The young woman shrugged. “You’re really not supposed to, but…”
That was all the permission Gina needed to put her cell on airplane mode and start calling her team. She wanted them all assembled at her Malibu headquarters in ninety minutes.
The two-story building not only housed the offices for her frozen food and houseware divisions, it also served as her set. A gleaming 1200-square-foot stage made to look like a well-appointed home kitchen. That is, if you had seven figures to blow on a home kitchen. The lighting and acoustics—the brainchild of two of the most renowned set designers in Los Angeles—cost more than most upscale kitchen remodels alone.
After this fiasco, who knew if she’d still need it.
Wendy Dalton was picking her up at the Santa Monica Airport so they could discuss strategy before Gina’s meeting with her staff. She wanted all hands on deck.
If ChefAid wanted to pay her out for the remaining three years on her contract, there might not be anything she could do about it, according to her lawyer. But they were talking about dumping her without a cent in favor of a new face.
No way would she let someone dethrone her without a valiant fight. As long as she had three years left on her contract, she intended to make the bastards adhere to their agreement.
She used the sixty-minute flight to finish up her phone calls, texts, and emails. By the time they landed, she felt like she’d worked an eight-hour day.
Wendy met her at the curb in a silver Mercedes-Benz. Gina had packed light. Just a briefcase, her laptop, and purse. Between her office and home, she had everything she needed, except a car. If she had to, she’d hire a driver.
She stashed her things in Wendy’s back seat and got up front.
“Good flight?”
“It was fast and productive.”
“Good, because I’ve got news. Very interesting news. Fasten your seat belt, because we’ve got a war on our hands.”
Wendy waited for Gina to buckle up and nosed into traffic. It was past rush hour and yet cars still crawled along Pacific Coast Highway like overfed snails. Gina hadn’t missed LA’s bottlenecks. She still hadn’t figured out the roads in Dry Creek, but at least she was mostly alone on them while she got herself hopelessly lost.
“You ready for this?” Wendy asked as she headed for Malibu. “It’s Candace Clay.”
“What?” Gina turned sideways in her seat.
“That’s who’s trying to become the new spokeswoman for ChefAid. She’s a real operator, that Candace.”
“When I talked to Linda yesterday she said she didn’t know who was in talks with them, only that it was another chef.”
“At the time none of us knew. But these things never stay secret for long.”
“Are you sure?” Candace Clay? As far as Gina knew, the Clays worked exclusively with the cookware company, Tramontina. If memory served her right, the Clays had their own line of nonstick pots and pans.
“Yep. My source on this is rock-solid. It sounds like Candace has become quite ambitious since that photo of you and her husband hit the internet. She’s apparently trying to build an empire and using the publicity of Danny’s affair to her benefit.”
Gina massaged her temples, feeling another migraine coming on. “I can’t believe this is happening. Next, she’ll be coming for my soul.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Wendy said. The woman reminded Gina so much of her son. Both were no-nonsense, save-your-drama-for-your-mama, let’s-get-it-done individuals.
It instantly gave her pangs of homesickness for Dry Creek Ranch. Funny, because she’d never thought of the ranch as her home. But she missed Sawyer. All night she’d wanted to call and commiserate with him that the enterprise she’d painstakingly built for herself through hard work and perseverance was being taken apart one piece at a time.
But since their creek-side disagreement, she no longer knew where she stood with him. He hadn’t called or texted. And it had been the first time they’d slept apart in a week.
Now, though, wasn’t the time to ponder what had crawled up Sawyer’s ass to cause the distance. Not while her own ass was on the line.
“Should I try to move up the meeting with ChefAid?” It was a week away. Gina had hoped by then she could show she’d been the victim of a smear campaign. As soon as the public learned the truth, she’d be the hottest ticket in town.
“First, we should talk to Henry about your legal options. They may not be so quick to wiggle out of a contract with you if it means a lawsuit.”
“He’ll be at the meeting. We can have a private conference with him first thing.”
“That’s wise.” Wendy’s foot grew heavier on the pedal after they passed Pacific Palisades. It was a reverse commute and the traffic had lifted.
