“You go, girl.” I hated that one.
“It’s about time someone stood up to that chauvinist pig!” I always figured the people who said that hadn’t watched the show. In actuality I hadn’t stood up to him all that much—but headlines about it always seemed to make it sound as if I had.
“Good for you, Hadley.” That comment was usually accompanied by a somewhat patronizing expression that made me feel like they actually thought there was much more I should have done to stand up to Max Cavanagh.
And then, of course, my personal favorite: “I know he’s a creep and all, but you have to tell me . . . is he as sexy in real life as he looks on TV?”
Seriously? You’re asking me if Maxwell Cavanagh is sexy? No! Maxwell Cavanagh is not sexy. Maybe before I met him I would have agreed that he wasn’t horrible to look at, but no man can be considered sexy while flinging chutney. No matter how good he looks in black. Maxwell Cavanagh was the least sexy man I’d ever met in my life. I always thought the people who asked me that were so misguided, buying into that “Playboy Gourmet” persona, and I wished I could tag a “Use your brain!” up-charge onto their bills.
But it had all been good for business, nonetheless. Even without the up-charge.
I sat up and pulled my phone out of my pocket and Leo Landry’s business card out of my handbag. I stared at it and ran my finger over the high-quality gold lettering.
“Okay, Hadley,” I muttered aloud, jumping to my feet in an attempt to manufacture energy and courage. “Just get it over with.”
With trembling fingers, I dialed the number on the card and then I waited . . . through one ring and then another, and then one more. I hadn’t thought about having to leave a message, so as panic filled my brain, I tried to come up with something adequately clever to say.
Leo, it’s Hadley. Let’s do this. No, that was far too bold.
Mr. Landry, this is Hadley Beckett. If you were serious about wanting to work with me . . . No. That was not nearly bold enough.
“Do you really think I’ll get a new kitchen out of the deal? If so, where do I sign?” I giggled at myself, having practiced that last message aloud.
“I can meet you with paperwork in the morning,” he replied.
My eyes flew open and my mouth sealed shut. I toyed with the idea of hanging up or saying, “Sorry. Wrong number.” But there was no point.
“This is Hadley, isn’t it?” Leo asked, amusement in his voice. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone else lately that I think I can get them a new kitchen. Never can say for sure, though.” I was still mortified and couldn’t bring myself to speak, but he filled the silence. “A few months ago, I might have thought it was my now-ex-wife. But she already signed. And her lawyer definitely got her enough for a new kitchen.”
“I’m so sorry,” I stated softly.
“Eh, it’s okay. I got to keep the vacation home.”
I giggled again. “I meant about my awkward greeting. I was talking to myself and didn’t realize you had picked up.”
“Ah! Well, no need to apologize about that. It was a very good question. And to answer it, yes, I think you’ll get a new kitchen. I meant everything I said to you, Hadley. I see the gold mine the Culinary Channel is sitting on with you. To be honest, I don’t even think they see it. Not fully. I mean, they love you, I’m sure. You’re getting good ratings, and there’s not a doubt in my mind that they don’t want to lose you. But in my opinion, they haven’t done all they can to take advantage of the boost from Fiercest Chef.”
First my head dropped, and then my entire body collapsed back onto the couch. Of course. Well, that had been nice for the moment it had lasted.
I sighed heavily. “Okay, Mr. Landry. I appreciate your interest. I really am flattered, and I was thinking it might work. But I’m ready to put all of that Max Cavanagh stuff in my rearview mirror. I won’t lie . . . I’m happy we got that ratings boost, and sure, it’s helped my restaurants out too.”
“And the magazine, I would assume.”
“Yes, and the magazine. It is what it is, and I’m grateful for the blessings. But I’m not going to take advantage of it. I mean, not any more than is just happening naturally. I’m not wanting to build it all up, just to play the victim and get some sympathy viewers.”
There was silence on the other end of the line, giving me an opportunity to think through it all for a moment. My grandmother said this guy was the best, and I really did want to film in Nashville. But with each passing moment of silence, I was even more confident that I was prepared to stand behind what I’d said. More than I wanted any of the dreams I had for my career, I really just wanted to never be forced to think or talk about Chef Cavanagh again.
When Leo finally spoke, his voice was soft and gentle, and full of more emotion than I had been prepared for. “You think you’re getting sympathy viewers? Oh, Hadley. It really makes me sad to think you haven’t had someone by your side encouraging you but also helping you see what you’re unable to see.”
My defenses rose to the surface, but faced with his unexpectedly emotional slant on it, I found it all very confusing. I wanted to be professional, but I had to defend Meemaw, right? Not just because she was my grandmother but because she had done so much for my career. She’d believed in my dream—even if she wasn’t the most overtly gushy and supportive person in the world—when no one else had.
But what Leo was saying—even though he hadn’t actually said much, so far—was somehow grabbing onto my heart. Not in a feeling-like-I’d-just-been-slapped kind of way, but as if something or someone was tenderly saying, “Shh. Don’t talk for a minute. Just listen.”
I still talked, of course.
“It’s not been so bad,” I croaked out through the unexpected frog forming in the back of my throat.
He sighed. “Hadley, how many times have you been the only woman in the room? As a chef, I mean.”
“More than I can count.”
“And how many times has some other chef—let’s not even count Cavanagh for a moment—called you doll or sweetheart or sugar?”
Again, more than I could count, but I knew I had to stop him. I didn’t like where the conversation was heading. “Look, Leo, I know what you’re saying. And I appreciate it. I do. But the fact is, I’m not called to be an activist. I’m kinda old-fashioned, actually, and I know so many great men—men who are respectful of me and what I do. And me being a woman doesn’t matter to them in the least.”
“But all I’m saying, Hadley—”
“And you know what else? Sometimes I like being called sweetheart. I like when a guy holds the door open for me and lets me order first . . . just because I’m a lady. When done properly, sometimes I even like it when a guy orders for me.” I quickly realized I’d never actually seen that done properly, except in the movies, so I guess I just liked the idea of that one. “And yes, I’m quite often the only woman in the room. I’m proud of that while also being incredibly frustrated that it is sometimes so difficult for women to get up there alongside the boys. But also, most of the time, I love being the only woman in the room. Not because it means I was successful and others weren’t, but because most of the guys—most of the good, nice, respectful guys I know—treat me like a queen. See? I’m not the girl to carry this flag. I agree that men and women are meant to be equal, but I also think they’re meant to be different. That’s just how I feel.”