CHAPTER TWO

Evan Patterson was used to people not understanding his choices.

When his boss had asked if he wanted to come with him to a world-famous restaurant, renowned throughout the globe for its food and its ambiance, to meet with the man whose show he would very likely be producing, it had been easy to turn Reed down.

It wasn’t Evan’s pitch that was going to win Miles Costa over to the idea of leaving Terroir and everything he knew behind; it was Reed Ryan, culinary star a little dented and tarnished but still present and still glowing.

“But you’ll be working with him. Closely. Don’t you want to meet him?” Reed had protested. A token protest. He was great in the kitchen, and also great at inspiring his underlings to follow in his culinary footsteps, but he was not good at business. Evan was and they both knew it, so it usually wasn’t very tough to convince Reed that Evan was right.

“I’ve already met him,” Evan had said, pointing to his laptop screen, where he’d been compiling a dossier on Miles Costa. A dossier he’d started long before the latest Pastry by Miles’ video had gone viral.

So Reed had gone to Terroir alone, and come back to a signed contract, and an assistant who was now officially a producer.

Evan’s decisions might be considered strange, but nobody could ever argue with the results.

Reed recognized this and also Evan’s value, which was why Evan had already decided not to usurp his job eventually. Evan needed Reed to be the esteemed figurehead, and while everyone was oohing and aahing over Reed’s big muscles and all his culinary credibility, Evan would be behind the scenes, getting shit done.

The promotion was nice though, and Evan had every intention of paying back his boss and mentor’s faith in him in spades.

Evan straightened his shirt and glanced over at his boss, who was scribbling on a piece of paper as he leaned over the receptionist’s desk. Either a new idea for Dream Team, the one show Reed still produced, or a new recipe he’d just thought of. Evan returned his attention to the elevator and its closed doors.

He’d planned very carefully for this day. Not just after he’d been hired for the Five Points internship. Not just after he’d gotten into college. Not just after he’d won valedictorian at high school graduation. He’d known much earlier than that, that one day he’d be someone people looked to, that people followed, at a place where he would be taken seriously.

All those other days had been stepping stones to this day.

The elevator doors dinged open, depositing Miles Costa on the carpet in front of him.

Evan had been studying Miles for months. He didn’t vet dates with as much scrutiny as he had Miles Costa—which probably explained his extensive date-less drought—and he’d expected very little surprise facing him for the first time.

But Miles did surprise him. Shocked him, in fact. He walked up, his cloudy gray eyes lazy but direct, dark wavy hair a tousled mass on his head, and Evan felt a thrill in a place he’d never felt a thrill before.

He’d known Miles was handsome and very possibly charismatic. That was one of the reasons he’d been an easy selection as a candidate. He had a way of making you like him that was subtle and easy—you just slid right in.

Evan didn’t just slide, he catapulted.

“Miles Costa,” the man in front of him said, extending a hand. Evan was dimly aware of Reed straightening next to him, and shoving the paper in his pocket.

Evan reached out and shook Miles’ hand, and even though his brain felt sluggish and distracted by the way Miles’ lips tilted up in a half smirk, managed to introduce himself. “Evan Patterson.”

Miles turned to Reed, and they shook hands “How badly did Aquino take it?” Reed asked. “I didn’t hear from him so he must not have been too pissed off.”

The gray eyes turned thoughtful, and Evan swore he saw a little worry there, but before he could look closer, it was gone. He told himself he was watching so carefully not because Miles was so carelessly handsome, but because he needed to figure out how Miles Costa ticked so he could control him.

“Actually,” Miles said, “he wasn’t all that pissed.”

“Well, we’re really happy you’re at Five Points,” Reed said warmly. He could be socially awkward; in fact, Evan was almost certain he had social anxiety, but he had gotten better at hiding it. Evan also recognized when Reed was passing the torch onto him, and he stepped in, smoothly, like they’d discussed it ahead of time even though they hadn’t.

“I’ve been watching Pastry by Miles almost since the very beginning,” Evan said. “What Reed told you is true. You’ve been on our radar for a long time.”

“I’m honestly excited to be here. I’m looking forward to something different, if I’m being honest.”

Reed chuckled. “Well, you and Evan will get along like a house on fire then. He’s sort of unapologetically blunt.”

It was true, but Reed didn’t need to go around sharing all of Evan’s secrets during the first five minutes. “Don’t you have that meeting?” he asked his boss pointedly. He didn’t have a meeting, but Evan knew how happy Reed would be to escape. This was the part of his job that he didn’t love.

“Right, well, I just wanted to stop by and say welcome, and we’re so happy you’re here,” Reed said. “Evan will take good care of you. He’ll give you a tour and show you your office and the kitchen. And then you two can get started.”

Evan was watching closely, or he might not have noticed Miles’ eyes grow cloudier. “Thanks again,” Miles said, voice normal. Except that Evan didn’t think he’d imagined any of the undercurrents running through his new partner.

Miles might have a laid-back, casual attitude, but Evan had a feeling that there was a lot more to him than met the eye.

“Let’s start with a tour,” Evan said, trying to tone down his own tendency to take control over everything. “I’m sure you’re dying to see the kitchen.”

“Sounds good to me,” Miles said casually.

They went on a quick tour of the office, with Evan pointing out the bathrooms, the conference rooms, Evan’s cubicle, and Miles’, which was right next door. Miles looked around the tiny box, setting his messenger bag on the small desk, and Evan wished he could read minds as his new partner took in his surroundings.

He was exceptionally difficult to read, and Evan didn’t like that at all. He wanted to know where he stood. The unknown was a scary place, full of pitfalls and potential failure lingering at the end like a bad smell.

“We film at a local studio,” Evan said as they entered the kitchens. “We don’t have the room or the resources here, but eventually we’re going to move to a bigger space and we’ll build our own soundstage. So we do all our prep here, practicing and perfecting the rundown of the show, and then we film the final product at the other studio.”

The other man glanced around the kitchen, his eyes not missing a thing, from the commercial appliances to the long stainless steel counters.

“I filmed with way less than this at my house,” Miles pointed out. “Maybe we could figure out how to do small stuff here.”

Evan didn’t want to tell him that it had looked like Miles filmed in an unprofessional environment and that part of the bonus of signing with Five Points was his production value was going to undergo a significant upgrade.

“We’ll see,” was all Evan said. He wasn’t willing to promise anything more. They had certain standards at Five Points, and Evan not only intended to honor them, but to exceed them. And there was no way they could do that with some sort of cobbled-together video they did in the test kitchens.

“Reed runs the kitchens, then?” Miles asked. Evan wasn’t sure he liked the hopeful note in Miles’ voice, because he needed Miles to like him—for purely professional reasons, of course. But even as he insisted on this to himself, Evan knew he was lying.

Evan could admit that complicated an already potentially complex business partnership, but Evan was also willing to be flexible if it meant great results. Dream Team, the first show Five Points had done, had paired together two people already in a relationship, and even though the culinary side was well-developed, the reason it had such a high viewership was how charming Landon Patton and Quentin Maxwell were together. Dream Team had changed Evan’s perspective about what could and what could not work in a TV environment.

“Reed is the executive producer and the director of the test kitchens, yes,” Evan said. “But the day-to-day manager of the kitchens is Lucy. If you need anything specific, you ask her.”

Miles glanced over, and Evan’s skin burned as his gaze skimmed over him. “And you?”

“Me?” Evan clarified, proud that his voice hadn’t come out squeaking, like he’d regressed about a dozen years. He’d won his confidence with a shit ton of hard work, and he didn’t like how this man dismantled it so easily. It was infuriating.

“Your position here,” Miles clarified.

Evan was not thrilled. Reed was supposed to have covered all this stuff in the contract and Miles was already supposed to know they were going to be working together closely. Evan wasn’t supposed to have to break it to him.

“I’m the producer of your show. We’re going to be working together. A lot.”

One discernible emotion out of the man in the last fifteen minutes, and it had to be dismay at being paired with Evan.

“Reed didn’t tell me that you had any culinary experience. I assumed he’d be my producer, since he has the background,” Miles said, and Evan realized that this was the laid-back Miles’ way of issuing a protest at who he’d been stuck with.

Evan liked this even less. His ego was smarting more than he wanted to admit. He hadn't ever anticipated that Miles Costa, that super cute guy who he'd been admiring for months, would be such a jerk.

“I have a degree in business, with an emphasis on marketing,” Evan said, trying to tamp down the testy edge to his voice. “I’ve also been Reed’s assistant for almost two years. I know how to produce a successful program.”

Miles shot him an almost pitying look. As if the degree Evan had worked his ass off for meant nothing. “But do you know anything about pastry?”

“You do,” Evan said, and the confidence he felt was genuine. The way Miles had always been able to pare down difficult concepts and explain them was brilliant. He’d be great at showing a brand-new audience how to bake in a way they hadn’t experienced before. And Evan’s job was to provide that audience.

On paper, they were a great team, something that Reed had unhesitatingly stated more than once. But now that he and Miles were standing in front of each other, Evan wondered if he and Reed had made a miscalculation.

They hadn’t taken into consideration that Miles Costa was quite possibly a culinary snob who didn’t like to bother with anyone lacking his training.

“Right,” Miles said, and he did not look convinced.

Evan decided this wasn’t the right moment to argue the point and definitely not the right place—right in the middle of a kitchen that he’d never used, so he changed the subject. “Let’s swing by IT and get your laptop.”

Miles followed and didn’t argue so Evan took that as a success, then dropped him at his cubicle, with a promise to get him for their first brainstorming session in a few hours. Reed had already promised to take Miles by the cafeteria for lunch. Maybe after spending time with a chef of Reed’s culinary pedigree, and realizing how committed Five Points was to authenticity, Miles would soften his stance.

After a quick lunch at his desk, Evan went to the bathroom to wash his hands and to give himself a pep talk in the mirror.

Opportunities like this didn’t come around very often and he wasn’t going to blow the first big one he’d ever been handed. Once they started working on Miles’ show, he would see that Evan was just as committed as he was to making it a success.

When he returned to his cubicle to grab his laptop and to fetch Miles next door, for a split second, Evan considered leaving behind all the prep work he’d been doing on his vision of Pastry by Miles.

But all of it was important market research and branding. Stuff that Miles needed, whether he admitted it or not. Stuff he needed to develop if he wanted to expand beyond retweets by Snoop Dogg.

It had been very clear to Evan from the beginning of Pastry by Miles that Miles had no real marketing plan, and that’s all this was, Evan justified to himself. He took the folder and hated that Miles had made him question his motives.

“What did you think of the cafeteria?” Evan asked as they set up in one of the smaller meeting rooms.

Miles wrinkled his nose. “It was okay, I guess.”

Reed had been appalled when he’d first started at Five Points at the quality of the building’s cafeteria, and had worked hard to improve the quality of the food they served. They still didn’t do everything well, but they’d made huge strides. It was definitely better than anything that Evan could cook himself. Which, he realized, was the root of Miles’ problem.

It wasn’t too hard to imagine him feeling regret at taking this step, but Evan still believed they could make this work. There was a reason they’d been spending months looking over the market and the talent available, and had ultimately decided on Miles.

“Maybe you can give Reed some suggestions on how to improve,” Evan said. “He doesn’t technically run the food service, but he has a lot of influence and works with them frequently.”

“We already discussed it,” Miles said, making it very clear that he was done discussing food-related topics with someone who apparently couldn’t understand them. Which was going to make the next two hours rather difficult.

Evan decided there was no point in further procrastinating. “I thought it might be helpful to start with a rundown of the videos you’ve produced so far, and talk about where we might make improvements, and what facets we would want to keep for your show here.”

But instead of just agreeing, Miles shoved his long, tapered fingers through dark curls and pinned Evan with an adversarial look that Evan knew he should have found entirely obnoxious, but instead of simply being annoying, it was intense and left Evan feeling unsettled. Exposed. Warmer than he liked.

“So you bring me in here,” Miles said, “and claim you want me so badly to sign with you, so badly you send a famous chef to meet with me, then when I agree to film videos for you, you stick me with some marketing guru who doesn’t know anything about pastry who wants to change everything.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “Why?”

“I didn’t send anyone,” Evan argued. “Reed wanted to go, and he’s the boss.” Technically true, but also partly a lie.

“I think you’d understand, being some marketing expert, what false advertising is. You lured me here with Reed, because you knew I’d never agree to work with you.”

“You’re working with me because your show needs to improve its marketing angle and develop some polish,” Evan said through gritted teeth. “And I bet you that’s what Reed told you when you complained to him at lunch.”

Miles gave a short bark of laughter. “Sort of, yeah." For the first time, Evan felt the spark of Miles' natural charm. He wanted to pettily reject it, but also bask in the novelty of experiencing it for the first time in person.

“You want things to be perfect, even if they’re unstudied in their perfection,” Evan said, pulling out every persuasive technique he’d learned in a lifetime of bad living situations. “I can help you with that.”

Miles looked intrigued, but not completely convinced, but Evan decided that maybe it would be better to show, not tell. “For example,” he said, pulling out his notes from the folder he’d brought in, “you experimented with a lot of different camera angles and placements while you were filming. Every episode is slightly different. I can help figure out the best one and then standardize it. Do you want to be featured on camera? Not on camera? Just a pair of hands?”

“Someone told me my last video was so successful because I was on it more,” Miles said, but he sounded skeptical.

Evan did not want to say that yes, everyone ate up that footage because there was nothing hotter than a good-looking person absorbed in what they were creating. Even to the point of missing a smear of pink pastry cream across one chiseled cheekbone.

“There were definitely factors that helped that video spread virally,” Evan said. “I can help you recreate them.”

Miles nodded. It wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, but it was something, and even Evan couldn’t work with nothing.

“I didn’t think I’d care if people watched my videos or not,” Miles admitted, and Evan barely restrained from doing a little cheer at the man finally revealing something about what he was looking for from this partnership, “but I liked it. I started making them for me, and I never thought about my audience. But then a million people watched the last one, and that was pretty cool.”

“Try five point six million,” Evan said.

“Jesus, I had no idea it was that high.”

Evan realized that Miles wasn’t being humble; he really had no idea what his stats were like. And that did shed some light on how the man ticked. He lived for his work and his kitchen.

“So you didn’t get into this for the fame, obviously,” Evan said. “Why did you start?”

Evan couldn’t believe it, but Miles flushed. It was almost very nearly a blush. Evan felt his own skin flame hotter in response. “I was bored at work, if you could believe it. And my sister missed seeing me bake. So I posted it for her, really.” Miles went a tiny bit darker red and Evan had a sudden visceral image of their bare skin pressed together, damp and warm. “It sounds silly, doesn’t it? I made the first video just for my sister, and five point six million people saw the last one.”

“It’s actually pretty incredible.” Evan paused. “And it’s just the beginning. The sky’s the limit.”

Miles leaned back in his chair, and actually laughed. “You really mean that.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Like Reed said, I’m annoyingly honest.” What Evan didn't say was that he had believed in Miles almost as much as he'd always believed in himself. The belief was currently a little tarnished, but Evan knew it wouldn't take much encouragement from Miles to bring it—or his ill-advised crush—back to their former states.

Considering how far they’d gotten in the last five minutes by just talking, Evan decided they could do an analysis of the old videos later. He didn’t want to do anything to remind Miles that he was the interloper trying to take over the show he’d started as a way of keeping in touch with his sister.

That was sort of cute, actually. It made Evan wish that he knew how to bake. Or that he’d had a sister.

Still, it was better to stick to non-confrontational topics. So Evan opened up his internet browser, and another food site that did videos. He turned the screen so Miles could see it. “I didn’t know they let you watch those,” Miles said wryly. “Aren’t they the enemy?”

“It’s research,” Evan said. “We’re going to go through these videos and you tell me everything you like and everything you don’t.”

Evan figured that criticizing other people would probably keep Miles from going rogue until Evan could figure out a new way to plan the next season of Pastry by Miles.

Evan came home to his apartment—and tried not to think of Miles doing the same, only a door away. The first thing he did was pour himself a very large glass of wine.

It was a Tuesday but he had fucking earned this wine. Miles had spent almost three hours complaining about everything in the other videos. He had lots to say, though most of his criticism was culinary-based. Even though the plan was to keep Miles focused on other people than Evan, every time Miles had pointed out something that was wrong, he’d pointedly glanced over at Evan. Basically, he was never going to let Evan forget that his degree was in business and not croissants.

Usually Evan did some form of work in the evenings, but tonight he didn’t even want to open his laptop. Miles had managed to make Evan hate his job, albeit temporarily. He was a horrid pain in the ass, and Evan tried to dig up some motivation because he needed to find a way out of this situation. Not out, Evan corrected, he wasn’t going to give Miles what he wanted and quit.

No, he needed to figure out a way to change up the dynamic. He needed something to put Miles at ease and stop feeling like he needed to fight Evan all the time. Goddamn it, he wanted Miles to like him. Even if it wasn't ever in that way.

Tomorrow had to be better than today was. If it was any worse, Evan was seriously considering smacking Miles for being an asshole. And that wouldn’t make Miles like him any more than he already didn’t.

Evan’s stomach grumbled, and he opened his fridge with a glare and a wrench. Empty, of course. A half-empty bottle of orange juice and a sad glass jar of mustard adorned the shelves. He was going to need to order in, again. And then it hit him.

He needed to emphasize to Miles that they agreed food was at the center of his videos. What better way to convince him than to put him back in the kitchen?

Pizza first, Evan thought, plan later.

Miles poured himself a big glass of red wine and thought, I fucking earned this.

He’d known this transition would be hard. He’d spent his entire professional life in prestigious restaurant kitchens where marketing was something the PR reps dealt with so diners would pay hundreds of dollars to eat at the latest and greatest.

Miles had personally always thought of it as an inside joke, something completely made up. Not something real and concrete that people spent time and effort to research. He sort of figured that he’d design the show, film the episodes, and then the marketing guys would come in and figure out what sort of bullshit they needed to say about it so people would watch.

As it turned out, that was not how it worked at all. It turned out that Miles was going to be saddled with some marketing “expert” who would be criticizing and forcing him into changing everything along the way until the end result only vaguely resembled Miles’ initial vision.

That Evan guy was determined, Miles thought as he opened his fridge and perused the contents. Cute, because Miles was human and he couldn't avoid thinking it more than once today, but annoyingly determined.

At lunch, Reed had said they’d had the fridge and pantry stocked for him. And it had definitely been done with a chef in mind, with a plethora of fresh ingredients. The apartment itself felt like an accidental luxury, all open rooms and this enormous kitchen with fantastic natural light.

Miles had planned on coming back to his apartment and getting so drunk that he wouldn’t have to think about Evan’s sour milk expression every time Miles opened his mouth—or his light-brown, crème brulee eyes that reminded Miles of one of his favorite desserts. But maybe there was something he could do to make tomorrow marginally better. Maybe there was a way he could win Evan over to his side. Maybe there was a way to control Evan other than disparaging him. It wouldn't be a hardship, Miles thought as he sipped the wine, he was good-looking, and Miles was attracted to him. Of course, Miles was attracted to most good-looking men, but with all the couples at Five Points, there wasn't a reason not to act on it. It wasn't against the rules. He could see Evan flustered and warm, bow tie dangling, sleeves rolled up, a slight dusting of flour on his cheek. Lips swollen pink from Miles' mouth.

It would be easy. Maybe too easy.

Miles turned back to the fridge. Maybe there was a way to kill two birds with one stone.