“The studio’s been considering some potential co-hosts for the show,” She begins cautiously, glancing at me like she’s waiting for an explosion.

I sigh, already exasperated. “Go on.”

Encouraged, she slides four glossy photos across the table. “We’ve narrowed it down to these candidates. They’re young, gorgeous, charismatic, photogenic, and used to being in front of the camera.”

“But are they chefs?” I ask, skepticism dripping from every word.

“Well, they’re more like… self-taught culinary influencers with at least 100,000 followers on social media,” she replies, her voice losing confidence with every word.

“They’re what?” I exclaim, incredulous. “You want me to work with—”

Hudson cuts me off, grinning like the devil himself. “Money makers, yes! They’ve got personalities that really pop—something you don’t have. They aren’t just any social media chefs; they’re trendy. They could really spice up the show with some youth, click-worthy energy. This is the way the industry is moving, Vic.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “The industry,” I mutter. “What a joke.”

“These are credible candidates, Victor. Just review their profiles and pick one.” My agent insists, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hudson says, snatching the photos off the table. “I’ll handle it.” He stands abruptly, his frustration barely contained. “I swear he has no business being in this position.” He mutters, just loud enough for me to hear while he storms out.

Mom covers her face with her hand in frustrated shame over our behavior. Meanwhile, I glance at my watch and curse under my breath.

“Damn it, I need to go,” I announce, standing so quickly my chair scrapes against the floor.

Everyone in the room freezes.

“Mr. Grimes,” a board member stammers, clearly bewildered. “You’re leaving? Now?”

I adjust my jacket, offering a tight, unapologetic smile. “Yes, I am. I’m off to do exactly what everyone wants me to do. Spend time with my amazing woman and my two incredible daughters.”

“But sir, you’ve never left work this early—”

Mom’s grin grows broader. “You heard him. He has important places to be, which doesn’t include this office. You want Hudson to manage today’s meetings?” She glances at me for confirmation.

“Absolutely,” I reply without hesitation, already halfway to the door.

I hurry to the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as it descends ten agonizing floors. The moment the doors slide open, I spot Gary parked right out front. He starts to get out to open the door for me, but I wave him off and slide in quickly.

“Sir, you’re late. Ms. Kind won’t be happy,” Gary remarks with a knowing grin as I buckle my seatbelt.