It was awful.
Early Monday morning, I got a taxi from my Upper East Side hotel to Leo’s offices in the Flatiron District. I hadn’t seen him in person since I’d thought he was a trained assassin, sent to either kill me or steal my biscuit recipe, and I was pretty nervous walking into the professional high-rise office suite. It definitely gave off a different vibe than meetings with Meemaw in her bedroom while she watched TV.
“Good morning,” I was greeted pleasantly by a very attractive woman in her fifties, if I had to guess. “Can I help you?”
I cleared my throat, a bit nervously. “Yes, I’m here to see Leo Landry.”
“And you have an appointment?”
“I do.”
She regarded me with patience, though I suspected it was waning. “And your name?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Hadley Beckett.”
She nodded and smiled with recognition and pushed a button on the elaborate phone system in front of her. “Leo, Hadley Beckett is here.”
“Thanks, Candace. Send her back.”
Pointed in the right direction, I walked through the desks back to Leo’s office, where he stood waiting at the door, arms outstretched. “How’s my favorite client?”
I laughed as he hugged me. “How many times do you greet people that way in a day, Leo?”
“Well, you’re the first today! That’s what matters.” He chuckled and invited me to sit. “Thanks for making time to stop by. I know you have a busy schedule while you’re here.”
“It’s not too bad, actually. We’re filming interviews with Chef Simons at the studio on Foodie Row today, and then we’re in the kitchen tomor—”
“What’s happening with you and Max Cavanagh?”
“Oh, um . . . well, nothing, really. Why?”
Leo leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “The climate. The climate in this industry can change as quickly as . . . well, as quickly as a pie you’re making if you accidentally stir in salt instead of sugar.”
“Okay . . .”
“Hadley, the network seems to think it’s time to boost Max’s profile again. They’re preparing to revive To the Max. They were impressed with him on last night’s episode, and based on early viewer reaction, he seemed to rise above a lot of the history and the assumptions people had made. In light of all that, there are probably going to be some tweaks made to the anticipated Renowned format for the season.”
I hadn’t even set my purse down yet.
“But Renowned is on a different network. What’s that have to do with To the Max coming back to the Culinary Channel?”
He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Well, it’s a small world, this food entertainment world of ours. It’s all interconnected. Producers, crews, hosts.” He leaned forward over his desk. “Look, I’m just going to give it to you straight. Your biggest asset is how much your viewers love you. You’re immensely likable. The problem is that suddenly, as of last night, Max Cavanagh is likable too. No one could have seen that coming. But when he comes across as new and improved, and you suddenly come across as cold and distant for the first time ever . . . well, it’s just not giving your viewers what they want.”
I was adept enough at holding my own in a roomful of men, but I was really only used to doing it with men who cooked. This was very different. It may have only been one man, but we sure weren’t speaking the language of food.
“I was cold and distant?”
“We always knew it was risky, putting the two of you together. Live and learn. But the network loves At Home with Hadley. Nothing to worry about there, hon. You’re gold. Renowned just isn’t going the way everyone hoped it would. You haven’t really found a rhythm—”
“It’s been a week, Leo. Seriously. A week.” And in that week, Max and I had changed our rhythm more often than a jazz trio. “I’m sure it will get better. We’re both professionals. We’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Of course. Of course! I don’t want you thinking this is anything to worry about.”
“Then what do you want me thinking?” I asked.
“I just want you to be prepared that Max may be thrown into a little more of a lead role on Renowned. For now. That’s all. Really. Nothing to worry about.” He picked his cell phone up from his desk and pushed a few buttons. “All right?” he asked, never looking up from his phone.
All right? I had no idea if anything was all right.
“Okay. Sure,” I replied. What other options were there?
He set his phone down and stood from his chair. “Seriously, kid, thanks for coming in. I wish you had more time. I’d show you New York.”
I followed his cues and stood. “I’ve seen New York. Um, so we’ll talk again, right? Soon?”
He ushered me out the door as he said, “You know, I’ve got a pretty busy few weeks ahead of me, but I’ll definitely have Candace keep you in the loop. Take care.”
And then I was standing among a roomful of people at desks, none of whom seemed to know or care in the slightest who I was. I walked back the way I had come in, and waved to Candace as I passed her desk.
“You have a good day, Hadley. Thanks for coming in.”
It wasn’t until I stepped into the elevator that I remembered.
“Your manager has a pretty high voice, does he?”
“Sorry. No. His assistant, Candace, does. She’s pretty much the only one I actually get to talk to anymore.”
The doors closed while Candace’s high-pitched voice was still echoing in my ears.
23. While that rests, prepare dry ingredients.
MAX
“Max!” Marshall Simons called out from the classy but comfortable Renowned living room.
Max rushed over to greet him. “Good morning, Marshall,” he said as he shook his hand. In spite of his lifelong daydreams of being best friends with Simons, and going on wild fishing expeditions in Wyoming, Max found himself just happy to be acknowledged. He took it as a good sign that maybe the second week of filming would go better than the first.
“Are you ready for this?” Marshall asked.
“I think so,” Max replied with a casual smile. “Just the normal sit-down?”
He nodded. “Assuredly.”
“Sounds good. And Hadley? Are we going to film together today?”
“No. Not today. But we’ll get you in the kitchen together tomorrow. Which reminds me. Your risotto ingredients list—”
“Already turned in.”
Marshall nodded, satisfied, while Max pushed away the disappointment of knowing he wouldn’t get to film with Hadley for another day and headed to the couch. He needed to talk to her, but texting wasn’t going to cut it.
Since that horrible night in Nashville, a week ago, Max had had time to reflect on all of it. Top to bottom. He now knew the drive from Tennessee to New York like he knew his risotto recipe, so there was plenty of time to process all the stupid things he’d said and done at any given point.
Once he was on the couch, he was instantly surrounded by makeup artists applying powder to his face and hair stylists who always seemed to leave his hair alone but obsessed meticulously over his beard. Within minutes, lighting was set up, Marshall had run through his gargling vocal exercises, and Lowell was calling action.