Chapter 17 #2
“I was under the impression you were mad at me…over the restaurant thing.”
“I told you it wasn’t the restaurant.”
She took the phone with her into the living room and curled up on her white sofa. “Then what?”
There was a long pause. “Charlie told me that someone else is vying for your ChefAid gig.”
“It’s Candace. Your mom found out.”
“Damn, the woman knows how to get even, doesn’t she? Where are you and are you okay?”
“I’m home. And I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She was hanging on by a thread. But she had too much pride to tell him—or anyone, for that matter. Fake it till you make it had always been her motto.
“I would’ve come with you, Gina, if you’d only told me.”
“Everything was last minute, including the chartered flight. Besides, you weren’t talking to me at the time.”
“Ah, stop with the bullshit. I went home to get some work done. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.”
She got off the couch, went outside onto the balcony, and stared out at the sea. It was nearly dark, shrouding the water in shadow. “You were angry when you left the creek. You said it yourself.”
“I was frustrated, not angry.”
“Frustrated over what? Because I don’t want to open a restaurant on the ranch?”
“No,” he said and remained silent until the quiet became awkward. “You want to know the truth? I’m falling for you and I don’t like it. Besides the fact that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, our lives don’t mesh. Not even a little.”
The words stunned her. Not the part about their lives not meshing. They didn’t. He thought she was a pampered celebrity and she’d cop to that. She wasn’t interested in changing who she was, not for a man. Not for anyone.
But he was falling for her.
She’d known he was attracted. He’d made that clear every night they slept together. She’d known he enjoyed their little game of wordplay. She’d even known that he genuinely liked her, despite his opinion that she was a spoiled brat. She’d known all of that.
But falling? As in the L word?
“What do you mean by falling?” She wanted him to clarify to make sure she wasn’t misconstruing this conversation.
“Ah, for Christ’s sake, Gina, what the fuck do you think I mean?”
Not the most poetic declaration, but her heart skipped like the flat stones Sawyer sailed across Dry Creek. Still, she was cautious. Other than her father, no one had ever loved her. Certainly not Sadie. And Sawyer? He was the finest man she’d ever known. She couldn’t bear to even hope.
“What are you planning to do about this Candace situation?” he segued, either to give her an out on responding to his pronouncement or because he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“My lawyer has written a letter to ChefAid, reminding them that they’re contractually obligated to me. Whatever good that’ll do.” The evening chill bit through her thin loungewear and she hugged herself before deciding to go in, shutting the doors behind her.
“The woman isn’t wasting any time capitalizing on her victimhood, is she? It gives a suspicious person license to wonder, doesn’t it?”
“What are you saying?” She grabbed a light throw blanket and wrapped it around her like a shawl and curled up on the couch again. Just hearing Sawyer’s voice went a long way to taking the sting out of the day.
“Someone set you up. Opportunity stands out as a good motive, don’t you think?”
“Are you saying Candace is the one behind the picture, the texts, the gossip? Seems like a cheating husband is a humiliating way to enhance your career.”
“In the beginning I would’ve agreed,” Sawyer said. “But I’m starting to wonder. She definitely appears to want your life in a big way. Your time slot on FoodFlicks. Replacing you at ChefAid. Either it’s payback because she believes you slept with her husband or she’s one cunning woman.”
“So you think this is all a publicity stunt to bolster Candace’s career? Wow, it seems a little out there.”
“Perhaps. Nothing wrong with considering all possibilities. When are you coming home? Or are you?” His voice trailed off, almost like he was holding his breath.
“I don’t know yet. We’re trying to decide whether to move up our meeting with ChefAid. It would help if I could prove that this whole thing with Danny is a hoax. He’s still trying to call me, by the way. Did you ever get in touch with him?”
“Nope, he’s not taking my calls. He probably knows I’m a reporter and thinks I’m using you to get a story. I’ll keep trying.”
“What about my manager? Could she reach out to him? Or Wendy?”
Sawyer appeared to be mulling it over and finally said, “Before we found the original picture, I would’ve said no.
They’re your employees, after all. If the press caught wind of it they would’ve thought you were setting up trysts with him through your staff.
Now, though, you’ve got a legitimate reason to talk.
Yeah, have one of them reach out to him.
See where that goes. But Gina, don’t trust him. ”
“I don’t trust anyone.” That was the truth. And wasn’t that a sad statement about her life?
“You can trust me.”
“Can I?” Or would he break her heart?
Besides the fact that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, our lives don’t mesh. Not even a little. His words reminded her that she couldn’t rely on him. His infatuation with her was as fleeting as her stardom had been.
“Yes. I’ll come if you want me to.”
She’d never wanted anything more. But what was the point? He couldn’t fight her battles for her and she didn’t want him to. “I’ve got this. But thank you.”
The moments stretched between them.
“Right,” he finally said. “I’m around if you need me.” He sounded disappointed or perhaps that was what she wanted to hear.
She didn’t need a savior. I can handle this myself.
Worse comes to worst, she’d lose it all and rebuild. She’d done it once; she could do it again. Gina still had her business sense and a knack for predicting trends. No one could take that away from her.
“Thanks for calling, Sawyer.” She started to tell him she missed him and stopped herself.
Our lives don’t mesh.
“Yup” was all he said and clicked off.
She lay on the couch, conjuring his blue eyes. The ones that saw right through her. No one had ever read her the way he did. No one had ever called her out on her insecurities and told her that he believed in her.
“Why do you always do that? Why do you always have to belittle what you do?”
Focus, she demanded. Right now, she needed to focus on saving her business, not on Sawyer. Though his voice alone had given her a second wind to climb back to the top of the mountain and take her rightful place as queen.
She got her laptop from her office and began to furiously take notes. There were a thousand ideas floating around in her head.
If she lost her ambassadorship with ChefAid, she’d start her own appliance company.
And when she was done, she’d bury the big guys.
If she lost her show, she’d make a new one.
Sell it to the DIY channel. Hell, screw cable.
She’d go network. Look at Rachael Ray and Martha Stewart.
Both had had their own syndicated talk shows.
This was exactly what she loved. Empire building. Once again, she would prove Sadie wrong. Show her dead mother that she was the daughter Sadie had always wanted.
A star.
“To hell with you, Mother.” She ripped the throw blanket off, rolled it into a ball, and chucked it at the wall, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll show you.”
Her head continued to pound until she thought it would explode. In search of aspirin, she tore through two medicine cabinets like a wrecking ball.
“I live in a damn palace with every modern convenience. Yet, not one goddamn over-the-counter painkiller,” she muttered to herself, before finally finding a bottle of Tylenol in the kitchen.
She washed down three tablets with water and wiped the snot from her nose. Her quiet tears had turned to wracking sobs.
Before Gina knew what she was doing, she reached for a mixing bowl. Next, the eggs and milk, which Jessica delivered every week from the farmers’ market, removing the old. There was flour in the cupboard and vanilla beans from Madagascar.
She thought about Laney’s chess pie and started with her crust. Flour, butter, salt, Crisco, and ice water. Home cooks were afraid of pastry dough, but it was easy as pie. She laughed to herself and swiped her hand across her cheek to wipe away a stray tear.
With the whir of the food processor, she started to feel better. And when it was time to hand-stir the filling, she’d become so lost in the task that her sadness had diminished. There was just this: The solitude of her kitchen and the warmth and comfort of making something from her heart.
An hour later, the pie came out of the oven, looking as beautiful as Laney’s. Gina planned to bring it to work in the morning. Sustenance for the troops on a busy day. But she never got that chance.
At seven sharp there was a pounding on her door loud enough to wake Forest Lawn cemetery. She threw on a robe, padded across the white ash floors in her bare feet, and opened the front door only to have a dozen camera strobes flash in her face.
“Ms. DeRose, is it true you and Danny Clay plan to marry in the fall?”
“Are you two doing a cooking show together?”
“Does Candace know?”
Like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, Gina stood in the doorway of her house, frozen. It was only later that she realized that whoever set her up wasn’t done with her yet.