also wondered if she could really claim to know what she was talking about when she couldn’t even identify the rogue ingredient that was spoiling her coffee and pumpkin-pie-spiced muffin. But she put that consideration aside. Part of the pleasure in finding the right flavour came from discounting the wrong flavours.
‘I suppose I could try,’ she said guardedly.
He chuckled. His grin seemed genuinely triumphant. ‘Get me five hundred words of copy for tomorrow evening. We’ll pitch to the tabloid first. Admittedly, the tabloid lacks the gravitas of the broadsheet but it pays better. I’ll get onto the radio producer this afternoon and we’ll organise a convenient date for you to visit the studio and chat about potential projects. Maybe they can see how you work behind the microphone on Tuesday or Wednesday? You might also want to think about a title for the cookbook you’re working on and the brand image that best promotes your style and values.’
Trudy blinked.
Had she just agreed to do all of that?
Harvey placed his business card in front of her and then touched a couple of buttons on the screen of the tablet. He handled the technology with a fluid ease that looked decidedly slick.
‘I’m sending you a contract,’ he told her. ‘I’ll also send you links to those articles we just glanced at so you can see the style that other writers have used.’
‘Am I going to regret this?’
He glanced up from the tablet and grinned. ‘You’re on my books, Trudy. What could you possibly regret?’
‘That was neither a yes nor a no,’ she pointed out.
He laughed and nodded in Bill’s direction. ‘A couple of months from now you’ll be as big a celebrity as Billy.’
Trudy blanched. She wasn’t sure that was something she wanted. She was about to say as much and find a way to tell Harvey that, perhaps, she might need to think about his offer, or maybe reflect on it before giving him a decision. Her mobile buzzed again to remind her she still had a waiting text message.
The distraction interrupted her train of thought.
Rolling her eyes and quietly apologising to Harvey, she finally decided to see who had sent her the message.
It was a text from Donny: I’ll make you pay, bitch.
Aliceon, Bill’s ex-wife and Boui-Boui’s super-efficient maître d’, stepped to Trudy’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Aliceon was tall, imposing and meticulous in her formal black business suit. Even though she wasn’t working today, and had only been summoned to Boui-Boui with everyone else to provide background for the photo shoot, she had still dressed like the restaurant’s most commanding official. Her narrow features, and the rarity of her thin-lipped smile, always made Trudy think she might be austere and unapproachable. In the six months Trudy had known her, Aliceon had done little to dispel that idea.
‘You asked me to let you know when the time was close to six o’clock.’
Trudy glanced at her wristwatch. The time wasn’t just close to six o’clock. It was six o’clock precisely. She blinked in amazement. Aliceon was also a master of punctuality.
‘It’s six o’clock already?’ Where the hell had the day gone? She flashed an apologetic smile at Harvey and said, ‘I need to make a start on something in the kitchen. It’s very important I get it done on time.’
He nodded. ‘Of course it is.’
He mumbled something about not having expected the photo shoot to go on for so long. Then he was picking up the business card he had handed her earlier and pushing it firmly into her fingers.
‘Take care of this. Please. If you have any questions you can call me anytime and we’ll talk. Anytime,’ he insisted.
It annoyed Trudy to see Aliceon pointedly observing the exchange. The maître d’ watched with unblinking eyes. Her inscrutable features didn’t show whether she approved, disapproved or even understood what she was watching. Without saying a word, Aliceon simply made it known that she was observing and not missing a single detail.
Trudy quashed her sense of indignation.
She took the card, thanked Harvey and started towards the kitchen. As she was moving away, weaving artfully between tables, acknowledging friends and acquaintances and avoiding waiters and waitresses, she half expected the photographer to call her back and tell her she must remain at her table until the set was complete. The further she walked, the more it surprised her that the man who was so meticulous about having a couple on each table in the background hadn’t noticed that she’d left Harvey alone.
Glancing back over her shoulder Trudy saw that Aliceon had taken the seat she’d vacated. The maître d’ was now sharing the table with Harvey, ensuring the photographer’s backgrounds remained balanced with a couple at every table.
Maddeningly, Aliceon and Harvey were chuckling together.
Trudy realised, given Aliceon’s longstanding relationship with Bill and his friends, the maître d’ and Harvey had probably known each other since before she was born. Aliceon had been married to Bill twice. She obviously knew his agent and the thought made Trudy feel stupidly young and pointedly inadequate.
Not for the first time, Trudy realised, Aliceon was quietly making her feel as though she had no business being in a relationship with someone as mature as Bill. Glumly, Trudy thought it probably wouldn’t be the last time the woman made her feel that way.
She entered the restaurant’s empty kitchens and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was good to be away from the bustle of front of house. Even though the restaurant hadn’t been serving the public this afternoon, and the only people out there had been co-workers, friends and the friends of friends, it had still been too busy for her liking.
There had been too many people.
There had been too much to think about.
There had been too many near-naked women pressing against Bill.
She supposed that final point was the one that really irked her.
Boui-Boui didn’t operate as a kitchen on Sundays – at least, not as a professional kitchen. It was the one day of the week that Trudy and Bill allowed themselves some together time. Usually they tried to make it a day untroubled by their busy work schedules and to maximise their alone time.
This Sunday, because of the photo shoot, events had worked out differently. This Sunday, it felt as though they’d barely had a chance to exchange a chaste kiss. Trudy hoped they would be able to do more before the end of the day otherwise the entire weekend would be lost.
She went to the fridge and retrieved two prepared sirloins from the shelf where they’d been sitting for the past twenty-four hours. She’d been working on a new flavour: a bourbon marinade seasoned with green onions, chilli peppers, Dijon mustard and a couple of her other favoured sauces.
