And He Cooks Too Read Online Free

adjacent set, everyone motionless like a Christmas tableau.
    “Tell me that’s not the box I gave you,” Trudy whispered.
    “What’s the big deal?” Reese shot back. “I set it down for less than thirty seconds so you could show me around the kitchen.”
    Trudy gripped Reese’s arm and pulled her closer. Keeping her voice low, she said, “Newbie or not, no one leaves a food item by itself in the studio. Too easy for someone else to use it. Or worse, to do anything to it.”
    “Like what? Add poison? You’ve seen too many murder mysteries.”
    “Not me, the devil in the kelly green pantsuit over there. That’s our executive producer, Leonie McCutcheon. It’s one of her rules. Better get a list and memorize them fast.”
    “That’s Leonie McCutcheon?” Reese squeaked. Damn! The woman was the only reason she’d considered working on this show and she’d already managed to irritate her.
    “You’ve heard of her?”
    “Well, yes. Her catering business has been around for years. Staff at my restaurant would work for her on occasion, when she needed extra help for large events.”
    “You’ve got restaurant training?” Trudy’s voice softened, awestruck.
    “Of course. Don’t we all?” What a strange thing for someone on a cooking show to say.
    Trudy cocked her head, her expression patronizing. “You sure are new. But about Leonie. Even though we’re just a local show, she’s quite a prima donna.”
    “A local show in the Big Apple,” Reese reminded her, compelled to defend the caterer.
    “Whatever. Be on the alert.”
    The advice came too late. The offending container of fruit suddenly appeared in front of Reese, as if suspended by its own volition. “I’m told you’re the one responsible for leaving this fruit unattended.” Leonie McCutcheon’s designer attire accentuated the green of her eyes, eyes that pierced through Reese, daring her to deny her transgression.
    Okay, she’d stood her ground with more than her share of angry head chefs, but this woman was different. Better not blow it with her. Especially on her first day. She attempted a cordial smile. “I wasn’t aware of your rule, Ms. McCutcheon.” She reclaimed the orphaned berries.
    “Who. Are. You?” Though smoky, the older woman’s voice also carried a lilt, an educated tone, like that of a socialite accustomed to having her own way.
    A thin blonde in a black mini-skirt who’d been following in the wake of the executive producer raised a hand. “She’s the new production assistant, Leonie.”
    The executive producer screwed up her face, appeared confused. “Why didn’t I know about this, Deborah?”
    The female flunky bit a lip. “Actually, you did receive notice. Last week, right after she was hired.”
    Apparently deciding not to air the communications slip-up further, the executive producer returned her attention to Reese. “And you would be?”
    “Reese Dunbar.”
    “Then Reese Dunbar, dispose of these berries post haste, because we can’t use food items that have been left unattended. And hurry. You’ve already put us several minutes behind schedule.”
    Diva alert. Was saluting required? Never mind. Groveling was in order. She kept her smile in place until the verdant lioness pivoted suddenly and stormed away.
    The executive producer stopped abruptly and then turned back to her, adding, “I only allow one mistake per person on this production. You’ve just used your quota.” Then, swiveling, she clicked off in her stilettos.
    Don’t you think you’re something, lady? Too bad. No quaking in the boots here. She knew all about prima donnas. They permeated the food industry. She probably fell into that category herself on occasion.
    Her colander search, which now included a new box of berries as well, was yet again disrupted, this time by a male voice behind her. “Ms. Dunbar?”
    She turned to find a suave, silver-haired gentleman staring at her with furrowed brow. “Yes, I’m Reese Dunbar. Did I break one