Page 11 of A Different Kind of Hooker

I nodded. “It sounds just so damn egotistical, don’t you think?” I pursed my lips in thought. “Like…what makes me so damn special that I could ‘influence’ anyone to do anything? Apart from real celebrities, what kind of person thinks they’re so fabulous that millions of strangers are going to want to follow what they do and emulate them?”

“You don’t see what you’re doing in the same light?” he asked, but not unkindly.

Pouring the dressing all over my salad, I answered, “Not at all. I’m not trying to get people to wear my clothes or copy my hairstyle. I’m not trying to become famous.”

“Baby, I hate to break it to you, but if you end up getting the following that you’re looking for, then you’re going to end up semi-famous.”

My stomach tightened at that word again. “Maybe,” I conceded. “But I still don’t feel like I’m trying to influence anyone to do anything. I view my channel as more of a sitcom than anything else. I’m not peddling anything, I’m simply…I’m in front of the camera for entertainment purposes only.”

Deciding against playing semantics, Heron asked, “So, why baking when you’re no good at it?”

My fork stopped midway to my mouth as my eyes rounded at him. Most people would never think to say such a thing to a complete stranger, but not Heron Treyton. Now, while most women would have gotten their feelings hurt just then, I wasn’t one of those women. I appreciated the truth.

I started laughing when Heron winked at me.

After eating my forkful, I confessed my ignorance. “I underestimated bakers,” I admitted. “I watched a bunch of videos, and since they’d been edited before posted, they’d all looked so easy, and I really do owe bakers around the world an apology.” I shrugged. “I had chosen something that looked simple, and I’d gotten a very valuable lesson in life, instead of a million followers.”

“Why live?” Heron asked between his bites of food.

“Because I want my episodes to be real,” I answered. “Having made a huge mistake with my own misconceptions, I want people to see the process unedited and not just the final product.”

“Why so late at night?”

“I work during the day, so by the time I’ve run all my errands, get home, eat dinner, and all that other life stuff, it’s pretty late.”

We ate in silence for a while before he asked, “So, were you serious about inviting people onto your show?”

I eyed him. “Not really,” I replied honestly. “I’d just been grasping at straws, and I also have a bad habit of thinking out loud.” I grimaced a bit. “It’s not always ideal.”

He didn’t say anything for a bit. He just regarded me with those emerald-colored eyes of his. Heron Treyton really was a sexy sonofabitch, and I could only imagine what he thought of me right now. While I wasn’t completely insane, I could probably rein it in a little bit. My mind was always filled with grand ideas, and that’s probably why my job bored me so damn much.

After a bit, he said, “I’d really like to come on your show, Eliza. I think it’d be fun.”

My eyes narrowed a bit. “Not that I’m your mother, but shouldn’t you be trying to find a solution to your insomnia? I mean, not sleeping is a very serious thing. How in the hell do you think I made the mistake of grabbing salt when the sugar and salt packaging is very different?”

Heron’s lips twitched again. “Yeah, I’d been wondering about that.”

“Salt comes in a round carton, Heron,” I stated firmly, even though he already knew that. “Sugar comes in a bag.” I shook my head. “Still, I’d been tired enough not to feel the difference when I had set all the ingredients out.”

“If it’s any consolation, tired or not, you still look beautiful on camera,” he said, making my stomach tighten again.

“I look like a fool on camera,” I snorted, ignoring his compliment because I wasn’t really good at receiving them. “Who can’t tell the difference between salt and sugar?” I shook my head again.

Letting me get away with another one, he said, “What are you thinking of trying next? If the baking doesn’t work out?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I started watching those rug cleaning reels, but that equipment looks expensive.”

“You don’t cook?”

“I do, but it’s easier to find a home for too much baked goods than it is for leftover food,” I answered. “I’m not a fan of wasting food. I mean, I could always donate it to a shelter, but because of unknown allergies and whatnot, they won’t always take homecooked meals.”

“How about you make it a variety show?” Heron suggested. “Hit a different hobby each week, maybe.” He leaned onto the table. “You might even turn it into a…I don’t know, like…let’s see how hard it is to make a cake, paint a bird, crochet a coaster…stuff like that.”

I eyed him. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Kind of…beginners unite sort of thing.”

“Then that’s settled,” he said. “We’ll give baking one more shot, and if it doesn’t work out, then you can announce your new venture.”

My brows rose. “We?”

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