Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Say yes!” Hadley shouted.
My heart had lurched the moment I’d heard 30 Under 30. “Uh, I’m not sure.”
“It’s a great opportunity,” Fiona went on smoothly. “It’s always our biggest-selling issue and our most popular online article. Tons of hits. Granted, you already have more name recognition than anyone else on the list—and facial recognition, which is why it would make sense to put you on the cover—but I still think it would be great for you. We aim for more of a pop culture audience these days, but lots of industry insiders still read. Your name might catch the eye of the person who can rocket your brand to the next level. I’m sure you’re not planning to stay at Etoile forever.”
“No,” I said honestly.
“So what’s your next move? A Michelin Star? A James Beard Award? A line of cookware? Being on the cover of Tastemaker and at the top of the 30 Under 30 would be fabulous publicity—it could give you some leverage.”
“Mom, those things are so boring. He needs his own show,” said Hadley. “And, like, merch. Not just pots and pans, but like sweatpants and T-shirts and hoodies with his signature line from the show! Gianni Lupo: too hot to handle.” She dragged her hand down the side of her leg where the lettering would go. “I could totally design it all for you. My friend got famous on TikTok and I did all his merch. Are you on TikTok?”
“Uh, no.”
“Oh!” Hadley snapped her fingers. “What do you call those things you wear on your hands when you take stuff out of the oven so you don’t get burned?”
“Oven mitts?”
“Yes. How cute would it be to have some made with a pic of you and too hot to handle on them? Your fans would go crazy!”
I had to laugh at the idea of my face on people’s hands in kitchens all over America—my mother would think it was hilarious.
Ellie would not.
“Listen, this is fun to think about, but . . .” I glanced at the door again. “Have you thought about asking Ellie to be on your 30 Under 30 list? She’s doing really cool things at Abelard, and Michigan wines are gaining popularity.”
Hadley rolled her eyes. “Wine again. No one cares.”
Fiona sighed. “I’ll be frank. We don’t have anyone on the list who’d get the attention you would—and that means better ad dollars for us. I only just started watching Lick My Plate in the last couple weeks or I’d have approached you sooner. And I hate to say this, because Ellie seems very knowledgeable and we always love to feature women in the industry, but I really need a name. What do you say? Can I call you later this week? Set up an interview and photo shoot?”
“Do it,” prodded Hadley.
For a moment, I entertained the idea—being on a magazine cover would be pretty cool, and my agent would love it. Maybe Fiona was right, and the publicity would mean I could ask for more in negotiations with the network who wanted me to sign a contract with them . . . not only more money, but more creative control, more of a say in my role on the show, or maybe a different show altogether. I’d be little more than a prop on Hot Mess.
But the thought of a bunch of Hadleys running around with my name on their sweatpants was a little weird.
And accepting Fiona’s offer would crush Ellie.
I shook my head. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I have to say—”
Fiona held up a hand. “Don’t answer yet. Take a few days and think about it. I realize I just ambushed you on your way out into a storm.”
“I don’t really need to—”
“The issue won’t come out until June, so we don’t have to shoot you until spring.” Fiona moved past me and pulled the door open. Snow rushed in on a blast of cold air, and Hadley shivered. “Be careful out there. I’ll be in touch this week.”
“Wait!” Hadley ran at me. “Can I have a hug?”
I was nearly knocked over backward when she threw her arms around me, but I recovered my balance and awkwardly tapped her back once with a gloved hand.
“And a selfie?” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone, snapping a bunch of photos of us before I even registered what was happening. “Thanks!”
“No problem.” I ducked out the door before she could ask me for anything else.
Hurrying toward my SUV through the wind and snow, I yanked the door open and slid behind the wheel. The interior was cozy and warm, and the windows were fogged up. Ellie was staring out the passenger window, arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t even look at me when I got in.
I tossed my gloves in the back seat and pulled the check from my pocket. “Here. She paid us extra.”