the wings of the Food TV show You Want a Piece of Me has caught his pants-on-fire. It seems Montigo, 35, falsely positioned himself as a culinary hotshot with hoity-toity credentials. In response, Food TV executives have relieved him of the remainder of his contract. They will show reruns of the episodes that have already been taped.
According to Montigo’s biography on FoodTV.com the chef claimed to hold a diploma from the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu culinary arts school in Paris. Au contraire, say school officials. “Our records cannot substantiate a connection between Monsieur Montigo and the school. He did not earn a Grand Diplome from our institution and should cease and desist connecting himself to Le Cordon Bleu.”
Also, he maintained he was formerly a chef at the Élysée Palace in Paris, the official residence of the French president. That assertion also was proven to be a lie.
Montigo and his representatives did not return phone calls before the publication of this article.
It was like reading about a train wreck. What would possess him to do that? How did he think he could get away with falsifying his background? When you’re in the public eye, you’re begging people to ask questions and snoop around. Well, that’s exactly what she’d ask him tomorrow when they met.
Her conscience protested.
It would be awkward digging up the past, rehashing things he probably wanted to put behind him—asking the tough questions was another aspect she’d found difficult about journalism.
She stared at the black-and-white photo of Carlos on the screen, a shot of Carlos in a leather jacket and a tough look on his handsome face, a publicity shot for You Want A Piece of Me.
But surely if he was promoting himself at the festival he had to know that media would ask questions.
She’d have to. It was her job—especially since Chandler wanted edgy.
Well, as edgy as you could get in a three-minute spot.
She searched some more and viewed Carlos’s Web site, which was all about pitching his new cookbook—published by Lone Wolf Press.
Hmm…never heard of that house.
It also had recipes and a bio that didn’t reveal anything new. It only mentioned his brief relationship with Food TV and his old stomping ground, Prima Bella Donna, in passing.
Nothing about the controversy.
The Food TV site was even less revealing. There was no mention of Carlos Montigo. It was as if he’d never existed in their realm.
She searched hundreds of articles that appeared in her Google search, but they were simply rehashings of the Herald article and didn’t offer anything new.
Until she clicked on one that showed Carlos and a attractive brunette toasting each other on a Mediterranean-styled terrace with a gorgeous water view behind them.
The title of the article, which was presumably written before all hell broke loose, was The Chef and His Prima Donna.
Lindsay skimmed it, wanting to know more about this woman who, according to the article, was no wallflower, and what caused their irreconcilable differences.
They looked so happy in the photo.
According to the article, equal parts of Carlos’s cooking and her charm were responsible for growing their Prima Bella Donna into the toast of the South Beach restaurant scene.
So this was his ex.
Lindsay studied her pretty face and the way Carlos was smiling at her. It reminded her of the way that Luc looked at Sophie.
But no! That was completely different.
Sophie and Luc were happy.
Carlos and Donna were…divorced.
Does love ever last?
How do you go from looking at each other as though the sun rose and set in your love’s eyes to being…irreconcilable?
She blinked away the thought. She had just opened a word processing program on her computer and began to write notes and interview questions when her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Lindsay? It’s Sophie. How are you?”
Thrilled at the sound of her friend’s voice, Lindsay sat up. She set the laptop aside and swung her feet over the side of the bed.
“Sophie, hi! It’s so good to hear your voice, but why on earth are you calling me? You’re on your honeymoon.”
Sophie laughed. “Are you kidding? Do you think I could wait another two weeks to see how your meeting with Carson went? Besides, Luc went down to consult with the concierge about a trip we want to take tomorrow. So I have a few minutes. Tell me how it went.”
For a split second, Lindsay considered playing a joke on Sophie—like they used to kid each other when they worked together—she thought about saying she’d gone home without talking to Chandler…or better yet, that Chandler said, “Thanks, but no, thanks.” But she didn’t have the heart. Not when her friend had been so good to give her this opportunity, and she didn’t want to waste the precious little time they had to talk playing a prank.
“He offered me the job.”
Sophie squealed. “And?”
“And we start shooting tomorrow at the St. Michel Food and Wine festival. In fact, I was working on my interview questions. Oh, Sophie, I don’t know how I will ever repay you for this.”
“You can repay me by knocking the socks off Chandler…and your admiring public.”
“No pressure, huh? Couldn’t I just take you to lunch the next time I see you?”
They both laughed.
“Lunch would be good. Could we set a date for a return visit now?”
Lindsay sighed. “I wish we could, but with work, I don’t know when I’ll be able to make it back to St. Michel.”
“Oh, Linds, I’m so happy for you. Not to bring up a sore subject, but how did Mary take it? I’ll bet she had a fit.”
Lindsay sighed. “That’s putting it mildly. I thought she was going to reach through the phone and strangle me. I’ve never quit a job without giving at least two weeks’ notice.”
Lindsay cringed at the thought.
“Right, but she should understand you’re not just ditching her. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“I hope so because if not, I’ve just blown years of my life because Mary informed me she won’t give me a good reference—no way, no how.”
“Well, you won’t need one. Despite my prodding, Carson wouldn’t have chosen you if he didn’t see something special in you, Linds.”
“Here’s my idea.” Lindsay took a deep breath and placed
