Читать книгу Dishing It Out - Molly O'Keefe - Страница 11

“VERY FUNNY.” Marie laughed, a pop of incredulity that came from her gut. She stood to leave. “Are we done? Because I have to get back to the restaurant.”

“I’m not joking Marie. The executive producers…”

“Simon, come on,” she chastised. But Simon wasn’t laughing. In fact, he looked uncomfortable. Sweaty. He looks sweaty. And very very serious. Marie sat back down in her chair.

“Oh, no,” she breathed. “You’re serious.”

“I thought you would be excited.”

“Excited?” She shook her head at him in disbelief, trying to get her brain around this nonsense. This was worse than getting fired. This was like being overrun by the enemy. Marie felt a strange itch along her skin, an awareness of her heartbeat as it skipped a beat and then doubled. “This is my show, Simon. I built it. It’s called Soul Food with Marie Simmons, not Soul Food with Marie Simmons and a Cohost. And definitely not Marie Simmons and Van MacAllister.”

“Well, we haven’t really worked out the name yet….”

“The name isn’t important!” she cried. “You just said it’s your most popular segment,” she said in a far more reasonable voice. Though it was a bit high-pitched. “I beat out Patrick and Ivan, for crying out loud. Why in the world do you want to mess with a good thing?”

“Marie?” Simon crossed his arms behind his head, looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “Six months ago when you signed on you said you would do anything.”

“And I did, I did everything you asked. I wore a fruit hat, Simon.”

Simon laughed, caught her eye and then coughed uncomfortably. “Right, so why not a cohost?”

“Six months ago I would have wrestled in Jell-O if you wanted me to. But now I have a name and a reputation….” And a very small, very fragile empire to protect, damn it! “And you expect me to just hand it over to Van?” It was ludicrous. Outrageous! And she was beginning to hyperventilate.

Six months ago there was no alternative to being laid-back. Well, there was. It was called homeless, she thought ruefully. She had nothing to lose then. Marie’s Bistro had barely gotten off the ground, she had taken out another loan and was thinking of selling it all and moving to Peru. Soul Food was changing all of that. And now they want to change my show!

“Marie, your interest is our interest,” he told her and Marie almost recoiled in shock at what a used car salesman Simon was turning into right before her eyes. “We just want to…enhance your reputation.”

“How?”

“We’re looking for male viewers and younger viewers.”

“Young?” Marie shook her head, confused for a moment until the lightbulb went on. Simon and the rest of the producers had fallen for the hype. “No, come on Simon…”

“He’s the hip in ‘hip meets homey.’” Simon shrugged apologetically.

“I’m hip.” The adult voice tried to get her under control, but Marie was far too busy beginning a good and honest freak out to listen. “Homey can be hip.”

“Only if you’re fifty.”

Ouch. Marie stood up and began pacing the small area from the bulletin board to the opposite wall. Her blood pressure was climbing through the roof. She put a hand over her heart and felt the hard beat of it against her palm. “Okay, okay I can have a cohost—I can deal with a cohost, but not Van MacAllister. I’ll cook with anybody but him.” That’s good, Marie. Good compromise. Reasonable.

“Trust me, Marie.”

“Ha!”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this, Marie. A good gut feeling.” Like I care about your gut feelings! she thought, beginning to feel sick.

“It’s an awful idea. We won’t like each other,” she told him, grasping at straws.

“Have you ever really met him?”

“Face to face?” she asked, needlessly. She knew she was creeping toward ridiculous but she had actually made a point never to meet Van MacAllister. Call it pride, call it trying to avoid having a criminal record. Whatever it was, she hadn’t actually met him. She could go her whole life hating him from afar.

“My ears are burning,” a deep, sarcastic voice said from the doorway behind her.

Simon shot her a look that clearly said “behave,” as he stood to shake hands with Van as he entered the room.

“Hello, Giovanni,” he said.

“What’s he doing here?” Marie asked, realizing suddenly that this had been in the works for a while and she was obviously the last to know. Marie’s stomach twisted; she could not have felt more betrayed.

“I invited him to this meeting,” Simon answered.

“You’ve been having secret meetings behind my back?” she cried. Nothing upset her like secret meetings. They were childish and she always ended up getting screwed. “Simon, I can’t believe this.”

“Just hear us out,” Simon urged.

Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. Beaches. Waves. Puppies. Babies. None of it was working. And actually being in the same room with Van was filling her head with very unadult and unreasonable thoughts. Like arson.

Van turned and she got her first real look at him.

Marie was not a woman to get knocked off her feet, though for a moment she was taken aback by the sheer injustice done to him by photographs.

He still wasn’t handsome, not by a long shot. But he was just standing there and he seemed to take up the entire room. He was dressed in head-to-toe black, which might explain why he seemed so dramatic. He had a whole brooding, smoldering thing that on any other man would have Marie drooling.

Too bad it’s wasted on this guy, she thought.

But it was more than the way he looked. Van seemed even sharper than he came off in pictures or from across the street when she spied on him through her windows. Sharp and very focused. It was absurd, but in that moment Van MacAllister, man’s man and general all around pig, looked like a pirate.

She hoped, fervently, that Van MacAllister had a small penis. The man deserves a small penis.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said with sarcastic politeness. He leaned in toward her and the air when he got close to her crackled, like a nearby storm. The scent of garlic and rosemary lifted off him. She took a deep breath before she could stop herself.

“I gather that you have a problem working with me?” His eyes were hard and angry, and for a moment she felt like he was seeing right through her. Right into her petty and jealous heart.

“Problem?” She plunked her hands on her hips. “Why in the world would I have a problem with you? Just because you’ve—”

“Van, we’re thrilled you could make it today,” Simon said, trying to talk over Marie.

“Speak for yourself, Simon,” she said, not taking her eyes off Van, the pirate chef. She was mad, not attracted, and just because she had a hard time looking away from those eyes didn’t make her any less angry. In fact, it made it worse. He was a jerk. And he was her type. All of the careful cultivation of Marie’s calm and reason vanished.

“Is this about what was printed in The Examiner?” he asked. “Because it was taken completely of out context.” The look on his face, contrite and apologetic, made his features softer, his dark eyes somehow warmer. But Marie was not going to be fooled.

“Sure it was.”

“It was.”

“I’m not arguing with you.” She crossed her arms, and even shrugged and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Good.” He was looking at her carefully and she could feel him picking her apart to see if she were serious.

“Okay!” Simon clapped his hands together and sat down, but Van remained standing, eyeing her. She eyed him right back. If this was going to be some kind of staring contest, hell if she’d be the first to blink!

The room felt warmer. Simon seemed far away while Van seemed so close she could reach out and touch the zipper of his coat, or the scar on his chin, which was fascinating to look at.

Oh no you don’t, not this guy! She tried to wrestle her wayward hormones back in line.

“So, we’re ready to get to business?” he asked, like they were going to split a cab or go halves on a pizza. For a moment, Marie had trouble breathing through her anger and disbelief.

“You mean your business of taking over part of what I’ve worked so hard for?”

“Marie!” Simon interjected, but Van held up a hand, curtailing Simon.

“I think we should avoid the words ‘taking over,’” Van said calmly.

“Okay, how about this?” she sighed, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “How about the business where I work my ass off for a year and then just when things start to go right for me you get to come along and share. Share? Do we all like that word?” She glanced around, liking the abashed look in Simon’s eyes and the muscle that was ticking in Van’s jaw.

“Right. So I work hard and you come and share in my success. Which, frankly, I’m thankful for because I was having such a hard time handling it on my own.” She took a step closer to him. “If you want to be on TV, Van, go find your own show.”

The silence in the office had an echo. She could actually hear the blood beat through her veins, her breath in her lungs.

Van cleared his throat. “Point taken.” He nodded, his smile tight.

“Good, then…” She made a move for the door so she could show Van out. “I think our business here is done.”

“But—” Van shifted, blocking her way. He crossed his arms over his chest while he pinned her to the wall with his eyes. She felt the sharp popping shocks from the static and animosity surrounding them. “While I certainly appreciate your little speech, let’s understand something—I was approached by the producers. By Simon.”

“Whom I will never forgive,” she threw in with menacing cheer.

“Because your show was missing something.” He raised one of those overgrown eyebrows and Marie’s fingers twitched. “Something,” Van continued, “I can provide.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She resorted back to sarcasm. “Maybe you do have something I need for the show.” Marie would bet a new dishwasher on the fact that Van had no idea what he would be doing on TV, because his was not a face for television. “Do you have lots of experience with live TV? Hmmm?”

“No,” he said in a low voice.

“No, not lots, or no, not any?” she asked, tilting her head and waiting patiently.

“Simon,” Van put his hand on top of a pile of papers on Simon’s desk, “you said that she wasn’t going to have a problem with this.” He jerked his thumb back at Marie. “I call this a problem.”

Marie’s jaw fell to the floor. Such treason from a man she considered a friend.

“Simon?” she asked, dropping the sarcasm for a moment, and feeling marginally naked in front of Van. “Did you really think that I would be okay with this? That I didn’t have any pride in what I had built? In what we had built?”

“I understand that there are—” Simon swallowed audibly “—challenges.” He shook his head at Marie like she was a child who had disappointed him. She knew her behavior wasn’t exactly sterling, but she had nothing to apologize for. Simon suddenly looked small and wary. “You don’t really have a choice.”

For the first time since Simon had brought this up, the changes in her show became real. Van was in the room sucking up far too much air and taking up way too much space—imagine what he would do to her show! This was just like France. Men thinking they knew what was best for her. Underestimating her, brushing her aside. Well, she had learned her lesson two years ago and it wasn’t going to happen again.

“What happens if I say no?” Marie asked.

“You lose half your airtime, the other half goes to Van.”

She could only blink and try to breathe one small mouthful of air at a time. “Wow,” she finally said, which was an awful summation of what she was feeling. She looked down at her feet, at the lovely black boots she had paid far too much for. She had to fight the tears that suddenly sprang up. She laughed ruefully. “Just when you start to feel on top of things…”

“Marie…?” There was something different in Van’s face, a softness around his hard eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Save it, Van. I’ve got to get back to work at my ‘little coffee shop.’” He sucked in a breath and Marie felt the cool victory that comes with saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.

The urge to walk out the door, get in her car and drive away from all of this came over her, but that would have been something the old Marie would have done.

“You have twenty-four hours, Marie,” Simon cut in, ruining her exit. “Twenty-four hours to make up your mind and do the smart thing. The way the world is making chefs into celebrities you could write your own ticket.”

Marie bit her tongue. It was a nice dream. With probably some nice money attached to it. But it wasn’t worth it if she had to share it with Van.

“I’ll call you, Simon,” she said.

She didn’t look at Van, so unsure of what she would do or say to him. But as she left, she walked through the smell of him, rosemary and anger, and her body reacted.

She put her right hand over all five of the bracelets on her left wrist, curling her fingers around the silver.

What the hell am I going to do now?