She matches Sourdough Guy’s stance, though it looks less aggressive on her. “No, but it does equal a solution to your problem, which is what you asked me for. It’ll be fun and different, and if it’s a bomb, we’ll never have to try it again. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
The expression on Aiden’s pale face is grim, and I’m sure my own is similar, because what thedevil? After another tense moment, Aiden sighs heavily. “I’m trusting you with this, all right? Can you manage this for me?”
In spite of my reluctance to do what Margie has suggested,I’m secondhand offended again when he speaks to her like a child. But she just pulls her braid over her shoulder and starts smoothing it with her hand like she has all the patience in the world.
“I’ve got it. Give Jules my best.”
The next couple of hours are a blur of following Margie around the office as she makes the necessary preparations and adjustments for the sudden change of plans for Nia’s baking show,Piece of Cake. Consulting people in various kitchens and cubicles, and even a few over the phone, she makes a bunch more decisions than it seems should be needed for a video of two people doing some baking. But I imagine I don’t even understand the half ofit.
My eyes have glazed over and my head is spinning when Margie finally turns to me, sometime after the lunch break we’ve skipped. It’s the first real acknowledgment I’ve gotten since we were standing in front of Aiden.
“Have you seen the other intern recently?”
I look around and shake my head. “I can go look for him if you want.”
She just turns and waves for me to follow her, calling out as we walk back through the prep kitchens,“Intern!”
In Prep Kitchen 3, a backward-cap-covered head pops up from beneath the counter.
“Me?”
Margie beckons him over with two fingers. “Yes. I assume you have a name?”
He flips a kitchen towel over his shoulder and wipes his hands on his apron before holding one out to her. “I’m Benny.”
“Margie.” Their hands meet in one brisk shake before he drops his and offers it to me.
“Reese,” I say, still in a daze. I am totally dead-fishing our handshake, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Like Reese’s Cups, the best candy in the history of the world?” He gives me a lopsided grin and I blink back at him.
“Uh…no. Like Reese Witherspoon, patron saint of Southern ladies who watch too many romantic comedies.”
Benny laughs so loud, it startles me.
“Right.” Margie smirks between us. “You two ready to get started?”
This is the closest anyone has come to asking if Iwantto be in a video to be viewed by millions on one of my favorite cooking shows of all time. But still, it doesn’t feel like I have much choice. I nod as Benny gives an enthusiastic “Let’s do this!” He’s like the FoF equivalent of the spirit chair on my high school’s student council, who had to get the crowd going at pep rallies. I hated pep rallies.
Margie leads us to a counter in Prep Kitchen 2 wheresome kitchen assistants have set out bowls of ingredients. A videographer—Charlie, I think—sets up a camera on the opposite side of the counter. There are a couple of other people bustling around the kitchen testing recipes or something of the sort, and no one seems too interested in the fact that two inexperienced teenagers are about to be trusted with the most precious of Friends of Flavor content.
“First, these. You’re both eighteen, right?”
Margie slides some forms toward Benny and me. Waivers, consent to be filmed, and all that. We both nod—we have to be eighteen to work here in the first place. Benny barely even looks at the papers before dropping his signature onto the designated line. I’m reminded of the scene inThe Little Mermaidwhen Ariel signs her voice away to Ursula, and I try to skim for any major life-altering clauses. But I feel the pressure of everyone waiting on me and quickly sign my name, kissing my fins goodbye.
“Great,” Margie says. “So this should be pretty easy. The premise is that—true to reality—Nia had to step out for the day with the rest of the Friends, but she left you with all these ingredients already on the counter and asked you two to take over. À laChoppedbut with fewer ingredients and less direction. That’s all we give you to go off, and we’ll see what you two come up with. We’re calling itPiece of Cake: Amateur Hour.”
Benny crosses his arms again, and his thick brows knit together under the edge of his hat. “Gotta say, as theculinaryintern, I resent the word ‘amateur’ a little.”
Margie looks amused. “We’ll talk about a title change once you’ve had any formal training whatsoever.”
I clear my throat, sensing an out. “As themarketingintern, I accept that word. Completely. Like, are you sure you want me to be part of this? Because my kitchen skills aren’t too refined just yet, and—”
“I think it’s even better that way, honestly. But that reminds me”—Margie’s eyes flick down to my shirt, which now looks like the result of a sad attempt at purple-brown tie-dye. “We do need to grab you an apron. Lose the sweater. Be right back.”
I blink at her retreating messy braid before sense returns to me. I slip my cardigan from my shoulders and hang it on a coat hook on the wall. There’s a dress code at Friends of Flavor and I’m careful not to push the boundaries. Fortunately, today’s tea-stained top at least has short sleeves. I feel Benny watching, which makes me self-conscious about my—gasp—scandalously bare arms. I must have forgotten to check my internalized self-consciousness from years of sexist school dress codes at the door today. That shit runs deep.
I feel fabric brush my arm and turn to find Margie holding out what looks at first glance like a burlap sack but is actually an ugly brown apron. Still an improvement over what’s currently happening across my torso.
