She nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I loved growing up there. Hay rides, football games, church potlucks, even the depressing winters. It was a good, safe place to figure out who you were.”
She’d fixed her gaze through the wall of windows, on a faraway point that fell under and away from us. I waited for her to speak again, and when she did, she seemed to be searching my face for the answer to a question.
“You know, I’ve found people in this business are nothing like the people I grew up with.” She frowned slightly but corrected herself at once. I could only imagine what frown lines could do to her script options. “People from our part of the country know how to be discreet. How to keep their mouths shut. How to allow others their privacy.”
I nodded, gripping my wine glass with clammy fingers. Had Spartacus the wonder guard radioed up that I was too chatty? Too eager? Too jumpy?
“Actually,” she said with a laugh. “That’s not true at all. The people in my hometown didn’t know how to be discreet at all. They were insufferable gossips. No one kept their mouths shut, and we were all watching each other constantly. I couldn’t even buy Advil at the pharmacy without the pharmacist calling my mom and making sure I was having normal periods.”
I winced. “I know about that kind of a gossip machine.” I laughed to remember. “Once I skipped third-period study hall with my boyfriend to try a cigarette behind the bleachers. By the time we had reached the end of the parking lot, my dad had been called at work by three different people who lived near the school and must have been spying out their windows. My biology teacher asked during the very next class if I’d been paying attention the first time or if I needed one more look at the smoker’s lung before I made my decision.”
Tiffany groaned in commiseration. “Well, Mac and I have learned the hard way that most people in the entertainment industry would rather throw you under the bus than offer you a bit of privacy. This kind of lifestyle demands a lot from a person.”
It does have its perks, I found myself thinking and immediately felt disloyal. I swallowed the last of the wine and placed the glass gently on a nearby burnished bronze table.
“Charlie,” Tiffany said. She leaned forward in her chair. “I like you. I like your desserts, I like the way you conduct yourself, and I like your self-assurance. I really enjoyed talking with you at Thrill the other night.”
I felt my heart speed up. “I did too. Thank you. I mean thank you for liking me.”
She laughed, a low, musical, blockbuster kind of laugh. “You’re welcome. I’m hoping that tonight will go very well.”
She drew out those last two words, and I nodded, agreeing with her wholeheartedly.
“In fact,” she said, still watching for my reaction, “if it does go well, and I’m sure it will, I hope to introduce you to some friends. Powerful friends who would be very grateful for a discreet, hardworking Midwestern chef like you. Friends who appreciate loyalty and the value of a kept secret.”
I’m sure my eyes widened, and I hoped to high heaven that I didn’t look like I was suddenly worried about Tiffany Jacobs’s connections to the Mob. She did look a little Mediterranean, now that I thought about it.
“Nothing too intense,” she said, apparently picking up on a flicker of my uncertainty. “Parties, personal chef work every now and then. Margot has told me you love your job at Thrill and aren’t looking to move on.”
“You know Margot?” I hated the way I sounded, so green, so unaccustomed to the networking dance.
“I do,” she said after taking a sip of her wine. “We’ve known each other a long time. She’s not a woman to be trifled with.” Tiffany arched her sculpted eyebrows. “But she’s mostly harmless. As long as you do what she says.”
My laugh sounded uneasy and tinny.
“So I know you like working at the restaurant. But I can assure you, if you’re interested, you could expand that horizon.” She stood and smoothed her shirt with manicured hands. “Well. I’m sure you have plenty of work ahead of you. Shall I show you to the catering kitchen?”