And He Cooks Too Read Free

would only appear to confirm his charges.” With a hitch in her voice, she added, “I’m not sure what to do, Mom. That’s why I called you. My plan to become Super Chef in the next few years is in shreds.”
    “Maybe you should take a break from that career plan? You’ve set such lofty expectations for yourself, trying to live up to your father’s success.”
    Not this argument again . “Not live up to his success, Mom. Pay tribute to him. Celebrate the name that came so close to superstardom.” She probably should’ve told her mom why she was so driven to become the city’s super chef. Still too ashamed. Maybe someday but not yet.
    “Fine. But you don’t have to get there by the same age he was when he died. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
    Subject change needed. “Back to my current situation, what should I do?” Did that come out like a whine?
    “O-kay,” her mother replied tentatively. After a bit, she suggested, “Why not call that TV chef? The one that followed you from the restaurant and offered you a job?”
    “That Nick guy? I only told you about him because I thought his proposition was a hoot.”
    “That was then. Now, it’s a different story. You need a job, and his seems to be the only one on the table at the moment.”
    Surely her mother was kidding? Taking that job would be such a step down career-wise. If word got around that she’d become a production assistant on a local cooking show, it would annihilate what was still left of her professional reputation.
    “Even long distance, I can sense you turning up your nose,” her mother surmised. “Before it goes too high, think of it this way—you’d be diversifying your experience. Making yourself more marketable.”
    “You actually made that preposterous idea sound logical.”
    “You could call it cutting edge culinary training. Let other chefs cook or sleep their way to the top, like that woman who got your job. You’d simply be taking a different path.”
    “I appreciate the humor. I needed a laugh today.”
    “Hey, wait! I was serious.”
    “Television’s not my thing,” she said, dismissing the idea. “But you did get me to thinking. Maybe I could use my cooking skills in another venue. At least until this current embarrassment dies down.”
    “Like…?”
    “Like sign on as some billionaire’s personal chef. Or take up catering.”
    “As long as you’d enjoy yourself. But promise me one thing. Watch that show first.”
    “Oh, all right.” Anything to get her mother off the topic.
    But viewing the show wasn’t a priority. It wasn’t until the next day, bored enough to clean out her purse, that she discovered the business card. According to the copy on it, the weekly episode aired in thirty-five minutes. She shrugged. How copasetic. Why not?
    On the tube, he appeared to be holding court in the set designer’s idea of a bachelor’s urban kitchen. “Bachelor’s,” because it lacked any frills and was decorated in a palette of grays and blacks. “Urban,” because the window over a stainless steel double sink at the back featured a backdrop of the nighttime Manhattan skyline.
    His blue oxford cloth shirt emphasized great shoulders and pecs. And accentuated incredible dark blue eyes. Mesmerizing blue eyes, like the depth of the ocean. Watch the show, Reese. Not the man. Nonetheless, the guy really was a hunk. That’s probably what brings in the audience. All female, I bet. But he was too good looking with his perfectly-trimmed black hair and male model chiseled face. No man could be trusted, but this one, with looks like that, even less.
    Pretty one-dimensional. Just Nick Coltrane solo, preparing a meal. But the camera really liked him. She had to admit, there was a certain charm about him that said, “Difficult to prepare, yes, but if I can do it, so can you.”
    Appealing manner. Great looks. But those didn’t change her mind about the job offer. Other than earning a pittance of a paycheck, no