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I absolutely one fucking hundred percent refuse to blush, digging my nails into my palm to distract myself.
So I had some trouble keeping up with the class. Sue me. It wasn’t part of my contract—signing up for that cooking class was totally voluntary, my own dime on my own time. It was a chance to scope out how Sizzle worked and see if I could glom on to any useful skills in the meantime.
The fact that Drew Hicks taught the class had absolutely nothing to do with it. If anything, I thought watching him try to pull the stick out of his ass to talk to mere mortals once a week had been worth the time spent. And yeah, maybe I got a charge out of terrorizing him a little, and sometimes maybe I played like I was worse at cooking than I really am. Big deal. My pride got a little dinged up but nobody got hurt.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t my smartest move.
Hicks glances my way and I brace myself for the coming humiliation.
“No more than any other students I’ve had,” he says blandly. I blink three or four times, losing track of who speaks next.
Excuse me? What the hell is he up to?
“—so the board has suggested we have a Sizzle employee tag along to help Cooper through the process. Considering he’s a contractor, it’s the least we can do.”
Hold up.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say.
Greeley holds up a hand. “No, of course not. That’s not what this is about.”
“It’s about making sure this competition runs as smoothly as possible,” adds Kenna. She gives me a small, kind smile. Try as I might, I can’t find any sarcasm or condescension there.
Then the other shoe drops.
“Wait,” I say. “You’re putting me with Hicks?”
“I don’t think—” Hicks is pushing back in his chair but Wilkes holds up a hand, stalling us both.
“Drew is one of our most reliable employees,” says Wilkes to me. He looks at Drew, his expression hardening. “And I know he’ll do whatever it takes to make this competition a success.”
“This was your idea,” Hicks says. It’s not a question, but Wilkes nods. The air is thick with tension, and I think it’s all sitting in the empty seat between Hicks and me.
Unbe-fucking-lievable.
“The two of you caught a fair amount of attention the other night on the dance floor with that blonde woman,” says Wilkes.
“There’s a viral GIF and everything,” adds Kenna. I think I’m finally catching on.
“So you stick us together to control the narrative,” I say. My stomach feels hot for some reason. Hicks’s shoulders are damn near covering his ears, he’s so tense.
“I’m not sure I’m the right person for this assignment,” he says. Wilkes pins him in place with a look.
“I am,” says Wilkes.
“As am I,” says Greeley, who has been watching all of us with interest. His eyes keep bouncing between Hicks and me, like he’s trying to do invisible math.
“So what are we supposed to do?” I ask, getting restless. “Fight on camera?” My brain’s already conjured up an adolescent fantasy of besting Drew Hicks in an argument while Bailey looks on, wide-eyed and awed and grateful. I shift in the chair to make a little more room for my dick, because the thought of a grateful Bailey while I dominate the hell out of that asshole turns me on.
Not that kind of dominate, though. Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“Not in so many words,” says Greeley. “This isn’t that kind of reality TV. But if the press happens to stick around because they think something like that confrontation might happen again, well…”
I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it, so I nod. Greeley smiles and focuses on Hicks, who appears to be frozen in his seat.
I’ve got a pretty good idea Wilkes’s golden boy is none too happy about this arrangement. I can’t say I’m excited about it, but Hicks’s obvious consternation tickles some dark place in me that likes to see him squirm. Let him get a taste of how it feels being on the spot for once.
Greeley ticks off orders at the interns before dismissing everybody. I do my best to be polite, shaking hands and smiling as they leave, waving at Kenna as she heads out. I’m pushing my chair back when I hear my name.
