The Man Ban - Nicola Marsh Page 0,16

to ponder. “Interesting.”

“I didn’t have time, what with organizing this job,” she said, feeling her face flame at her fib. “A job I’m on the verge of screwing up, big-time.”

“I thought you looked a little hot and bothered, and that guy you were talking to was petrified. What’s going on?”

Just like that, the comic relief Manny had provided for the last few minutes faded away and the enormity of her situation crashed over her.

“For jobs this big, I require an assistant. We’re shooting three dishes today, three tomorrow, and the amount of work required in preparation is massive. We need to shop for props, create props, arrange surfaces, unpack equipment, and that’s before the real hard work starts.”

She blew out a breath, annoyed by the burn of tears behind her eyes. “The assistant has called in sick, so basically, I’m screwed. I can’t do this all on my own . . .” She trailed off, horrified to find her throat tightening. She cleared it and continued. “Anyway, I can’t stand around chatting. I’ve got work to do.”

“Let me help,” he said, the concern in his eyes almost undoing her completely. “I can be your assistant.”

His offer stunned her, and she gaped at him for a moment before reassembling her wits.

“Don’t be silly. You’ve got more important things to do than take orders from me.”

When his brow arched in amusement, like he’d enjoy taking orders from her in other rooms besides the kitchen, she added, “Besides, you don’t know anything about food styling.”

“I’m a fast learner.” He shrugged, like his offer meant nothing, when she wanted to fling herself into his arms and hug him. “Seriously, if you want my help, I’m offering.”

This was crazy. Why would a doctor she barely knew, and had thoroughly insulted by covering his face in cream then ignoring his text, want to help her?

She met his steady stare and her angst faded. Despite her previous assumptions, and her overreaction to his insulting her work at the wedding, Manny was a good guy. He didn’t have to do this, but he’d offered to save her ass despite the way she’d treated him. She’d be a fool not to accept.

“I’m pretty bossy,” she said, brandishing the turkey baster. “And I’ll probably take an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling you what to do. Barking orders. Humiliating you. That kind of thing.”

He grinned, and her heart did that weird little flip-flop thing it had done the first time he’d smiled at her at the wedding.

“I’m all yours, for however long you need me.”

That’s what she was afraid of.

14

Manny wasn’t prone to doing crazy things to impress women. He liked a woman, he flirted, they reciprocated, they dated. Easy.

So what the hell was he doing, running around like a madman as Harper barked orders at him?

The last few hours had been manic, and she hadn’t been kidding about needing an assistant. No way could she have done this shoot on her own. He’d helped lift heavy platters and fruit bowls, move tables, and arrange props. And that’s when he wasn’t handing her equipment so she could work at a frantic pace, making the dishes appear particularly delectable.

She made a rack of lamb look like a work of art; mussels look so fresh, like they’d just been pried off rocks; and whitebait fritters so pretty he wanted to gobble them in one go.

They hadn’t stopped for a break over the last four hours, and the delicious aromas of the food, along with her immaculate presentation, made his stomach rumble. But Harper had made it clear: no tasting the food until they’d finished, and while cold lamb and mussels held little appeal, he’d happily eat the lot the minute she called quit.

A photographer buzzed around, changing lighting and angles, taking hundreds of shots. Manny couldn’t believe this much work went into producing those food pictures in magazines. Once she’d arranged the dishes Harper didn’t stop, ducking between the photographer to move a sprig of parsley or glazing the lamb to make it look extra juicy. She’d barely glanced his way, her focus so intent she could give some surgeons he’d worked with a run for their money.

When the photographer finally laid down his camera and said, “Good job,” Manny was ready for a nap. Pulling an extra shift at the hospital had never drained him as much as this.

“Right, time to start packing up, Manny,” Harper said, beckoning him over to the banquet table where the food had been set up.