The SUV pulled into a half-filled parking lot, and Cierra hopped out. It was cloudy and muggy, and little chickadees scanned the cracked, faded-gray pavement for treats. A shockingly unglamorous setting for an interview that could change the course of her career.
How am I supposed to feel before a potentially life-altering event?Cierra thought. Elated, anxious, hopeful? Mostly, she could only conjure these three words:This is it?
She hadn’t expecting it to be so underwhelming. This opportunity was something others in her field could only dream about. She’d worked at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan — and rose to a respectable position, no less. She hadled a coveted lifestyle with the Lawsons. Her Instagram grid was enough to make anyone look twice. Now, she was on the shortlist for the number one cooking competition in the country. So why didn’t she feel . . . anything?
“Ready to go in?” Lisa called.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done,” Cierra’s mom said.
Inside the convention hall, the auditorium was filled with fans of the show would be part of the casting process. The producers wanted to know how the cast members would perform for an audience, something that would be part of the show. Although the producers had invited family and friends, Cierra had declined, and her squad understood.
“You got this, girl. Just another day at work,” Mia chimed in.
“Thanks, guys.”
She grabbed a black jacket and her set of knives before muttering a silent prayer and made her way to the entrance. Inconspicuous vans and trailers were near the door, likely where the celebrity judges took breaks in-between the auditions, along with two security guards. Cierra was in the right place. They checked her ID and gave her a badge that said Prospective Cast Member:Plated.
“Good luck today,” the guard said, his attention already diverted by a colleague coming over with fresh coffees.
With the laminated lanyard in hand, she thanked the guard and followed the maze of cement-floor hallways and neon signs pointing toward the green room. A mid-twenties woman with glasses and red hair pulled back into a high ponytail approached Cierra when she reached what looked like a makeshift waiting room.
“Hey, Cierra Brooks, right?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Great,” the woman said quickly and tapped on her iPad. “Alright, got you checked in. We’re running behind on set, so you should have an hour until you come on. By the way, my name’s Katie. I’ll be your handler today, so I’ll come get you about fifteen minutes before your call.”
“Sounds good.”
“And I love your profile, by the way. Good luck out there.”
Cierra smiled and thanked the woman. As Katie went to turn, Cierra couldn’t help but ask, “Katie, um, any advice?”
Still absorbed in her screen, she quickly looked up with a patient grin that suggested she was used to high nerves from jittery contestants. “I know it’s hard, but don’t over-think it. You’ve made it this far, try to have some fun,” the woman said before responding to something that had come in through her ear-piece. Only a couple of others were in the green room: one was a man she’d never seen before, but she recognized the older woman, perhaps from a magazine or social media. Looks of intrigue alerted Cierra to the fact they knew exactly whoshewas. Too exhausted to be bothered, she gave each of her competitors a curt smile before grabbing a bottle of water from the snack station and taking a seat.
Why did she care so much about becoming a TV chef? There was such a disconnect between the anticipation of the audition and the ambivalence she now felt toward the whole thing. Earlier this summer, she’d fantasized about Harry watching her on TV, choking on a beer, regretting leaving her and that he’d ever underestimated her. How badly she had wanted to prove it to him, to everyone, that she’d made it. That all her unconventional choices had beenforsomething, and they should feel ashamed for ever doubting her.
But when she’d walked into Jesse’s office six months ago and upended her life as she knew it, she hadn’t been chasing a vision or a career or something tangible that would have made the rashdecision make sense. She had been chasing a feeling, a feeling she couldn’t even articulate.
That’s why nothing was ever enough: the job at Terra, the glitz of working as a private chef, possibly being on one of the most popular TV shows in the country. Nothing was ever enough, because she had spent her entire adult life chasing a blurry idea of success, thinking that, eventually, she’d land in some job or relationship that represented “the end goal.” But now, she realized that all along that was just a cover for wanting what everyone wants: purpose and security and love. She’d spent all this time trying to prove herself to imaginary judges, when there was only one person in the world capable of knowing what was best for Cierra. And it wasn’t her mom, her friends, or a romantic partner. It was her. And the right to explore and determine what success looked like in her life was Cierra’s alone.
Now, she was in front of four very real judges. But unlike the imaginary ones in her head, she knew exactly how to wow them.
“It’s been quite the week for you,” one of them began, eliciting a few murmurs from the audience. “But we can’t wait to see what’s in store for us. Are you ready, Chef?”
You got this kiddo, she heard, in her father’s voice.
Cierra took a deep breath, exhaling with an assured smile. And with a swipe of her blade, she got to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IT HAD BEEN seven months since the audition, and two months since the most recent season ofPlatedreleased. In that time, Cierra’s outlook had changed significantly since the end of her contract with the Lawsons and all that had ensued. She nailed her audition with flying colors, and although she got cut right before the final episode, she was a fan favorite and had scored the ultimate prize — a nation-wide audience. As it turns out, people like imperfect people, and hernonchalant vibe, as one journalist had called it, had helped propel her into a new sphere of local celebrity. Not like Julia Child, but enough to have her bills paid and get invited to at least one fancy event per month. But most importantly, it gave her the business opportunities to stay afloat financially and remain in New York for the foreseeable future.
Now, she was walking through Central Park after a meeting with her publisher in Midtown. As part of her newfound publicity, she had scored a cookbook deal whose advance had been enough to pay off the rest of her student loan debt completely. A bit tongue-in-cheek, she had titled itHotmess Kitchenat the urging of her agent. It was early April, and despite the cutting wind, she had a smile on her face; around her, seemingly bare trees were beginning to show tiny lime green buds of life.
While she had been on a few mediocre first dates between Sincha Summit and the present, she had remained single. Not that she had a shortage of men — or women — flooding her inbox; she just wasn’t interested. The dates she had been on left her feeling sad; reminding her of an emptiness that, for a moment, felt like it was filled. None of them were Erik. But in the aftermath of all that had happened, she was forced to acknowledge that, while she wanted a partner, she needed to sort herself out before anyone else came into the picture.
