Page 30 of Mistaken Impression

I could have a glass of wine, but I’m too tired to enjoy it, so I pour myself a glass of ice cold water and carry it through to the living room, settling onto the couch. I don’t turn on the television, though. There’s no way I can handle any more noise today, and instead, I sit back and eat while thinking about the other thing that’s been bothering me…

Blake.

I feel a little guilty about the way I handled things with him. I wasn’t as kind as I could have been, and I let my nerves and the situation get the better of me on more than one occasion. Let’s face it, even when he smiled so supportively at me, after Vivian was being such a bitch over the lamb, I couldn’t raise the enthusiasm to smile back. I just wanted to get finished and get out of there… but I’m fairly sure that came across as ignoring him.

The problem is, even if he is eminently adorable, I can’t escape my worries… the foremost of which is that the man can’t cook.

I still don’t understand why nobody made me aware of that in advance. He said he’d told Kennedy, so it’s not like they were oblivious, and there was nothing to be gained by them keeping it a secret from me. The only reason I can think of is that they thought I might not take the job if I’d realized what was involved… and they’d have been right. Maybe they’d tried otherchefs, told them the truth about Blake, and been turned down. Maybe that was why they kept quiet. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t alter the fact that I could still walk away if I felt like it.

It’s not as though I need the money.

Kennedy might not know that, but does she honestly think humiliating me in public is a good idea? Surely she has to realize that, if I walk out on her, she won’t have a show, and while I may not be the ‘star’, replacing me won’t be easy… especially at this stage of the production.

None of it makes much sense to me, but I suppose I need to allow for the fact that I’m tired, and that I don’t really understand how the television industry works.

I finish my stir-fry, taking my bowl and glass out to the kitchen and putting them into the dishwasher. There’s nothing much to stay up for, and although it’s only eight-thirty, I check everything is switched off and make my way back through to the bedroom, pulling off my bathrobe and climbing into bed.

My head hits the pillow, tiredness overwhelming me, and just before I fall asleep, I think about the prospect of walking out of my job, after just one day…

I won’t do it, simply because I think it’s what Vivian would like most in the world, and I’m stubborn like that. But as my eyes flutter closed, I resolve not to take any more crap… from anyone. If I know I’m right about something, I’m going to stick to my guns from now on, just like I did over the lamb. I don’t care whether I’m dealing with Vivian or Kennedy. I’m not going to let them talk down to me anymore, and if they don’t like it, they can find another culinary consultant.

When I arrive at the rehearsal studio, Blake is already sitting at the table with an iPad in his hand and a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Good morning,” I say, doing my best to sound cheerful, to make up for yesterday’s unkindnesses, even though a good night’s sleep has done very little to calm my nerves.

“Hi.” He looks up, frowning, before returning his attention to the iPad.

That was abrupt. Surely he can’t still be put out because I ignored him yesterday. If he is, he needs to grow up.

I put down my purse and the bottle of water I brought with me from home, and head into the side kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Once I return, I stare down at Blake for a moment, but he doesn’t move and I realize I’m going to have to break the silence.

“How are you today?”

“Okay.” He seems distant, and I wonder why I’m bothering to make the effort.

“Shall we get on?”

“Just give me one minute…” He frowns, then quickly taps something into the iPad, focusing hard on the screen before he nods his head and turns it off. Once he’s put it down, he looks up at me, his face clearing. “Sorry about that. I just needed to finish something.”

Oh… so he wasn’t being rude. Just busy.

“I see.” He’s obviously not about to tell me what the ‘something’ is, and I guess that’s none of my business, either. Instead, he takes a sip of coffee, and stands up, looking down at me. He’s frowning again, and for the first time, I notice what he’s wearing, which is black jeans and a pale gray t-shirt… and I have to say, he looks utterly divine.

“Are you as nervous about today as I am?” he says, and I wonder if anxiety is the answer to his strange mood.

“Yes.”

He smiles. “In that case, let’s see how much of this I can get wrong, shall we?”

That hardly fills me with confidence, but I nod my head, relieved he’s no longer frowning at me, and turn around, making my way across to the kitchen. Blake follows, and we both put our cups on the countertop, where there’s a box next to my knife case. I pull it closer and look inside. On top, there’s a bag which says ‘For Blain’ on the outside, and I reach in, handing it over to him.

“This must be for you.”

He takes it, rolling his eyes, and opens it up, glancing inside. “Oh, great.” He pulls out a red apron, which he unfolds to reveal the name of the show in white lettering on the front. It looks absolutely awful, but I keep a straight face, for his sake. He’s got to wear it, the poor man.

“Is there anything else?” I ask.

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