Chapter 1
Evie blinked, then discreetly cleared her throat before letting a natural smile settle on her face. She could do this. All she had to do was listen. Smile and nod and listen. For the first time in months, she wasn’t being asked to perform, with bright lights and no less than four cameras covering her and her co-hosts from different points along a hundred-and-eighty-degree arc. She couldn’t say she wasn’ton.Any time she left her apartment, she was Chef Evie Buchanan, the culinary princess of New York and star of the hot new morning showThe Dish.
And at the moment, she was standing in the middle of the famed Holiman Library, elbow to elbow with well-respected food critics Elester Morger and Peter Hector. She was definitely on. Her agent, Nicole, and Nicole’s girlfriend, Jane, rounded out their current little cluster. Conversation and alcohol flowed freely. Evie was trying her best to embrace the former and avoid the latter. The last thing anyone needed to be when stepping back out onto New York’s slushy December streets was completely wasted.
No, the conversation wasn’t the issue at all. From the moment Evie walked through the doors, she’d been greeted warmly as the unofficial guest of honor. It wasn’t the conversation or the company. It was the music. The best holiday hits from oldies to today’s covered classics. Evie loved the concept of Christmas until the music started playing in the hours following Thanksgiving, when an unmistakable lump lodged itself at the top of her throat. That same lump usually made an appearance twice more throughout the year. During the first few hours of her birthday and on the anniversary of her grandmother’s passing.
Evie was grown now, established, accomplished, starring on a freaking TV show, but the first notes of any rendition of “This Christmas” always left her struggling to keep the tears at bay. Which would be fine if she could take a minute to hide and regroup in the ladies’ fitting rooms in the middle of a crowded Macy’s, but right now? She was on. If she could only find this mysterious, hidden DJ booth or the person holding the aux cord and ask them to maybe switch to the latest pop hits or some smooth jazz. Or maybe if she could find Blaire. Her best friend and roommate said she was taking a quick trip to the restroom, but that was over twenty minutes ago. Evie could excuse herself to go find her, but ditching two of the most respected men in her profession so she could cry in the bathroom with her friend about how much she missed her nan was a bit excessive.
Evie swallowed again. She could do this.
“I understand trends. I really do. But sometimes a grilled cheese is just a fucking grilled cheese, and I’m not schlepping out to Brooklyn more than once to pay seventeen dollars for something my seven-year-old mastered last week,” Peter said. They all laughed, Evie included. She’d been to T_G and tried one of their grilled cheeses, on the house. It was not worth the trek.
“I have to agree with you there. A little steep, but Donia is delightful,” Evie added.
Peter swallowed a swig of his Pinot, nodding deeply. “That’s why I gave them a B-plus with an asterisk. Donia is easily the sweetest woman in New York. Present company excluded.”
The light burst of laughter that came out of Evie was a little more genuine this time. “Thank you, Peter.”
“I get such a kick out of your asterisks,” Elester said.
Peter shrugged and finished off the last of his wine. “Hey, it helps me to be a little more diplomatic. Some people ride that asterisk. I saw Michael Lowell last week—”
“From Montin. Newish place down in Alphabet City,” Evie added for Nicole and Jane’s sake.
“Right. I gave their shrimp carpaccio a D with an asterisk. He said they were booked up for weeks after the review dropped.”
“What was the asterisk for?” Jane asked.
“They only play Springsteen, Joel, and anyone with an association to Clapton. I mean, there’s a lot I’ll put up with if you’re pumping the room full of the Boss.”
“Season two, Evie. Start every segment with ‘Dancing in the Dark,’” Jane teased.
“Yeah, they like me in production, but they don’t like me that much.”
After being crowned the first Black winner inSupreme Chefhistory, Evie had returned to the city, prize money and a copy ofFine Dining Magazinewith her face splashed across the cover in hand, only to discover she no longer had a job. Yeah, she’d been gone for over two months, but her former bosses at Nighly had told her that her skills were unmatched. With her running the kitchen, another reality-show win would only drive more customers through Nighly’s overpriced doors. She’d seen proof of it after she’d won on the less involved, but equally popular Food Channel show,The Chopping Block.
But even though her presence alone had been enough to boost business, they weren’t looking for an executive chef who was more interested in a chance at fifteen-minute increments of reality TV fame than the food. Evie would never forget the way Alexander, one half of the team who’d gotten the Manhattan hot spot off the ground, had leaned on that idea—that she didn’t care about the food, which was especially absurd, since food was the only reason she’d moved her whole life to the city. Luckily friends of a friend had hot yoga’d with Nicole, who had some hot intel about a new daytime cooking show being shopped to the networks. Former NFL star Troy Smith-Wilson, the driving force behind the concept, was eager to get himself back into the spotlight. Soon, Evie had found herself doing camera tests with Troy and a rotation of two other hopefuls before they settled on interior designer Ashley Simms and one of Evie’s long-time idols Chef Mitchell White.
With season one only halfway complete, they had already received word that they had been renewed for two more seasons. And though she wasn’t exactly sure she believed it, the producers had told Evie in no uncertain terms that she had been the key ratings draw. Evie liked to attribute it to the chemistry that the four hosts shared in front of the camera, but she couldn’t deny how much her social media following had exploded. She was definitely popular, though maybe not enough to tell the producers what music they needed to play.
“If you ladies will excuse us, I see my darling friend Laurence,” Elester said, nodding toward the far side of the room. Peter lightly kissed Evie on her cheeks and disappeared behind Elester through the crowd. When they were a safe distance away, Evie let her shoulders sag just a little.
“They love you,” Nicole said.
“I know. They are both great,” Evie replied before she nearly reconsidered her night’s ban on alcohol. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, of course.” Nicole edged a little closer. Jane followed. She was so chill, Evie didn’t mind her being in the inner circle.
“I’m having fun. Really, I’m having a good time.”
“I get it. A work party is still a work party and you’re a little zonked.”
“You don’t think I’m totally ungrateful?”
“No. I think you’ve been working nonstop for months and I know those shoes are uncomfortable as hell.” Nicole glanced at her phone, forever clutched in her hand, before she looked up and gave the open mezzanines above a quick glance. “There are plenty of places to hide in here. Take a breather. Come back. Give me one more hour and then we’ll all flee into the night.”
“You’re a saint. I’ll be back.”