The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,27

corners of Cynthia’s mouth twitch expectantly. “The chicken on its own has subtle flavors. But what you’ve done with the risotto actually makes them pop. What wine would you serve this with?”

Cynthia’s quick with her reply. “Dry sauvignon blanc.”

“That would be incredible,” I agree.

“I’m glad you picked up on what I was going for,” Cynthia says. For the first time since the shoot began, I feel like we connect.

“Each part of a meal should stand on its own,” Nadia says, pushing her plate away from her.

“No one eats just one part of the meal at a time,” I say, laughing. “Unless I’m missing something. Do you eat all your vegetables, then the starch, then the meat?”

“What’s the point of a ‘subtle’ flavor? Most people’s palates aren’t that fine-tuned.”

“I think we can help train people’s palates,” Cynthia explains. “That’s one of my goals here.”

“There’s that elitist attitude again,” Nadia sneers. “Gotta teach the paupers what food is ‘supposed’ to taste like!”

“There’s room for all sorts of tastes,” I say. “Nadia, Cynthia, you’re both excellent cooks. I just have to say… there’s something unique about Cynthia’s food that adds interest. It’s like... the meal is flirting with me.”

“Considering how much dairy she dumped into this risotto, her meal is going to have me flirting with the bathroom!” Nadia winks at the cameras.

“It’s right down the hall if you need a break,” I offer. Then, with a huge smile on my face, I start eating the risotto off her plate. “In fact, since it’s not to your liking…”

I take her plate and dump all the food into mine. I make little ‘yummy noises’ as I dig in. With a mouth so full of food my cheeks bulge, I shoot Nadia a big, closed-mouth grin.

She’s finally speechless. For a moment, she just watches me eat, then she grabs a roll off the table and tears a little piece off, throwing it into her mouth like a mini temper tantrum.

I can see the monitors from where I’m sitting, so I’m able to catch a close-up one of the camera guys gets of Cynthia. In person, her smile would be subtle, but on camera, her joy and pleasure at my praise while knocking Nadia down a peg is very apparent.

Feeling my oats now, I jovially hold up my plate and offer it to the crew. “Anyone want to get in on this?”

Just then, an idea occurs to me. A brilliant one.

Twenty-One

Cynthia

I’m still shaking my head at Stephen’s most recent stunt. The image of him looking like a risotto chipmunk will probably make me laugh for the rest of my life. And he did it for me, I think as I smile warmly to myself.

“Now that’s a sight I don’t see much of these days.”

I look up to see Stephen at the door of my little office. I laugh, and grab my coat and bag.

“Oh, just thinking of you with your cheeks all puffed out with food. Did you actually say ‘yummy’ at one point?”

Stephen shrugs. “Totally possible. But it was fucking yummy, so sue me.”

I laugh again just hearing him say it.

“Well, thank you. You didn’t have to do that. But I, uh…” I allow myself to take him in, leaning against the doorframe, his chef’s coat open at the top, his hair perfectly coiffed. “I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, listen, if you’re not speeding off somewhere, I’ve got an idea. How about you come by my place to check out the first episode. No funny business!” he cuts in before I protest. “Just two professionals, and maybe some wine, for a very businesslike watch party for two.”

I open my mouth and shut it again. I know I should say no.

It’s not that I don’t trust him, I just don’t particularly trust myself. But if he’s on good behavior I should be able to manage, right? Plus, it can’t hurt to network with America’s beloved TV chef.

“Alright. No funny business.”

Stephen crosses his heart and reaches for my coat. “We should probably be a little less conspicuous.”

Stephen withdraws his hand. “Fair enough. I’ll meet you around the back.”

The car ride on the way to his place is a relief. Finally, a safe space to talk about how shitty this process has been. I’m careful not to say too much, knowing I probably shouldn’t unload all my hatred toward Nadia on him. He’s supposed to be unbiased after all.

“Honestly, I’d love it if we didn’t say her name for the entire night,” I groan as I slump into the