Chapter Six
Stacy closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She’d bet next month’s rent Nikko’d only changed the shooting schedule and the first challenge just to make her look incompetent in front of the crew.
She’d worked with control freaks before. You couldn’t avoid it if you worked in television. But Stamp stood head and shoulders and every part she could name above all the other technical directors she’d worked alongside.
He’d made plain his feelings on not wanting her here, about not wanting or needing any executive producer, not specifically her. Why, then, did she feel the animosity rolling off him in waves was about her, specifically, and not merely about her job and title?
She’d done nothing but be civil to him. Hadn’t challenged anything he’d told her, carried out all his commands. Why, then, did he seem to dislike her so much?
The noise level coming from the dining hall was raucous, the cast and crew all laughing and enjoying their meal and one another. For a hot second she thought to march right back through the doors and join them.
But…she had work to do, especially now that Stamp was intent on making changes.
As she made her way back to the main house, Stacy promised herself one thing: She’d see this through. No matter how difficult and downright obnoxious Dominick Stamp was, she’d agreed to this job and had to remember what waited for her on the other side of it.
She’d just turned into the gravel walkway surrounding the house when she heard her named called. She stopped and turned to see Clay Burbank jogging toward her.
“Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “You didn’t get anything to eat.”
“Typical chef,” she said, summoning up a smile. “Always worried if someone’s—God forbid—not eating.”
He grinned at her and shot his hands into the back pockets of his worn jeans, the movement tugging his already snug T-shirt tighter and accentuating his pecs.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’ve got a ton of work to do before tomorrow. Plus, I’m fairly certain I’ll be sick and tired of barbeque before too long.”
“Oh? Is that a reference to the challenges?”
No one who looked like he did—buff to the bone with a heavy dose of badass—was ever able to pull off the innocent, angelic look he was trying for. Before she could stop herself, Stacy laughed.
“Oh, no you don’t, Clay Burbank.” She wagged a finger at him. “I may be tired but I’m not tired and stupid. You’ll find out what the challenges are the same way and at the same time as every other contestant. Don’t try to worm anything out of me, because my lips are glued. Tight. With super-glue.”
The flick of his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and then back again was hot enough to singe. But Stacy was immune to the heat pouring off Burbank like water.
He cocked his head. “Not even a hint? A tiny one?” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart.
“No. And you should know better. This isn’t your first competition.”
When his substantial muscles flexed as he shrugged, Stacy pitied any other woman who would try to resist his charm.
“Okay, point taken. But I want to ask you a question.”
“As long as it’s not about the challenges or anything else competition related, go for it.”
“Why didn’t you set Nikko straight? Back at the dining hall. Why’d you let him make a fool of you?”
Stacy sucked in a deep breath.
“You could have told him I was the one who pestered you about the schedule when we were all in the van. It was my fault you clued us in; you didn’t just volunteer the info.”
Stacy bobbed her head. “I know. It’s true I wasn’t going to say anything about the shooting schedule until you asked. I’d planned on just telling you all a little about the ranch, where you’d all be staying. Give you a heads up on your individual producers.”
“So, again, why didn’t you tell him that when he went off on his tirade?”
“Because he was right. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not the person in charge of this production. He is. He wanted to go over everything with all of you, make sure you understood his concept, his direction. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to wrestle any of his authority away, which, unfortunately, is what he does think. I don’t work that way.”
“None of us thought—or think—you’re trying to step on his toes, Stacy. That’s a fact. Most of us know you either from Kandy’s show or from your rep on Bake Off. We know your style tends to be more peacemaker and problem-solver, not shit-stirrer.”
He said it with a grin, and Stacy couldn’t help but return it. “Yup. That’s me. Switzerland.” She sighed and glanced down at her hands. “Listen,” she said when she lifted her gaze again, “I appreciate the support, I really do. But I made a mistake. One that I won’t make again. Remember, on a shoot the technical director is God. The be-all end-all. For the purpose of this show that’s Dominick Stamp. And he’s an amazing director. You know that. You’ve worked with him.”
“He may be God on this little show, but he’s also a hothead, a know-it-all, and a bully.”
Stacy stared up at him, remembering she’d been thinking almost the same thing just a few moments ago. For some reason, she didn’t like hearing the words come out of Burbank’s mouth.
“I prefer to think of it as being passionate and perfectionistic. Two qualities I’m more than used to dealing with since Kandy was—and is—both. If he’s demanding, it’s because he expects the best of everyone involved in the show, himself included, I’d imagine.”
It was Burbank’s turn to stare at her. Kindness mixed with concern filled his gaze.
“Look, I could tell him the truth on the q.t., that it was me who asked about the schedule. All you did was answer.”
“Don’t.” She reached out and wrapped a hand around his forearm. “Please, Clay. Just let it be.”
“He really shouldn’t speak to you like that, Stacy.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
He glanced down at where her hand lay against his bare arm, and then back up at her face. When he made to move closer to her, she jerked her hand away and retreated back a few steps, widening the space between them.
“Now go back and relax with everyone else,” she said, planting a smile on her face that she hoped didn’t look as forced as it felt. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow and you want to bring your A game. This is, after all, a cooking competition.”
His brows pulled together above his eyes, then smoothed over again. “No worries ’bout that, babe. My middle name is winner.”
He shot her a cocky grin and a cheeky wink that coaxed a real smile from her. “Really? I thought it was Peter.”
With a shake of his head and a flip of his hand he said, “Nah. Nasty rumor, that. Don’t spread it, okay?”
Laughing, she nodded, then turned toward the house. “See you in the morning,” she called over her shoulder.
* * * *
Nikko pulled back into the shadows cast by the fading light. From his hidden position, he watched Clay Burbank wait until Stacy was no longer visible, and then take his time to turn and go back down the drive.
Nikko let out the breath he’d been holding.
After escorting Jade up to the house and then refusing to join her for a private dinner, he’d been on his way back to the cabin to start dinner for himself and Melora when he’d heard Burbank and Stacy speaking. He’d been surprised at the content of their conversation, and intrigued when Stacy asked Clay not tell him that he’d been the one to ask about the schedule.
That made two times now she hadn’t pleaded in her own defense. Why didn’t she want him to know the truth? Why did she allow him to think the worst of her and never jump to her own defense?
And when she’d called him passionate and perfectionistic, he’d almost gasped out loud and given away his position. Of all the things she could have said about him, he never imagined it would be anything so positive.
Or dead-on.
Nikko took his time going down the steps, his thigh screaming.
By the time he got back to the cabin, he decided he was going to make his daughter apologize to Stacy for lying and she was going to make that apology in front of him. That way he’d, one, know she’d really carried through with it, and two, it would allow him to offer his own apology for accusing her without knowing all the facts.
Nikko might have an almost impossible ego—he’d fully agree with anyone who claimed he did—but one thing he always did was admit when he was wrong.
After a simple, yet delicious dinner of grilled chicken, asparagus, and a light spinach salad that Nikko ate all of and Melora managed several bites of each, they retreated to the living room. Recognizing how bored his daughter was, he reconsidered his previous punishment and allowed her to have her laptop so she could watch a movie. But he kept his directive of no email or any social media connections.
His daughter scowled, but settled on the couch, the computer on her lap while he did some more preliminary work. He emailed the head of the camera crew and outlined how he wanted the kitchen cameras set up. That done, he did the same to the rest of the technical crew heads with instructions about the first day’s filming.
Several hours passed when he felt his phone buzz in his pants pocket. He looked over at his daughter, now sound asleep with the laptop cuddled between her arms.
A text from Stacy. Have you decided what you want to change the first challenge to?
Dammit.
He’d forgotten he needed to come up with something new. He scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to devise some way to save face without looking like a total jerk.
He texted back: After considering it, will stick to original plan.
There. A perfect excuse, especially because it was true.
The phone vibrated again.
Chefs have head shots beginning at 8 am. Preliminary filming at 10. Are you still thinking of changing the start time? I can notify the crew.
He was tempted to, if for no other reason than to prove he could. Two hours for head shots should be enough. More than enough, actually.
Have everyone ready to go at 9:30.
Knowing chefs as well as he did, he’d be lucky if they all arrived by eleven.
Nikko leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Almost immediately the phone buzzed again.
Anything else you need me to do before tomorrow?
Yeah, you can stop being so nice and accommodating. Instead of typing that, he simply wrote No.
Staring at his laptop, his email still open, he sighed and forwarded all the conversations he’d been having for the past few hours to Stacy, after finding her email address in the note Teddy Davis had sent him. Then, he texted Check your inbox. Grudgingly, he realized she needed to know what he wanted to happen the next day so there would be no screwups. He could have been a prick and just let her muddle through, find out on her own, but he suspected she’d have no problem doing that. The crew liked her, and if he could take Burbank’s words as true, they knew the type of worker she was.
When his phone buzzed, he swiped to the incoming text.
Thank you. I’ll make sure everything is exactly as you want it in the morning.
Why didn’t that surprise him?