And He Cooks Too Read Free Page B

than reporting time. Many of the technical crew had already arrived, going about whatever “technical” things they did. The activity produced a certain din, not unlike the restaurant cacophony she knew so well. The area even smelled a bit like a restaurant kitchen, with the tangy fragrance of cinnamon and apples mingling with other less recognizable smells. Paint? Epoxy? Those must be coming from the production side.
    “You report to Jasper Walters,” Nick Coltrane had told her. “Remember, no one else is to know that I hired you or that we’ve even met. Don’t mention you’re a chef, either.”
    Why the secrecy? She’d agreed, but it was sure going to make it more difficult to make herself known to Leonie McCutcheon. Reese surveyed her new digs. Directly in front of her, she recognized the kitchen set from the episode she’d viewed. The larger, more utilitarian room off to the side must be the prep kitchen. A stainless steel counter loaded with produce, boxes of foodstuffs, and several bottles and jars of spices ran down the center.
    A small, glass-enclosed room that spanned the rear of the studio must be the control booth.
    What a cavern. And no friendly faces to greet her. When no one approached, she drifted over to the only other person wearing a white jacket, a short, slightly overweight young woman with blue-rimmed eyeglasses. “I’m Reese Dunbar, the new production assistant.”
    The young woman spun her head Reese’s direction. “No kidding? I thought they were going to leave that slot open to save money.”
    “Apparently the hiring freeze is over. Are you the other production assistant?”
    “PA. Yeah, Trudy Grabowski.” The somewhat dumpy young woman wiped her hands on her apron, pushed up her glasses, then shook hands with Reese. “How come I’m just hearing about this? News like that usually spreads faster than spilled milk.”
    Uh-oh. Her pledge to keep mum about the details of her employment was already being put to the test. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Mr. Walters. He’s the one I’m to report to.”
    “Walters? Jasper Walters? Since when does he hire anyone?”
    Reese’s fingers began to tingle. That was the name she’d been given, wasn’t it? “Why do you say that?” Although it would be silly to let an idle comment from this underling worry her, something about her new job wasn’t adding up.
    “On other shows, the supervising producer, like Jasper, usually does do the hiring,” Trudy explained. “But here,” she glanced over her shoulder as if to check who might be near enough to hear, “the executive producer calls those shots.”
    “Oh.” Whatever. As long as she had the job, she didn’t care who hired her. But if she wanted to keep the job, she’d better get to work. “I need to discuss my duties with Mr. Walters. Any idea where I can find him?”
    Trudy considered briefly. “Should be here by now.” She shoved a box of strawberries toward Reese. “Here. I could use some help prepping these while you wait. We’re doing a pie today.”
    Reese bit back the suggestion that Trudy cover the clunky rings she wore on eight of her fingers with disposable gloves. Where did they keep the cooking utensils? Better ask Trudy. Except, where had she gone so fast?
    Reese placed the box of berries on the stainless steel counter next to her and set off to catch up with her cohort, who’d stopped at a large sink across the room to peel potatoes.
    Without taking her eyes off the vegetable in her hands, Trudy said, “Done already?”
    Not until she found a colander.
    “Who abandoned these strawberries?” a low, throaty woman’s voice demanded from behind them.
    Trudy gulped. “Uh-oh.”
    Like a championship wrestler displaying his newly-acquired belt, in the center of the studio, a tall, thin red-haired woman of about fifty held aloft the box of fruit Reese had left behind. The woman appeared none too pleased. All action stopped in both the prep kitchen and the