The Wrong Girl (4 page)

‘No TV experience, no. Just restaurant.'

‘
Great
. So we're supposed to anchor the segment on this guy and he has no TV experience, no cookbook, no website, no hosting role on
My Kitchen Rules
, nothing.'

Behind Lily the office door opened, and a small woman with short black hair, impressively both flat
and
frizzy, walked in. No one who'd worked at
The Daily
for longer than a day wore anything in the same sartorial area code as Eliza's knee-length skirts, blouses, flesh-toned pantyhose and blazers.

She was thirty-five at most, but looked forty. It was her eyebrows, Lily decided. They were too arched and thin. It aged her, and made her look mean, which she wasn't. She was a big dork. As she walked towards the pair, she tip-tapped away on her chunky old BlackBerry.

‘Nice break, everyone?' She was yet to look up at them.

‘Yeah, really great, thanks, Eliza, how was yours? How was Port Macquarie? How are your family?' Lily asked, smiling.

‘Mad and many, you know how it is!' Eliza's tinkly laugh rang through the room. ‘So, I have some
very
exciting news.' Eliza's news was always at least a week old. Lily knew not to get excited.

‘We have our new in-house chef! His name is Jack Winters. He was the head chef at Simmer in Mudgee, a two-hat restaurant, he trained at
all
the fancy places in Paris and London – you'd probably know them, Lily – and, between us and the doorknob, he looks like he could be a Hemsworth brother . . . but better looking! He's going to get the stay-at-home mums very worked up, let me tell you that right now . . .'

Lily winced. Dale's intel was spot on. They'd hired a no-name, no-experience beefcake to get the viewers all hot and bothered. Classy.

‘Now, I won't keep you, I'm sure you've loads to do; Ben will be in touch about the planning meeting tomorrow. Oh and Lily, we should talk about some new tea towels.' Eliza was always ‘urgently noticing' things that made absolutely no difference to the show. Last year she had called a meeting to discuss the importance of matching wooden spoons.

‘Okay then, more soon. It's great to be back, team!' And with a smile and a swivel, she was off.

Lily waited til she was safely out of view and earshot before turning back to Dale.

‘So, you'll hassle the Thermomix people again?'

Okay,' he said at a volume better suited to a church or library. Lily couldn't help feeling like she was dealing with the work experience kid most of the time, despite Dale technically being a producer, albeit an assistant one.

Back at her desk, Lily typed ‘Jack Winters Simmer' into Google and hit search. A stream of restaurant reviews, but no videos or images, which was troubling. She read with interest the first one, written by Terry Durack, which awarded Simmer 19/20. Almost unheard of.

‘Stalking your kitchen Adonis, huh? That allowed on your lame detox?' Alice's finest skill was sneaking up on people and spying on what they were doing.

Lily spun around. ‘Can you pipe down? It's my job to research, remember? Yours too, in case you forgot.'

Alice slurped noisily from her Diet Coke – quite possibly her third or fourth for the day – and looked at Lily mischievously. ‘I'm going to make a bet with myself in my head right now that you fall for him.'

‘Cool. Hope you win,' Lily said, her back to Alice.

‘You've got chewy on your jeans,' Alice said as she turned and walked back to her desk.

Lily looked down at the back of her jeans and saw a wad of green mess on her left calf. She cursed under her breath. Would she ever be a grown-up? she wondered as she took a pen and started to work at the glob of gum. It was roughly as effective as casting a spell. She deleted the words ‘Jack Winters Simmer' from the search box and typed in ‘how to remove gum from jeans' instead.

‘But it's RUDE, babe! And
such
bad karma.' Simone looked at her friend in disbelief.

‘I actually can't believe how much you are missing the point here. Just because Chris Rich-guy texts does not mean you're excluded from the detox. That's like you, as a vegetarian, having just one meat pie.'

Lily was flicking through one of Simone's new swimsuit campaign lookbooks, shot in Cabo, Mexico, in which Simone was oiled up and depleting several layers of ozone with her smouldering gazes. It really was horrible for the self-esteem, Lily confirmed, living with a bikini model, but she loved Sim and was proud of her, and had long ago stopped trying to compare herself with Sim and her fabulous tits and perfect body and hair and skin.

‘I haven't slept with him. He's just a friend, and
he
doesn't know about the man-detox, so in his eyes I'm just a
bitch
.'

‘Tell me, does this “friend” of yours have a penis?' Lily looked at Simone, eyebrows raised.

Simone sighed and threw her head back so that it arched over the top of the sofa, while covering her face with one of the cushions. Only her hair and her long silver and turquoise earrings were visible. She
loved
silver jewellery. Kaftans and crochet and soft cotton scarves also rated highly on her list.

‘Do you need me to find our emails with the rules?'

Simone ripped the cushion off with a flourish, her hair messy, her enormous, green eyes wide. Despite the fact she'd been out all night she didn't look even remotely tarnished by alcohol or sleeplessness.

‘Okay, no, shut up, I get it, but what about, like, business friends? I SWEARTOGOD, that's all Chris is.'

‘Chris who owns houses in New York, Spain and Paris, and also a cruiser, and looks a lot like Adrien Brody? No. He doesn't seem much like your type.'

Simone smiled coyly. ‘Just because the men I date are successful does not mean that's
why
I date them. And part of the reason I'm doing this sabboytical is to find a man outside my usual type, anyway . . . Someone honest, and simple . . . and genuine. Someone with heart.'

‘You
love
painful men! You love going out with racing-car drivers and athletes and tycoons and guys who are constantly on their phone. You
love
the drama and the excitement.'

‘But look what happens the moment it gets even a tiny bit serious: they freak out, or bring in hookers, or introduce their boyfriend or wife.'

‘I didn't know you were looking to get serious . . .'

‘I don't want a bloody Tarago and a picket fence. I'd just like, I don't know, someone to be authentically, mutually happy with, I guess.' She hugged her knees and looked at Lily at the other end of the sofa.

‘I mean, my birthday with the girls was
amaze
last month, but I couldn't help thinking how nice it would've been to have a boyfriend to spend a weekend in the country with, and just cook up a big meal, and slob about in trackies with. You know? Something
authentic
.'

Lily cocked her head and smiled softly at her friend. ‘Do you know how many girls would kill for your life, Sim? The glamour and travel and excitement . . . and you're after a spag bol and a plumber to kiss you goodnight. Look, relax. You're going to fall over some incredible man who will adore you and be everything you dreamed of before you know it. And just in case you ever forget, that man is
not
Michael.'

Sim looked at her phone and sighed. She hated being reprimanded about Michael, but Lily didn't give a shit. She'd seen the damage he'd done.

‘ 'Kay. I won't text. I was having a weak moment.' She crossed her legs and resolutely tucked her hair behind both ears.

Lily stood up and chucked the lookbook on the pile of magazines that covered the coffee table. ‘Maybe I will have some of that chickpea and twig stew after all.'

Simone, who was always delighted when Lily wanted some of her cooking, leaped up to assist. ‘
Yes!
Oh, you'll
love
it
.
It's really good with some Greek yoghurt and raisins, so good for you, full of all the protein white-sugar-white-carb types like you never get. I wrote all about protein on my blog last week, did you read it?' Simone stopped and looked at her friend.

In Lily's mind there was no worse sentence than, ‘Did you read my blog?' except for maybe, ‘I had the weirdest dream last night . . .'

‘You should use some of my recipes on the show,' Simone said earnestly.

‘Ha! Buckwheat and lentils and oogy-boogy smoothies on
The Daily
 . . . our viewers would get diarrhoea at the very idea. It's lamb chops and sugary muffins for us, thank you very much.'

Simone could only shake her head.

*

It was only ten a.m. on the second day back at work, and Lily was already feeling the familiar grip of stress tighten around her throat.

A panicked email had come in from Eliza early that morning stating she needed the first week's segments by that afternoon, which meant Lily (and Dale) had to switch off holiday cruise control and get to work. Lily opened the largely blank planning spreadsheet with a sigh. All those empty rows and cells caused her enthusiasm for work to suddenly drop to subterranean levels. She didn't have a single decent recipe idea, let alone five strong, first-week-back-with-a-new-chef ones. She could ask around as she sometimes did, but it was usually a waste of time. If Eliza had it her way the only food they'd cook on the segment would be macarons and cupcakes. It was a running joke among the crew: she suggested a cupcake recipe pretty much every planning meeting, even when the theme of the week was India.

Lily reached for her hot tea, and instantly spilled the pale brown brew all over her keyboard, mouse and onto her jeans. Of course.

‘
Shit
,' she whispered furiously, backing out from her dripping desk. She mopped up what she could with tissues, then gave up and headed to the kitchen for paper towel.

She filled the kettle and turned it on to make a fresh cup. As it gurgled, she ripped off some paper towel and started dabbing her thigh. Just once she'd like to be able to take her clothes off at the end of the day without there being an enormous patch of food, drink or olive oil on them. Was that too much to ask? No wonder she never dressed up for work.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see who she was about to be embarrassed by.

In walked the Ken doll who'd stolen her park yesterday. He was wearing black jeans, a dark-blue T-shirt and dorky grey New Balance trainers. His tanned arms were perfectly muscled, a fact Lily tried not to notice.

He seemed to be in a rush, and, without even a glance at Lily, walked past her to the fridge. He pulled out an enormous foil-covered tray of something, then slammed the door shut. He touched his hand on the side of the now quiet kettle and, feeling it was hot, simply lifted the whole thing and raced out with it.

Lily looked after him, gobsmacked. Did he just steal her hot water? And with it the very vessel in which to create more hot water? She stuck her head out the door in the direction he had hurried off to, but he was gone. Unless that was human blood under the foil and the boiling water was needed to save someone's life, that was the rudest thing Lily had been privy to in this kitchen. And she'd once had someone repeatedly break into her fruit salads and steal the pineapple pieces. Nothing else; just the pineapple.

With wet, stained pants and no tea, Lily returned irritably to her desk. There was a text from Sim lighting up her phone screen.

Lily shook her head as she replied.

Speaking of getting back to work, that was precisely what she needed to do.

‘These are going round.'

Dale presented a tray of small friand-looking things on a plate, and then placed it on Lily's desk before scarpering away. Lily peered at them; they looked pretty good. She tried a red-tinged one, and almost spat it back out when she realised it was brimming with liqueur.

‘Mmm, do I smell tasty treats?' Alice appeared from thin air, as she generally did whenever there was food circulating.

‘I don't think tasty —'

‘Ooh, they look fun!' She popped one into her mouth, and immediately had the same reaction as Lily, screwing up her nose and chewing in exaggerated motions.

‘I'm eating a shot of tequila, aren't I? Hey, what's that brown shit on your pants, you pig?'

‘Spilled my tea. Please, enjoy another one.' Lily pushed the plate back under Alice's nose.

‘No.'

‘Oh, come now, you love junk food.'

Alice reluctantly slid a dark-brown cake into her mouth. She screwed up her entire face.

‘That good, huh?' Lily's eyes were dismayed. ‘Dale brought them over. I was really hoping they'd be delicious.'

‘Alcoholic six year olds will love them.'

‘Hey, so we're meeting the chef this arvo,' Lily said. ‘Apparently he's locked himself in the test kitchen since he arrived, which is why no one has met him yet. I like that. Makes me think he might actually want to do good stuff. Hey, want a DC? I'm going to get one.'

‘Nup.'

Lily took the remaining cakes to the kitchen and set them down on the bench, relieved to see the kettle was now back, which saved her from walking to the drink machine for a Diet Coke in order to get a caffeine hit. She filled it up and flicked the switch, then opened the fridge to get some milk. When she closed it, the beefcake thief was standing at the bench, looking at the tray of friands.

‘What are these?' he said.

Lily blushed; he was so
rude
.

‘They're . . . liqueur friands, I guess you could say.'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘Any good?' He looked genuinely interested.

‘Disgusting.'

Something flickered in his eyes. It looked like he wanted to laugh.

‘Huh,' he said, before touching the side of the now gurgling kettle. ‘Can I take this?'

He's got to be kidding, Lily thought. Again?!

‘I was just boiling it for a cup of tea, actually.' She tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

He leaned over and plucked the kettle off its base and, stepping in close to Lily so that she got a direct hit of his woody, smoky cologne, poured hot water carefully into her cup, careful not to scorch the tea bag. Once he was finished, he walked out with the kettle, saying a quick ‘Thanks' as he went.

Lily crossed her arms, her mouth agape. At least this time he'd bothered to give her some water first, she conceded.

Five hours later, Dale and Lily sat in the boardroom, waiting for Eliza, Sasha, who was
The Daily
's executive producer, and the famous mystery chef. Lily felt like they had a firm list of recipes and even a star chef booked in, an eighteen-year old prodigy from the UK who was on a promotional tour for his new TV show, and who had already amassed nearly two million Twitter followers, most of them fourteen-year-old girls who found his floppy hair and mischievous grin utterly magnetic.

Voices came down the hallway and into the room walked Sasha, in top-to-toe black with clear cat's-eye framed spectacles, a green resin-bead necklace and fire-red lips, and Eliza looking like, well, Eliza.

‘Happiest of new years to you both,' Sasha said. She was an extremely impressive woman professionally, and never forgot a person's name or role. It was testament to her terrifying attention to detail.

‘I see you got some sun over the break, Dale?' Sasha grinned, and Dale smiled meekly back. Everyone laughed, because Dale was as pale as always and wasn't offended by such things, and because Sasha was lovely, and the boss. Lily had been subtly trying to make Sasha fall in love with her and promote her from the day she started at
The Daily
, but Sasha's nature was not to single anyone out, or show favourites, or even really acknowledge anyone outside of platitudes, so Lily had no idea what Sasha actually thought of her.

‘Is Jack coming?'

‘Yes, he knows to be —' Eliza started, before something caught her eye at the door and her expression became the facial equivalent of a golden sunset over fields of luminous poppies.

‘Here he is now,' she said, beaming.

Lily looked up from her worksheets and her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. It was
him.
The kettle thief. He, all arm muscles and dazzling blue eyes, walked into the meeting room and pulled out a chair next to Sasha.

Instantly, the entire energy of the room changed. Eliza pepped up, and sat with what must have been extreme discomfort in a spectacularly straight position in her chair; Dale had flushed with nerves as he always did when someone new was in the same room/postcode; and Lily was busy swallowing back her annoyance at the new chef's various forms of theft. Yeah, good one, Alice, she thought. He's a
real
dreamboat. Just as polite and delightful as can be.

‘Sorry I'm late. I had a bit of a . . . 
hiccup
in the test kitchen with the chicken.'

Eliza giggled, hurling another hundred-watt smile at Jack and waiting for his return smile. He smiled at her briefly, eyebrows raised, nodding.

The
test kitchen
! Lily had to clench her eyes closed for a second to prevent face-palming. It must have been him who'd made those awful friands, the ones she dissed when he asked about them. Oh well, she thought. Serves him right. They were horrible.

‘Has everyone met . . . everyone?' Sasha asked. ‘Shall we do that first?'

‘As you know,' Eliza began, as though she had been asked by the teacher to tell the class about her summer holiday, ‘last year I decided
The Daily
really needed a permanent, in-house chef.'