Ava’s eyebrows rise before she can stop them.
“Structured?” Marie-Louise asks.
“Yes,” I continue, my words drifting sideways despite my best efforts. “Layered. Balanced. Thoughtful. The sauces are… not watery.”
AJ snorts.
I wince. “In context.”
“In context,” Marie-Louise repeats.
“Yes,” I say. “With appropriate… restraint.”
Ava bites her lip hard enough to leave an imprint.
Marie-Louise folds her hands. “Do you have what you need for the feature?”
“Yes,” I say far too quickly. “Absolutely. More than enough. It was very illuminating.”
“Good,” she says. “And the restaurateur.”
“He is,” I begin, then stop because that sentence has no safe ending. “Passionate.”
“Passionate,” Marie-Louise repeats, unreadable.
“About food,” I add swiftly. “And standards.”
AJ tilts his head. “He sounds… committed.”
I cough. “That is one word for it.”
Marie-Louise holds my gaze for a beat longer than comfortable. “Any issues we need to be aware of?”
“No,” I say. “None. Everything was entirely as planned.”
Marie-Louise’s mouth twitches, just slightly. “All right. I look forward to reading it.”
She pauses, glances down at her notes, then looks back up at me.
“I’ll need the feature by this evening,” she adds. “I want it to run on Sunday.”
There it is. The kill shot.
I stare at her. “This evening.”
“Yes.”
“That’s… ambitious,” I say carefully.
She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had full access.”
“I’ve had,” I say, “a very immersive experience.”
“So I gather,” she replies smoothly. “You’re one of our strongest writers. You can manage it.”
I open my mouth to argue. Close it again. Nod once, because this is not the hill to die on, especially not with witnesses.
“Of course,” I say. “This evening.”
