Page 23 of Chef's Kiss

My hands stop, the towel not moving from my hair as I process what he’s saying…and it’s in a voice that sounds like maybe I’m not supposed to hear it.

I shake it off and decide to go with the flow. My overeager imagination, which served me well last night including some very extreme fantasies, like sucking his cock after he covered it in Hersey’s chocolate and him slamming into me from behind as my body pressed against the window, is getting the best of me.

But I can’t quite let it go. “You want to tint your windows?” I ask, stepping into the bedroom.

“Yeah, I was thinking it was a good idea.”

“Won’t the cops pull you over for too much tint?”

“You’re right. The risk is too great. I’ll call that chopper service. Let me grab the number.”

I swallow hard as he steps out of the bedroom nonchalantly to get the number.

Why can’t we just drive off to work together? What’s so wrong with that?

“Yeah, we can’t be seen,” I hear his voice in the hallway saying.

My jaw hardens and I try to fight back tears, but my tough girl act falls apart instantly and that jaw I was trying to harden starts to shake.

I quickly grab my things and get dressed before stepping out onto the balcony, which thank god, has a winding wrought iron staircase leading down to the garden.

I go as quickly as I can, my head spinning from both the spiral staircase and what Christian was saying…and the extreme lengths he was going to, not be seen with me.

As soon as I’m in the garden I cut back through the house noticing the huge Botero sculpture in the entryway to the house. Botero is famous for his big bootied sculptures, and the first thought that races through my mind is racing myself down to South America. At least there maybe I can find someone who appreciates my curves, because apparently he doesn’t!

I storm out through the front door staying out of sight and hurry to the front gate, telling the security guard I need to go.

“But Master Christian hasn’t mentioned anything about you leaving,” he says.

“I am not being held hostage here. When I say I want to go, I leave. Now please open that door, or else.”

I’m losing my mind, about to get completely hysterical and apparently the guard can see it too.

He does as I ask opening the side door for me and I beat feet out of there, seeing him pick up the phone as I leave. No doubt he’s calling up to the house to let Christian know.

And no doubt I know that I never want to see him again.

CHAPTER 15

Christian

We slept in so late that I have no choice but to take the helicopter, despite being absolutely dismayed and confused as to why Charlotte took off like she did.

I don’t understand it at all.

Charlotte is the number one priority in my life and today was all about her. It was time to take yesterday’s success to another level today, but that’s not happening now.

There are over fifty people’s lives who depend on us taping the show and I already missed one taping this week. If I miss another the Screen Actors Guild, the union, the studio heads, everyone could come down on me. And with no income coming in, how can I take Charlotte to all the places I want to take her and spoil her rotten?

I can’t. My bank account is definitely not struggling, but the plans I have for us are extreme. A Gulfstream jet. A yacht. Trips to Paris just for lunch and to see the Eiffel Tower lit up on Christmas Eve.

I want to do everything, because I have her.

Or at least I did.

I managed to convince the helicopter driver to fly low over the city on the way to work, but we still weren’t able to spot her. She’s clearly hiding from me, but why?

And the fact that her phone is completely shut off isn’t helping matters either.

The show opens and I’m visibly off. The producer is freaking out and no calls are coming in like yesterday, when she was here…turning my show into the team effort it needs to be.

“Cut to commercial,” I yell out, to the dismay of the audience. We haven’t even been on air half the time required before we go to commercial, but I just can’t get a hold of myself.

The vibe is off. The crowd is mumbling. I can’t talk. Nothing is right, without my Mrs. Right. And it is indeed missus, and not miss, because I’m going to hunt her down as soon as we wrap and find out what went wrong and do whatever I need to do to fix it.

She’s mine, and I don’t give up that easily. And when it comes to her, I don’t give up…at all.

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