Chapter One
Lemons.
The secretaries, who always knew everything before anyone else did, had given her a going away fruit basket overflowing with colorful mangos and apricots, star fruit and red persimmons—but the lemons so perfectly summed up her last four years with the local, top-rated cooking show that they were all she could see. She pursed her lips. Only sour grapes would have been more apropos.
“Stop moping, Truly, dearest. You’ll get wrinkles. Get out of the car. Please? You’re going to love this place. You’ll thank me later. I promise.”
“I told you, Robert. Don’t call me that in public. TS. My name is TS.”
No it wasn’t.
Truly sighed and allowed her now ex assistant to take her hand as she stepped out of the silver BMW she would no doubt have to return to the dealership when she wasn’t able to make next month’s payments.
Her name was Truly. Her middle name was something she’d been trying to forget since she was old enough to pronounce it. The story of her parents falling in love during a drive-in showing of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang had been pounded into her brain. Along with years of awkward introductions, bad jokes and worse pick-up lines.
Robert thought her name was wonderful, and perfect for her career in culinary PR. Obviously the television studio didn’t agree. More to the point, the head of programming didn’t agree. “Bastard.”
Robert’s lips formed a smirk behind his slender goatee, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I think you’re being too kind. I wouldn’t be a good assistant if I didn’t know exactly why he fired us. You turned him down didn’t you?”
Truly sidestepped a puddle in the parking lot, unwilling to meet his gaze. “What are you talking about?”
Robert tugged on his ear, drawing attention to the diamond earrings lining his lobe. “I knew it. Truly, you and I both know that man is a walking, talking stereotype. There isn’t an intern or wannabe host who hasn’t learned about his more indiscreet tendencies the hard way. I’m surprised he waited so long to have a go at you.”
“You don’t know as much as you think you do. Besides, he needed me. His pocketbook took precedence over his…baser needs.” Until recently.
Truly shrugged, but inside she was seething. It wasn’t what Robert thought. Clive hadn’t come on to her. He’d made it clear that she wasn’t his type at every possible opportunity, thank God.
She’d always known she was safe from his type of harassment. Not only was she fantastic at her job, but she also wasn’t blonde, submissive or remotely stupid. Which was the kind of women he gravitated toward.
Clive leaned toward anorexic toothpicks and that did not describe her. She loved food and it showed—in her breasts, in the ample hips and thighs that remained in spite of all her hard work at Zumba class. And regardless of the money she spent at the salon, her hair took every opportunity to kink around her like a frizzy, red halo. A fact her boss never failed to point out. But at least it kept him at arm’s length. He’d respected her business sense, her aesthetic. He always took the credit for her ideas, of course, but he told her at least once a week that he didn’t know what he’d do without her. And for a while it was enough.
Until she’d witnessed the mighty hunter forcing a poor intern to do his bidding last week and got in the way.
She’d known the kind of man he was. He cheated on his wife. Often. He made risqué comments whenever he could get away with it, but she hadn’t believed he would ever go that far. And she’d had to do something about it. Truly had taken the crying woman out of his office and, within hours had gotten her transferred, with a glowing referral, to the news department. Out from under Clive’s control.
He hadn’t said anything to her about it. Hadn’t even acknowledged his breach in protocol. She’d thought he’d been too embarrassed. She was wrong.
Fired.
She’d never been fired in her life. And she’d worked in some horrible dives during college. It just wasn’t fair. She was the one who’d thought up the popular morning show that put their station on the map. She was the one who caught The Food Network’s eye and turned it in their direction, ever so briefly, bringing one of their famous cooking stars to the set to share the stage with her chef.
Hell, she’d even found the star of the show at a local farmer’s market. Brunch with Laura was her baby, and she’d lost it all because she wouldn’t play Clive’s reindeer games. Or more specifically, she didn’t look the other way while he tried to play his game with that innocent girl.
Of course when she’d confronted him after being asked for her I.D. pass and credit cards by station security, he’d thrown out a list of trumped up charges. She’d offended guests—her promotional work had failed to keep the ratings up, etc. All bullshit. All because he hadn’t gotten his way.
Her initial instinct was to sue the jerk, and get the intern to sue him too. The thought was quickly followed by an image of Clive’s sweet, though misguided, wife and two young children. She’d grown to love them. The kids called her Auntie T for crying out loud. How could she put them through that? How could she not?
“Jackass.”
“Darling, people are going to think you’re socially challenged if you don’t stop randomly swear
ing out loud. Come inside. This place serves the best food I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something. I was hoarding my little secret to further my own career, but I think we can safely say this is an emergency.”
She glanced up at the hand carved wooden sign above the door. The Iron Horse. She let Robert guide her inside, took one look around and did something she’d never done before. She snorted. “What were you trying to keep secret? That you’ve only been pretending to have good taste? That you’ve joined a motorcycle gang?”
It was a dump. Or, on closer inspection, a diner carefully decorated to look like a dump. Dark wood paneling everywhere, small Formica tables dwarfed by a long bar cluttered with condiments. And everywhere pictures of men on bikes. Old black and white pictures in front of garages. Customers in front of the restaurant. The walls were covered. All that was missing was a pool table and the smell of sawdust and vomit. She supposed this was the perfect place to celebrate the end of her career with foodies. In a cheap burger joint.
Robert slid out a plastic chair with a torn, slippery cushion. “I know that look on your face. I predict by the end of this meal you’ll have to apologize. And when I say apologize, I mean I’ll get a nice little gift bag with my favorite champagne and a new company credit card to replace the one Clive’s secretary cut up this morning.”
Her brow furrowed. “Robert, I don’t know what you think wi—”
A young male voice tinged with belligerence interrupted her. “A little early for lunch, aren’t you?”
Truly pursed her lips and looked up at the adolescent server. He couldn’t be more than thirteen. The mop of hair on his head may not have seen a brush in a week, but it was certainly colorful. Bright orange with streaks of black. Or was it black with streaks of orange? What kind of look was he going for, half-tiger?
“Tell them it’s me, and that I couldn’t wait. We’ll have the full treatment. Give us two specials and some ice tea.”
Truly turned back to glare at the smug Robert as the boy stomped huffily toward the kitchen. “I didn’t get a chance to look at the menu.”
“You don’t need one. Besides they rarely use the few they have. Most of their regulars get what they want.”
She huffed. “When you said you’d take me to lunch I thought we were going somewhere classy. I went all out for your birthday, buster. The least you could do is pamper your ex boss.”