Romance Impossible(64)

"The compensation is pretty generous, and of course they'll cover your meals and travel." Lydia pushed a piece of paper across the desk, in my direction. "Again, take your time. All the information is in this contract. Just remember, once you've done something like this, you can never undo it. You'll be in reruns on every cooking channel until the end of time."

"Is it okay if I talk this over with Chef first?" I asked her, while Max continued to study his shoes.

"Absolutely," she said, getting up and heading for the door. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me."

Once the door clicked, I turned to him, clearing my throat. He finally looked up.

"So," I said. "What's this all about?"

He shrugged. Was his face actually pink? What was I seeing? "I thought it might be...fun for you," he said, without conviction.

"Who's going to run the restaurant?"

"Don't worry about that," he said. "I'll make arrangements."

"This is nuts," I said, waving the paper. "You could have mentioned something to me first."

"It all happened very quickly," he said, swallowing audibly between speaking. "They pitched me the idea, then they immediately started asking me about someone I might recommend...you know, someone I could get along with, someone I trust. They've given up on casting those roles themselves."

"I can't imagine why," I said, staring down at the contract. It was a pretty generous compensation, and even though I'd managed to pay down my debts with my Trattoria earnings, the idea of this payday still made me salivate a little. Maybe I could even move into a nicer place, with windows that actually kept the drafts out...

I'd heard rumors about how poorly reality TV actually pays, especially for first-timers, and I was certain that Max had lobbied for me. Which was nice, but...

I wished he would stop this kind of shit. I didn't want him making decisions for me. Deciding what was best for me, on my behalf. I'd had enough.#p#分页标题#e#

"The filming schedules can get a little hectic," he was saying. "But it's not so bad, and you'll still get some downtime in LA during one of the slowest tourist seasons."

"What are you, Fodor's?" I snapped, louder than I meant to.

Max's head jerked up.

His eyes had hardened, and I couldn't remember the last time I saw him looking at me like this. Even in New York, when he'd been snarling at everyone, he still avoided eye contact with me.

I shivered.

"Don't speak to me that way," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Please."

My throat tightened. "I don't get you," I said. "I really don't get you, Max. Do you want to be friends, or do you want to be my asshole boss? Your words, not mine."

Max took in a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. "I've allowed a certain level of familiarity between us, Jill," he said. "I think it's good for the restaurant if we can get along. But I can't tolerate that disrespectful tone anymore. If you want to do this job, then just say 'yes, thank you.' If you don't, then say 'no, thank you.' But I don't need you questioning my decisions."

I could feel my jaw muscles twitching, as I clenched my teeth.

"We had a good thing going, you know," I said, managing to keep my voice fairly steady. Red was creeping into the corners of my vision. "We really did. I almost forgave you for everything. I almost believed you, when you said that you wanted me to be happy. But all you want is for me to happy on your terms. That's all anyone ever wants."

I was chewing on my lip, a nervous tic that I hated in myself, but at the moment I didn't care. "You know, Chef, you were right about something. Everybody is selfish. I'm finally starting to figure that out."

He didn't say anything to that.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Dégorger





When dealing with meats or seafoods that have a particular strong taste, you may wish to dégorger, or extract some of the liquid from the meat using a saltwater mixture. This can also be used on exceedingly bitter vegetables, to make them more mild and palatable.





- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes





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Max





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"I don't understand, Beckett. I don't understand why she's so angry."

He steepled his fingers - God, but I could smack him across the face every time he did that.

"Coming to me for advice," he said. "Willingly. Well, well. The shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, tightly, leaning my head in my hands. "That's not...that doesn't even make sense."

"How the tables have turned."