Gina answered on Bluetooth. “What now?”
“Candace filed for divorce two hours ago. She just put out a statement.”
“Oh God. What does it say?”
“The usual. ‘After much thought and careful consideration, we remain business partners and friends. Please respect our privacy at this difficult time.’ So on and so on.”
“Nothing about me in the statement, then?” Gina held her breath.
“No, but I suggest you stay off social media and the internet for a while. It’s gotten pretty ugly.”
Gotten? By Gina’s estimation it had been ugly the day that stupid picture surfaced.
“Candace’s fans are upset about the breakup and are understandably lashing out at you,” Robin continued.
Gina exhaled and tried to steady her hands on the steering wheel. “What’s going on with FoodFlicks? Do I still have a show?”
“I wish I knew. No one at the network is returning my calls. I could bluster, say that we’ll take the show to a lifestyle or DIY channel, but it would be an empty threat. My messages at both networks have also gone unanswered. Let’s be honest here: You’re toxic right now, Gina. I don’t even think I could get you onCelebrity Big Brotherat this point.”
Celebrity Big Brother? Is that what her life had been reduced to? She felt like vomiting. “What do we do now, Robin?”
“We wait it out, let Wendy Dalton work her magic, and hope for the best.” There was a long pause and Gina knew more was coming.
“Just say what you have to say,” she told Robin.
Robin cleared her throat. “I would be derelict in my duties as your agent…as your friend…to sugarcoat this. Your television career as we know it may be over. Timing is everything in this industry and this thing with the Clays has really disrupted the clock. I’ve got another call. Let’s talk next week.”
Gina pulled over to the side of the road and rested her head against the windshield. Suddenly the day didn’t seem quite so sunny. Without her show…well, she didn’t know who she was without it. And it propelled everything else. The Gina DeRose brand, the merchandise, the endorsement work, her entire company.
At least she wouldn’t go broke. Her father had made sure she’d inherited well and she’d always been good with money, making sound investments. But her whole identity was wrapped up in the celebrity of Gina DeRose. Maybe it was superficial, but it was who she was. It’s how she’d reinvented herself into someone who mattered.
She took a couple of deep breaths and got back on the road. No sense wallowing in something she couldn’t fix. And being a control freak, that’s what really galled her. Her hands were tied.
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself in town. Not Dry Creek. But the buildings looked similar. Nineteenth century, if she had to guess. Probably built sometime around the Gold Rush. A sign on one of the businesses told her she was in Grass Valley. She’d never heard of it, but Sawyer had mentioned something about a kitchen store here.
Drivers inched their way up the main drag, searching for parking. Pedestrians jammed the sidewalks, window-shopping at a collection of boutiques and galleries. And what did you know? Restaurants and cafés lined the streets.
The town was definitely larger than Dry Creek and from the looks of the crowd—mostly families, carrying shopping bags—a major tourist draw.
She drove in search of the kitchen store and found it on her second pass down Mill Street. It was a large shop, judging by the two plate glass windows decorated with clever kitchen displays. Finally, she found a parking lot off Mill and squeezed into one of the spaces and questioned the wisdom of going inside.
Laney from the coffee shop had recognized her instantly in her sunglasses and hat. Who’s to say anyone else wouldn’t? At the same time, she really wanted to shop. Sawyer had a well-stocked kitchen when it came to pots and pans, but he didn’t have much in the way of baking supplies and she only had two warped cake pans she’d found in the cabin. She’d love to get a few pie dishes, a tart pan, and parchment paper.
It was impulsive, but she decided to risk it. Before leaving her car, she adjusted her hat in the visor mirror and hiked up the street to the store. It was surprisingly well stocked and even carried ChefAid mixers, food processors, and coffee makers. It was also packed with shoppers, which made her nervous about being discovered. As it turned out, the throngs of people made it easier to hide in plain view.
The store was three stories high. The basement featured a demo kitchen for cooking classes. The ground floor focused on gadgets, cookbooks, wine, olive oils, and cheeses. And the third level had small appliances and dishware, including the Gina DeRose brand.
Before she knew it, an hour had passed and her hand basket was full. On her way to the checkout counter, she realized her only method of payment was plastic. Her name was on every credit card she owned.
Shit.
She rifled through her wallet and managed to scrape thirty-eight dollars together. It wasn’t enough to pay for everything in her basket. She did some quick calculations and could only afford the pie dish and a tart pan.
She considered finding a teller machine, but every minute she was out in public she risked being recognized. Living like this was getting old. Fast. But it was better than the alternative of having the paparazzi up her ass.
She paid for her supplies and got back in her car, deciding that her adventure for the day was over. Maybe she’d try to bake a pie in the oven from hell or visit Aubrey and Charlie at their shop. It was strange not having meetings to attend or a show to tape, or a public appearance to make. She should be out-of-her-mind bored, but oddly she wasn’t. Last night, she’d spent time on her laptop, looking up recipes for inspiration. She’d even read a book from beginning to end, lying on her new sofa.
It was a new experience having enough hours in the day for leisure time. And it was depressing as hell. It would be one thing if she didn’t have the weight of her entire portfolio resting on her shoulders. Then maybe she could actually enjoy relaxing. But she was constantly on edge, waiting for the next surprise attack.
