I stand but she looks up at me, her eyes deep green pools big enough to fall into, and I sit my ass back down. I roll my chair toward her, stopping short of touching her.

“You’re worried,” I say. “About being in the spotlight again.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m certainly not under the impression that there’s any kind of spotlight aimed in my direction.” She gestures at herself. “Look at me.”

That’s the problem. I am. Sometimes she’s all I can look at. Even when I close my eyes, I can see her. I shake my head to dislodge the shape of her imprinted on my eyelids.

Focus, Amy. You’re a businesswoman, not a clit with a compass for hot women.

“I’m a nobody. I’m a footnote in an old season of a professional cooking show.”

The back of my neck tingles, an actual bristle, at the word nobody.

First of all, I don’t hire nobodies to run my kitchen. Second, Sophie is a talented chef. Perhaps her only fault, if it could be called that, is her lack of confidence, which seems like a recent development.

I’ve seen the numbers she pulls on social media. Despite Wes’s assurance that likes are a vanity metric, tens of thousands of people think of Sophie as more than a footnote.

“It’s just...a lot.”

“All you need to focus on is the menu we’re going to serve to Camilla. I’ll take care of everything else.”

She arches a skeptical brow. “What does ‘take care of everything’ entail?”

“Social media, honing skills training for our servers, general restaurant admin. I’ll take care of it all.”

“You mean the stuff you already take care of.”

“Hollywood,” I growl. “You know what I mean. Do you trust me?” I want—need—to hear her say it.

“I guess.”

Womp.

“That’s okay, Brunet.” Shake it off, Chambers. “You will.”

I wink and flounce out of the office. It’s probably just my imagination. But I think she checks out my ass as I leave.

Chapter Six

Sophie

Attn: Amy Chambers and Sophie Brunet,

Please prepare for locations manager and team at Amy & May’s, between 10am and 1pm on Sunday, February 3. Can you confirm the address and your contact information below?

Best,

Dorothea Glenn

Production Assistant—The Edible Network, North America

A plate of congealed mushroom risotto lands in front of me.

“What is this?”

“I took it to table 8. You said table 8, right?” Toby, our new expo, whispers. His dark eyes are frantic.

“Yes.” I pull the chit off the receipt spike. “Mushroom risotto, table 8. Why isn’t this at table 8, Toby?”

His eyes widen and a deep blush covers his face. He tucks a strand of hair that’s fallen from his ponytail behind his ear. “They said they didn’t order the risotto.” His whispers come more and more frantically.

“Again?”

“Again. They said they ordered the special, the...the...” He looks up like the guests’ order will be written on the ceiling. “Crab cakes and prime rib.” He grins, pleased with himself, except the risotto—one of my additions to this menu—still sits here, quickly cooling on my expo counter. I was considering it as a potential dish to serve Camilla—if we get on the show—but how am I possibly supposed to test this recipe if I can’t get it out to guests on time and at temperature?