Grill Me, Baby (33 page)

“So what are you going to do on her show tomorrow?” Paolo asked, wondering if he needed to alert Michaela of their prank.

Juan hesitated and looked uneasy. 

Paolo zeroed in on his awkward silence and asked bluntly, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go on tomorrow. That’s what I came to tell Claudia. I hadn’t looked at the Gmail account I set up for that e-mail until tonight.”

“Why can’t you be there?” Paolo demanded. “If you don’t show up, Maki will be very upset.” That was an understatement. Her carefully planned show would be ruined! 

“I have a statistics final tomorrow.” Juan took a step backward. “I was planning on helping out and being on the show if I was picked. I just didn’t know it would be at the same time as my final.”

Paolo clutched his head. How could Tiffany have picked Juan’s glib entry over other worthy ones—especially knowing what a perfectionist Michaela was about everything? Michaela had confessed to Paolo that she had had very little input in her advertising campaign and had given her family free rein. With no discretion, Tiffany had transformed Michaela’s proper image to that of a sexy siren, relishing her motto of “sex sells” on the website. She was an incorrigible mischief-maker and had probably thought Hugo St. Paul would enliven things for her more mature sister. 

“What are we going to do? There were two other messages from the Luv Bite Team and the last one sounded urgent,” Juan said, bringing Paolo back to the pressing dilemma.

“What did it say?” Paolo asked.

“It said the success of Maki’s show was riding on Hugo and to please confirm that I would be there!”

Damn.
By the sound of it, Paolo knew it was too late for Tiffany to notify anyone else. Maki would feel betrayed and sabotaged by the Santos family if Hugo didn’t show up and she found out Juan’s sham e-mail had been orchestrated by Claudia!

Paolo motioned for Juan to join him at the counter. “Come here. You’re going to respond to that email now.” 

Juan looked worried as he approached him. “What do you want me to write, Paolo?” 

“Log into your account and I’ll dictate it,” Paolo bit out between his clenched jaws. He knew he shouldn’t be mad at Juan, but the college kid’s desire to impress the heck out of Claudia had created a real disaster for Maki.

When Juan logged onto his [email protected] account, Paolo asked, “Hurly burly? What were you thinking, man?”

Juan shrugged and hung his head. “I don’t know. The old-fashioned word seemed funny at the time. I thought I’d make Hugo sound like a dork, so Maki would take pity and choose him. Unfortunately, it worked.”

“Here’s what I want you to write: ‘No worries. I will be there. Hugo.’”

Juan turned to him with desperate eyes. “But I already told you I can’t be there!”

“I know.
I
will be Hugo St. Paul tomorrow,” Paolo said magnanimously, even though his inner voice warned him he might regret it.

“You will?” Juan looked vastly relieved. “Why?”

“Because it’s past midnight, too late to ask anyone else to pitch in. I have to be at the studio at six tomorrow morning, so you need to get going, Juan,” Paolo said, incensed by Juan’s immature prank. 

“Okay, sorry about everything.” Juan’s face glowed red with embarrassment.

“Not nearly as sorry as I am,” Paolo said, disgusted. He had no other choice but to appear on her show or Michaela would be a laughingstock tomorrow. There was no way he’d text her about the change in plans. Michaela didn’t do well with changes, especially when it involved the
Miami Spice
competition. If she got wind of Claudia and Juan’s shenanigans, she’d be a nervous wreck and not sleep a wink before her show. Michaela needed to be rested tomorrow morning. Somehow, Paolo would have to tell her between his taping and hers. 

If not, he was toast—
burnt
toast. 

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Oh, boy, listen to the audience,” Michaela said, fidgeting in the armchair in front of the lighted mirror of the dressing room while Tiffany applied her makeup. Paolo was in the midst of taping his show and from the loud applause, the all-female audience was delighted. The sound of their laughter to his ready wit and showman techniques was not good for Michaela’s nerves, not good at all. Since the night of Aunt Willow’s car accident, she and Paolo had decided that their love was more important than anything else, including the thrilling prize of being the winner of the
Miami Spice
competition. This should have provided comfort, but right now it was making her fret.

“Don’t pay attention to Paolo’s show if it stresses you out, Mic. And please try not to blink,” Tiffany said, using a metal eyelash curler on Michaela’s lashes. Tiffany’s shiny silver train case lay opened on the counter, overflowing with a kaleidoscope of eye shadows, lipsticks and blushes. Makeup brushes and sponge wedges were spread before her on the counter as she focused on her craft, interspersing her work with peppy comments to cheer Michaela on.

“I want to know how he’s doing.” Michaela tried not to blink as Tiff had requested. She didn’t know how much longer she could sit still. She felt like leaping from the chair and running out of the studio and into Paolo’s arms.
Cut it out
, she told herself,
you’re being silly.
She hadn’t expected to have a case of stage fright and actually, it wasn’t stage fright, it was fear of the unknown. What would happen after today? Would their relationship survive the competition?

“Let’s close the door so you won’t be distracted,” Aunt Willow suggested from the couch she shared with Aunt Magda. The aunts had insisted on being in the dressing room with Michaela to bolster her confidence. 

“No, I want to keep it open. I need to hear what’s going on out there,” Michaela insisted, trying to keep the edge from her voice. She was a bundle of nerves, heading toward meltdown. She was competing against the man she adored and wanted to marry, if he’d have her. All along, she had thought she was up to the task, but the minute she had arrived at the studio, she started to get nervous. Now she had cold feet about her show.

“I provided the exact script of how I want to tape the show. What if Hugo hasn’t read it and he’s not prepared? What if he doesn’t even show up? Then I’m going to have to wing it. I’m not funny like Paolo…I’m only a chef!” Michaela fretted.

“You can totally wing it if you have to. Don’t underestimate yourself,” Tiffany said. “You’re a pro at cooking and a natural teacher. Just think of the Munchin’ Munchkins. You’ve taught them so much since they started your classes.”

“Exactly! Listen to your sister, Michaela, and stop worrying,” Aunt Magda urged. “You don’t have to be Jim Carrey out there. You are a beautiful woman and a knowledgeable and experienced chef. Perform to the best of your ability and they will love you for it.”

“Right on. I have to agree with Magda. Once you’re groovin’ to the beat of your talents, things will go great for you.” Aunt Willow shifted on the sofa, adjusting the orthopedic brace that wrapped around her pumpkin-colored, embroidered cotton tunic. “Right now, you’re being your own worst enemy. Turn that negative aura to a positive one before you face your audience. You can start by trying to relax. Breathe in deeply and hold it a few seconds before exhaling slowly.”

Michaela tried to take deep breaths, but she couldn’t, she was too revved up. “It’s not working. I’m afraid I might have gotten in over my head. I like everything planned ahead of time,” she said. “I should have never chosen this type of show just to outdo Paolo. I agreed to have a surprise guest that I haven’t met beforehand and practiced with.” She clutched her head and moaned, “What was I thinking? It’s madness! I should have stuck to what I do best and not tried to upstage Paolo for the sake of winning at all costs. Then I would have a fighting chance.”

“Just listen to yourself. Shoulda woulda,” Magda repeated, shaking her head. “You are not helping things with a shopping list of regrets. You have had several meetings with the silver fox, have you not?”

“Who is the silver fox?” Aunt Willow asked, looking befuddled. “Have I missed something here?”

Tiffany sniggered as she applied a coat of glossy black mascara to Michaela’s lashes. “Aunt Magda has the hots for Ted Marton, a.k.a. the silver fox.”

“Who’s Ted Marton?” Aunt Willow asked, looking from face to face for an answer.

“He’s the culinary producer who has been working with me all month getting things set for my show. The same one I worked with for the taping I did with Paolo,” Michaela explained. “Aunt Magda met him today.” 

Always on the lookout for eligible bachelors, Aunt Magda had taken a shine to Ted Marton, the handsome and urbane, silver-haired culinary producer collaborating with Mr. Blumenthal. She had been giddy ever since Ted had winked at her when they were introduced. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about him, Magda?” Aunt Willow asked, looking hurt.

“Because you have Manny.”

“I have no interest in your silver fox, Magda. I would never flirt with any man you’re interested in. Let’s concentrate on helping Michaela.” Aunt Willow turned her attention to Michaela with a heartening smile. “Try again, luv. Breathe deeply and exhale slowly.”

Michaela made a valiant effort to take a few deep breaths and exhale them slowly.

“That’s it, dear. Keep going, you’re doing great,” Aunt Willow said softly in a Zen-like tone.

Breathing rhythmically, Michaela remembered Amy, the spa director’s words of encouragement:
Stop sabotaging yourself. You have planned your show to a T. Dan and Elliot will be there, along with the team Ted has put together to assist you backstage. They will make sure the food is picture perfect for the cameras. All you have to do is smile and sell yourself.

The sound of the audience’s laughter interrupted Michaela’s relaxation breathing.

“Paolo is probably clowning around and entertaining the ladies.” Tiffany gave an offhand flick of her wrist. “Don’t let it throw you. You know how he is. He has his style and you have yours.” 

“Yes, I know,” Michaela said proudly. She knew only too well how at ease Paolo made others feel. It was one of the things she loved most about him, his genuine warmth and friendliness. 

“Don’t worry, Mic. You will charm the pants off those guys. Just look at yourself. You’re a smokin’ hot chili pepper in that red dress.
¡Muy caliente!
” Grinning, Tiffany fanned herself rapidly. She added a final sweep of blush on the apples of Michaela’s cheeks and then stood back to survey her. “Perfect. Now all I have to do is run a flat iron through your hair. Can’t wait for you to knock ’em dead,” she crowed, doing a little dance move with her arms and shoulders. 

“Thanks,” Michaela barely managed to say before she felt a surge of nausea. “I just wish I felt better. It must have been all that rich food I ate last night. My system isn’t used to it.”

“Neither is mine, but I feel just fine,” Aunt Magda said. “I don’t think you’re reacting to the food, dear. It’s the stress of competing against that gorgeous man that you love so deeply, especially since there is so much riding on it.” 

Michaela nodded forlornly. “I wish the circumstances were different—that I could be sitting in the audience, enjoying Paolo’s success. Knowing that I have to compete against him is nerve-wracking,” she admitted.

“The stakes
are
high, but your love will win out in the end,” Aunt Magda said.

“I want to win. But honestly, the way I feel right now I’ll take doing well in front of the camera,” Michaela said.

“You’ll do great. Don’t forget you’re going to have that tiny earphone and Ted will be whispering in your ear, guiding you along,” Tiffany said.

“I wish he’d whisper to
me
,” Magda said under her breath. “I can think of a few things I’d like that silver fox to growl in my ear—”

Aunt Willow let out an exasperated sigh. “This isn’t about you, Magda.”

“What?” Magda asked defensively. “I was just saying…”

“Never mind.” Aunt Willow turned her attention back to Michaela. “What was that Tiffany said about the earphone, dear?”

“It works like a backup. I have to listen to what Ted says and pay attention to the studio director who will be pointing to the camera I’ll be facing,” Michaela said. “I’m also going to be cooking, entertaining the audience
and
dealing with my surprise contestant.” She threw her hands in the air. “All of a sudden, it seems like too much!”

“You can do it. But you must master your nerves. Visualize yourself at the end of your show, triumphant and happy. Relax and focus,” Aunt Willow soothed with a serene smile. 

“What do you think of your mom sitting in the audience with Rosa and Claudia?” Aunt Magda asked. She got up from the couch and reached for a pot of rosy cream blush to brighten her cheeks. 

“Magda, why do you have to bring that up now?” Aunt Willow objected, her face flushing pink with exasperation. 

“To try and take her thoughts away from that dazzling man who is now cooking up a storm and charming the dickens out of the crowd,” Aunt Magda replied.

“Honestly, Magda, you’re making me have a hot flash and I haven’t had one in a long time. What has gotten into you?” Aunt Willow demanded, fanning herself rapidly.

“Nothing. I’m nervous myself. Poor Michaela! I don’t know why Sylvia agreed,” Aunt Magda said. “The families should not have to be together during the competition.” 

“Mom couldn’t exactly refuse,” Michaela said. “She had to agree. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been very gracious, especially since Rosa is so proud of Paolo.”

“Kind of puts Sylvia in an awkward position, but it’s good for her karma, I guess,” Aunt Willow said.

Magda nodded. “Yes, it is good for Sylvia to descend from her high horse every once in a while.”

“Magda, really.” Aunt Willow gave her sister a look of rebuke. “Not in front of the girls.”

“It’s okay, Auntie,” Tiffany said. “We all know Mom can be overbearing, but we love her anyway.”

“True, but we can’t afford a repeat of the other day. I was worried that Sylvia might start fighting with Rosa if you hadn’t intervened, Michaela,” Aunt Magda said. “Your mother was getting hotter under the collar by the minute. Every time Rosa calmly stated that Paolo was going to win, I could see the tension build inside her. Small miracle Sylvia didn’t take off like a rocket and blast her with reasons why you would be the victor.”