The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,49
to get back to the front of the restaurant. I rush inside, but a crew member immediately grabs me in his arms and puts a finger to his mouth, indicating the need for silence.
They’re already rolling.
I glance past the crewman to where the lights and cameras are arranged around the bar. Nadia and Cynthia are set up there, sharing wine, looking as if they’re having ‘girl talk’ during their downtime.
Cynthia is clearly uncomfortable, her shoulders tensed around her ears. For a moment, I’m mad at her. Why would she do this? Then, I let that go. What choice does she have?
Instead, I direct my anger where it belongs. Nadia. She’s twirling her wine glass, legs crossed, leaning in toward Cynthia like they’re lifelong confidantes.
“The truth is,” she says as the crew member continues to bear hug me into submission, “I kind of think Stephen’s a hack.”
“Oh. Yeah?” Cynthia asks blankly. At least she’s trying to not add fuel to the fire.
“Don’t you think?” Nadia needles. “Think about it. Just when he was getting all this attention for his restaurants, being talked about for awards and stuff, he suddenly sells them off, quits cooking, and goes into reality TV?”
She gives a high-pitched sort of chortle. “Seems to me like he couldn’t take the heat, so he literally got out of the kitchen.”
Nadia laughs again while Cynthia fakes a good-humored smile. I squirm loose from the crew guy and give him a reassuring nod, holding up my hands to indicate I won’t fuck up the shoot. He gives me a grateful nod.
“Not to mention,” Nadia continues, “he spends all his time attacking people on his show for being unprofessional, when the real unprofessional is him.”
“I’m not sure about that —” Cynthia starts.
“Just look at the two of you!” Nadia chimes in. She shoots a quick glance at the cameras. I peek at the monitors to see a close up of that look, and realize that Nadia’s eyes are full of salacious intrigue.
She glances back at Cynthia, and says, “He just slinks off with you after literally spending days hitting on me. Who does that?”
I imagine the different ways I could kill Nadia with kitchen implements — Toss her in the deep fryer; shove her in the convection over; push her through the meat grinder...
Unable to do any of those at the moment, I opt for trying to get myself into the shot. Slowly and quietly, so as not to draw attention, I begin to slip between equipment, and around the crew, edging closer to the bar.
Cynthia keeps trying to play it cool. “We didn’t ‘slink’ away…” she starts, but again, Nadia interrupts.
“Also, where does Stephen get off trying to tell anybody how to cook? When was the last time that loaf stepped foot in a real kitchen? I, on the other hand…”
OK. That does it. I’m about to leap in front of the cameras to defend my honor –
— when someone else comes to my rescue…
Thirty-Seven
Cynthia
“Did you know he’s one of the only two chefs to have visited impoverished communities overseas to learn and spread awareness of their unique culinary styles?”
I hear myself saying the words, but I sort of can’t believe I said them.
Nadia can’t believe it, either, and she grips her wine glass imperceptibly tighter. If I say more, will it shatter in her hands and cause her to bleed to death on TV?
“As far as ‘slinking away’, I simply needed time to see my family during a difficult situation. Stephen was kind enough to allow me the time off and offered me a lift to expedite my travel time.” I’m trying to keep things simple, and stick to the facts. So far so good.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear about your family difficulties,” Nadia says, setting down her glass. There goes my bleeding-out idea. “This is the family with the massive estate in East Connecticut, right?”
I decide to ignore the jibe.
“It’s alright,” I say pleasantly. “It’s resolved now, and I’m just thrilled to go back to cooking.” Okay, that was a bold-faced lie. But, if she can, so can I.
“Well, I’m so glad you feel that way, I totally missed you!” she smiles. “At least, the real chef has returned.” She gives me a playful pat on the leg.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean by that?” I know I took the bait, but I couldn’t help it. I can’t sit here and have her talk shit about Stephen.
“I mean, sure, he used to work as a chef, and