“Goodbyes? I didn’t know your dick could speak.”
He laughs, but just to fuck with him, I add, “And are you using a kettle? Just microwave the water.”
I stifle my laughter as he starts on a tirade about fucking Americans and how uncouth we are. Fucking British people and their tea.
“Calm down, Earl Grey,” I laugh. “I’m fucking with you. And an hour and a half works fine. Let’s hit the Hollywood Market. Not theSanta Monica one—that’s too far. I’ll jump in the shower real quick and make a list.”
“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to this master class. However, not so much to training everyone else.”
“That’s fair.”
He may hate the teaching part of cooking, but outside of creating a menu, my favorite part is passing down how to make the dishes. It’s incredibly rewarding to invite someone inside your head and let them see what you see. To witness the creation.
Kind of like if the universe gave someone a sneak peek while it created the stars.
And this is why chefs have the reputation for being assholes. We have god complexes. Just like Evie accused, I think I’m a food god.
But I don’t apologize for caring about my craft and doing the fucking work it takes to be the best. Or being arrogant about it—I’ve earned that shit.
“Hello, earth to Chase Beckett.”
I laugh in response. “Sorry. Zoned out.”
“Giving another acceptance speech about your greatness?”
“Shut up,” I shoot out, turning my head to see Evie coming down the hall, her voice getting louder with each step. She looks pissed.
“What do you mean shut down?”
Evie stops in her place, a hand on her hip as she stares at the ground, frowning. Damn, the grip she has on her phone is turning her knuckles white. Sheispissed.
“What does that mean, Erin?” Her voice is louder.
Whatever is being said on the other end is not something she likes, because she blows out a harsh breath.
Eddie’s in my ear. “Is that the woman who hates you? Why is she yelling?”
I shush him.
Evie throws up her hands. “You’re fucking joking. This is a joke. I hate to keep repeating myself, but what do you mean she needs a closed set to commune with the werewolf?”
I’m watching her with rapt fascination because irate Evie is not someone I would want to make an enemy of. She’s a force of nature, all five foot three of her.
She shrugs, dripping in sarcasm. “Oh, well, that makes the difference. Needing to bond with the fur suit and not the man totally makes sense now. Of course ...” She’s silent, and I’m pretty sure the person on the other end took her seriously because she adds, “No. I’m being sarcastic. What the fuck is wrong with this girl?”
I almost laugh, but that would most definitely put me in the line of fire.
Eddie’s in my ear again. “Your girl is sharp as a knife. She cuts to the bone.”
I shush him again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show.
She drops her head back, eyes on the ceiling, before she rubs her forehead.
“What I’m hearing is that although my list for effects keeps growing, production is shut down for the day so that our actress ... who has only been in hemorrhoid ads prior to this breakout role ... can get spiritually in touch ... not with the man but the costume in which the werewolf lover will be playing. I just want to make sure I have it right.”
More silence, and then she says, “My whole team gets the full-day rate. I’m not kidding. And for the love of god, find my goddamn fish.”
“Oh shit ...” Eddie whispers as I try not to even blink. “Looks like someone’s got a paid day off.”
