The Billionaire’s Bun In Her Oven - Ellie Rowe Page 0,57
night we met, when she told me she has to ‘check with management’.
We need to get these feelings in order before we can tackle the show. I decide she’s right; I need to be upfront with her. “Y’know, the moment I saw you in the kitchen, my interest in you went beyond the professional.”
Her wry grin expands into a warm, open smile. She even blushes. She says, “My interest in you was never professional.”
We both laugh, and step closer, our bodies nearly touching. Our feelings for each other generating a heat more enveloping and more satisfying than any fire in any kitchen ever produced.
“We need to team up,” I tell her. “I’ve got a plan for how to turn this thing around.”
“I don’t know,” she says, her face falling again. “I think the show has pretty much sealed Origin’s fate.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I know you put me on the show to try and save the restaurant. And I appreciate it. It’s not your fault things went this way. I don’t blame you.”
“So, you’re just going to give up?”
“If you can’t take the heat, right?”
“Except, I know you can.”
“Maybe I don’t want to anymore.”
“What’re you going to do?” I challenge. “Go back to Connecticut? Settle down with Kyle?” Her face hardens. I press on. “Cooking, running your own restaurant, it’s more than just your dream. It’s what you were meant to do.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve tasted your food.”
She looks me in the eye to see if I mean it. Her face softens when she sees I do. My tone softens, too, as I tell her, “I know what that kind of a calling feels like. I won’t let you walk away from it. Take it from someone who did.”
“Oh, sure, I went on to become a beloved celebrity chef asshole. But I didn’t realize the mistake I’d made until I fell in love with someone even more talented than I ever was. Someone more passionate, and more deserving of a second chance.”
She takes that in. It wasn’t at all like the speech I’d initially planned. But I think it does the trick. Sometimes, in the kitchen, you don’t have the recipe on hand, and you just have to improvise. Sometimes, improvisations make the best dishes.
“OK,” she says after a moment. “What’s the plan?”
“A cookoff.”
“’A cookoff’?”
“On live TV.”
“Live?”
“Mm-hm. No editing. No tricks. They can’t go and pull shit if we’re live. It’s just you and her and the audience. Some pots and pans. Maybe a secret ingredient. Her incompetent pouty schlock up against your brilliance as a chef for all the world to see. What do you say?”
She chews her lip a moment, thinking. Then looks at me and says, “Let’s do this.”
Forty-Three
Cynthia
I wipe the sweat off my brow and check my ingredients one last time. Everything’s in place, and I won’t move from this spot until the cameras are rolling. One of the PA’s calls me over for last looks, but I shake my head.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I smile. Nothing can go wrong today. It’s the season finale, and if Stephen’s idea succeeds, we may just make it out of this mess.
It’s a great idea. Live TV means no shitty edits. Stephen steps into the kitchen and gives me a nod. It’s professional, but it warms my heart just the same.
Things are still a little rocky between us. Even after hearing everything Stephen had to say, it’s still hard to trust him. Old habits die hard, I think wearily and smooth my hair for the thousandth time.
“Hey,” I jump and almost knock over an entire tray of sliced zucchini. Stephen cracks a smile and places a warm hand over mine. “You’re gonna be great. I’ve got you. Just don’t let that timer out of your sight,” he warns and steps away quickly as one of the crew walks into the kitchen.
He’s been wonderful today. Keeping track of every ingredient, every utensil, down to the lemon zest. Like my own personal attack hawk, circling and ready to dive in should there be any sign of trouble.
Nadia files in and sees us, rolling her eyes at the proximity of our bodies.
“If you could keep your hands off her for one more episode, I’m sure she’ll have plenty of free time after this for whatever it is you two do together,” she sneers and starts to gather her things. The live TV angle threw her in for a loop, but she’s surprisingly calm now.
“Alright, ladies! Chief.” Kenny beams as he steps into the kitchen.