Page 12 of Bad Reputation

Chapter 4

INT. FANCY RESTAURANT

“So have I made a terrible mistake?” Maggie asked.

“Ma’am,” the waiter said carefully, the vowel drawn out so long he might as well have been addressing the Queen. “I can show you the way to the chef’s table now.” Because it turned out that the waitstaff at Michelin-starred restaurants couldn’t offer you vital career reassurance, even if you demanded it after you’d gotten lost on your way back from the bathroom, where you’d been hiding from the actress who wanted to disembowel you.

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry to ... dump on you.”

“Very good.”

It could be considered good only because Tasha hadn’t stabbed Maggie yet.

Ten minutes ago in the hotel lobby, Tasha had taken one look at Maggie, and the temperature had dropped into the range that could only be measured in kelvins. Maggie would’ve declared a tactical retreat right then if it hadn’t been for Cole. He’d clapped Tasha on the shoulder, told her that she looked amazing, and hustled both women into the waiting town car.

I think I’ve annoyed an Amazon warrior, Maggie had texted her best friend, Savannah, during the ride to the restaurant.

If your murderer has great hair, you’re ten times more likely to be featured on a true crime podcast, Savannah had replied.

Which was probably an underestimate. True crimers couldn’t resist beautiful murderers.

The waiter Maggie had cornered pushed the door open to the chef’s table and ushered her inside. The private dining room was sleek and understated, with a single long table. The chairs were all on one side so everyone could look out the glass wall that separated it from the kitchen.

There, at least a dozen people were flying around the counters and cooking surfaces, chopping, sautéing, and plating dishes. The kitchen was a whirl of copper pans and a rainbow of produce, of fire and steam and noise. The mad choreography of it was mesmerizing.

And unlike in the main dining room, no one here was watching Maggie’s famous dinner companions. This, despite the fact that in person, Tasha Russell was actually breathtaking. Her blonde hair and her pale skin seemed to emit light, like a saint in a Renaissance painting. Cole James wasn’t hard on the eyes either. As long as Maggie didn’t look directly at him, her heart rate stayed only slightly elevated, and that was just how it was going to have to be for the next four months.

Elevated ... and curious. Maggie would’ve had to be living under a rock to miss the pictures of Cole and Tasha together. Her concern about their relationship was merely professional, of course. It would complicate her job if they were exes.

But now, Maggie didn’t know what the hell she was dealing with. After the disastrous meeting, she’d had a long call with Bernard Caldwell. He had decades of experience as an intimacy coordinator, and Zoya had arranged for Maggie to be his apprentice. The last three months, he’d mentored Maggie on negotiating consent and managing conflict, and she’d been his shadow and then his assistant on two smaller indie projects in order to get her SAG card.

Technically, Maggie and Bernard were both intimacy coordinators for this season ofWaverley. When he’d decided not to come to the UK,she’d had the giddy sense of graduating, at least until Tasha had refused to work with her.

Whatever their history might be, Maggie suspected that Cole and Tasha weren’t together now. But they also weren’t what Bernard had prepped her to expect: Cole James wasn’t some Hollywood himbo, and while Tasha Russell was playing the diva, the drama felt like an attempt to hide something.

Maggie had seen that move from students all the time. Except she had a premonition that when she managed to pry up this stepping stone, she’d find maggots underneath.

“Tash and I know the chef from way back,” Cole said as Maggie took her seat next to his. “The food’s supposed to be good here.”

Maggie almost barked out a laugh. Two Michelin stars, and that only rated a “good”? Movie stars: they’re just like us.

“Forget the food. Let’s hope the wine cellar’s loaded,” Tasha muttered.

“I’d bet Jose has both redsandwhites.”

“Good. I’ll take a bottle of each, and maybe a rosé, too, just for kicks.”

“If you have a hangover at our riding lesson tomorrow, Ryan will be pissed at me.” Then to Maggie, he muttered, “He’s the stunt coordinator. We’ve worked with him before.”

Cole might be trying to pretend Tasha wasn’t annoyed with him, but Maggie suspected he cared very much about Tasha’s feelings—and, strangely, about Maggie’s too.

Maggie had been prepared for Cole to be good looking; he was basically professionally hot. But what didn’t translate to the glossy spreads in magazines or his high-testosterone movies was his sweetness. If Tasha intrigued Maggie because of her evident badassery, Cole held her attention because he was too easy to like.

People were mostly awesome, or at least that had been Maggie’s hypothesis until she’d been fired. In that instant, the world had turned into Whac-A-Mole but with assholes.

Cole’s innate sweetness was a fall of rain on the hard plain of Maggie’s soul. Even now, green shoots were popping up inside her.This. This is what you used to feel like—and maybe could again.

Maggie reached for her water and took a long drag as a tall, slim, gorgeous man entered from the kitchen.

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