod. It’s a smart move. Arguing during these types of challenges never reads well on TV. Best to just take your lumps.

Nadia’s already taken another one of her toothy bites, this time of the chicken. She makes a face. “There’s not really a lot going on with this chicken, is there?”

Quickly, I shove a bite in my mouth. “Hmm… are you not tasting what I’m tasting?”

“I’m tasting bland that’s been fried in a pan.”

I ignore Nadia’s snide comment and instead gesture with my fork at Cynthia. “This meal is a perfect example of why I wanted to help you save Origin,” I declare.

The