Chapter 17
Gina pressed her face against the glass of the small Cessna aircraft as the plane took off from Auburn Municipal Airport. She should’ve left the previous night in her car, but hadn’t been up for the seven-hour drive to Los Angeles. And a commercial flight was out of the question.
At least she’d had the whole night to work the phones. And even though the chartered flight was an extravagance, she couldn’t afford to put this off.
ChefAid had made it known it was ready to cut her loose.
She was getting pummeled from all sides and needed to put her boxing gloves on.
“Can I use my phone?” she asked the flight attendant, who sat in the seat behind the cockpit.
The young woman shrugged. “You’re really not supposed to, but…”
That was all the permission Gina needed to put her cell on airplane mode and start calling her team. She wanted them all assembled at her Malibu headquarters in ninety minutes.
The two-story building not only housed the offices for her frozen food and houseware divisions, it also served as her set.
A gleaming 1200-square-foot stage made to look like a well-appointed home kitchen.
That is, if you had seven figures to blow on a home kitchen.
The lighting and acoustics—the brainchild of two of the most renowned set designers in Los Angeles—cost more than most upscale kitchen remodels alone.
After this fiasco, who knew if she’d still need it.
Wendy Dalton was picking her up at the Santa Monica Airport so they could discuss strategy before Gina’s meeting with her staff. She wanted all hands on deck.
If ChefAid wanted to pay her out for the remaining three years on her contract, there might not be anything she could do about it, according to her lawyer. But they were talking about dumping her without a cent in favor of a new face.
No way would she let someone dethrone her without a valiant fight. As long as she had three years left on her contract, she intended to make the bastards adhere to their agreement.
She used the sixty-minute flight to finish up her phone calls, texts, and emails. By the time they landed, she felt like she’d worked an eight-hour day.
Wendy met her at the curb in a silver Mercedes-Benz. Gina had packed light. Just a briefcase, her laptop, and purse. Between her office and home, she had everything she needed, except a car. If she had to, she’d hire a driver.
She stashed her things in Wendy’s back seat and got up front.
“Good flight?”
“It was fast and productive.”
“Good, because I’ve got news. Very interesting news. Fasten your seat belt, because we’ve got a war on our hands.”
Wendy waited for Gina to buckle up and nosed into traffic.
It was past rush hour and yet cars still crawled along Pacific Coast Highway like overfed snails.
Gina hadn’t missed LA’s bottlenecks. She still hadn’t figured out the roads in Dry Creek, but at least she was mostly alone on them while she got herself hopelessly lost.
“You ready for this?” Wendy asked as she headed for Malibu. “It’s Candace Clay.”
“What?” Gina turned sideways in her seat.
“That’s who’s trying to become the new spokeswoman for ChefAid. She’s a real operator, that Candace.”
“When I talked to Linda yesterday she said she didn’t know who was in talks with them, only that it was another chef.”
“At the time none of us knew. But these things never stay secret for long.”
“Are you sure?” Candace Clay? As far as Gina knew, the Clays worked exclusively with the cookware company, Tramontina. If memory served her right, the Clays had their own line of nonstick pots and pans.
“Yep. My source on this is rock-solid. It sounds like Candace has become quite ambitious since that photo of you and her husband hit the internet. She’s apparently trying to build an empire and using the publicity of Danny’s affair to her benefit.”
Gina massaged her temples, feeling another migraine coming on. “I can’t believe this is happening. Next, she’ll be coming for my soul.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Wendy said. The woman reminded Gina so much of her son. Both were no-nonsense, save-your-drama-for-your-mama, let’s-get-it-done individuals.
It instantly gave her pangs of homesickness for Dry Creek Ranch.
Funny, because she’d never thought of the ranch as her home.
But she missed Sawyer. All night she’d wanted to call and commiserate with him that the enterprise she’d painstakingly built for herself through hard work and perseverance was being taken apart one piece at a time.
But since their creek-side disagreement, she no longer knew where she stood with him. He hadn’t called or texted. And it had been the first time they’d slept apart in a week.
Now, though, wasn’t the time to ponder what had crawled up Sawyer’s ass to cause the distance. Not while her own ass was on the line.
“Should I try to move up the meeting with ChefAid?” It was a week away. Gina had hoped by then she could show she’d been the victim of a smear campaign. As soon as the public learned the truth, she’d be the hottest ticket in town.
“First, we should talk to Henry about your legal options. They may not be so quick to wiggle out of a contract with you if it means a lawsuit.”
“He’ll be at the meeting. We can have a private conference with him first thing.”
“That’s wise.” Wendy’s foot grew heavier on the pedal after they passed Pacific Palisades. It was a reverse commute and the traffic had lifted.
There were twenty people, including her manager, agent, and the publicist she hadn’t fired, waiting when they arrived at DeRose Food Enterprises. Henry was running late.
“Just give me ten minutes to use the restroom and freshen up,” Gina told her staff and turned to Darby, her assistant. “Did you have brunch delivered?”
“There’s food and coffee in the conference room.” Darby motioned for everyone to follow her through the double doors, leaving Gina with a little time alone.
She went to her office to drop off her briefcase and stood at the picture window, watching the waves crash on the shore. This morning, the Pacific looked as turbulent as her insides felt. She gathered her composure and hit the ladies’ room before joining the rest of her team.
It was time to kick some ass and take back her life.
* * * *
Gina stretched out on her California king bed as a cool breeze wafted through her open French doors.
The ocean lapped against the beach just outside her bedroom.
She could smell a hint of furniture polish and the organic cleaning solution Jessica used to mop the floors. Everything sparkled with cleanliness.
It didn’t matter how many times she dusted or knocked down the cobwebs at Dry Creek Ranch, the cabin always had a patina of grime. And yet, she’d come to admire—maybe even adore—the rugged ranch that had been her sanctuary for the last month.
And especially the people.
Here, she didn’t have many friends. In the beginning, before Now That’s Italian!
, she’d had a handful of people with whom she socialized.
But between the hours spent working and promoting her brand as well as ChefAid’s, she’d been too busy to invest in those relationships.
Now that she was a celebrity it was difficult letting new people in.
She never knew if they wanted to be friends with Gina DeRose the person or Gina DeRose the FoodFlicks star.
Most of the people with whom she felt comfortable worked for her. But socializing with employees was a dicey proposition.
At Dry Creek Ranch, though, she was free to just be. And despite the scandal and the bad publicity, Charlie and Aubrey had welcomed her friendship with open arms.
She swung her legs over the bed and wandered into the kitchen for a bottle of sparkling water.
Every room from her house had a view of the ocean.
There were steps down to the beach and if it wasn’t for the fact that she was supposed to be incognito she would’ve taken a stroll along the sandy strand to clear her head.
But the tourists were out in full force.
And unlike in Dry Creek, where mostly everyone minded their own business, here the tourists were not only on the lookout for famous people, they went to great lengths to seek them out.
They frequented all the usual celebrity spots: Jerry’s Deli, the Ivy, Chateau Marmont, Runyon Canyon, even LAX.
Hell, for a few bucks they could take a bus tour of the stars’ homes.
Stalking at its finest.
Here, inside her house, she was safe from the prying eyes of the masses.
She’d gotten home around eight, after an exhausting day. Henry had drafted a letter to ChefAid, reminding the CEO that he was bound by the contract.
“We sound tough,” he’d said in that Oklahoma drawl that his grandparents had brought to California with them during the Dust Bowl and had passed down to the next two generations. “But it’s pissing in the wind.”
According to the morals clause, ChefAid had the right to jettison Gina and hire Candace. Henry had written the letter anyway, letting them know that they couldn’t can Gina without a very public legal battle.
“They’ll pay you out to avoid the lawyers and the publicity. It’s easier that way,” Henry had told her.
At this point, she didn’t know if she even cared anymore. The fighter in her should’ve been outraged by the unfairness of it all. But she was too tired. Tired of the scratching and the clawing and the jockeying to stay on top.
If only Sadie could see her now. Wouldn’t her mother have the last laugh?
Her cell went off and Gina searched for where she’d last left the phone. She followed the ringing and found it on the charger stand in her kitchen. She glanced at the caller ID.
Sawyer.
Her heart stopped.
“Hello?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to LA? I would’ve given you a ride to the airport.”
Charlie had shuttled her to Auburn. She could’ve driven herself, but was afraid to leave her car unattended in the lot for days. There was no telling how long she’d be here.