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“You sure came up with a plan to fix it quickly.”
“That’s how my brain works. Quickly.”
My head was blurry. He had to go, right now.
“If this is about Danny, believe me, he isn’t coming back. Not that you belonged with him anyway. I’m proof positive of that.”
“Well, I can’t do this.” I motioned between us. “Sorry.”
“Of course you can.”
“Then I don’t want to.”
It came out firmer than I meant it to—but I was angry that he was putting everything on the line, angry he assumed the answer would be yes.
“Well, I don’t want to do anything else,” he said.
“Ryan, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re the first person who would say that there is an empire at stake here.”
“There are a lot of things at stake here.”
My head was spinning. He was putting the entire plan he’d just made on the line? It was now contingent on there also being a plan around us?
He took my face in his hands. “So it’s you and me, or I’m going another way.”
There was my answer. So I thought about it. I actually thought about pretending. The smart thing would be to pretend that I wanted to give things a shot with him, especially if that was what he needed in order to stay committed.
“Okay, fine.”
“Okay, fine?”
I looked away. “What do you want from me?”
“A little bit of gratitude, for starters. I made you what you are.”
“Please! I just happened to be the girl behind the right bar.”
Ryan stood up, his eyes turning cold. “That’s only true right now,” he said.
Then he took a last sip of his drink and headed toward the door.
“See ya,” he said. As though he wasn’t saying good-bye. As though he wasn’t walking out on a nearly decade-long partnership.
Except he was.
And, like that, he was gone.
8
The next morning, I threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top and headed to my studio, right above Chelsea Market, which housed A Little Sunshine’s kitchen, built to look like my Tribeca kitchen: my gray slate countertop, the glass refrigerator.
A plan swirled through my mind. Ryan had jumped ship, yes, but in the light of the morning, I knew that if he could turn this thing around, I could too.
My triage plan: The Food Network was off the table for now, but I would safeguard my contracts still in place, speak to my most important contacts (Evelyn, who was the head of A Little Sunshine’s advertising department, Louis at the publisher), assure everyone that Danny’s speech had been genuine, that there never had been anything between Ryan and me, and that I already had a new management team ready to jump on board. I made a note to call Julie at The Agency, who would be happy to help pick up the pieces. As soon as I had a few of them in my pocket.
When I walked in, I found Violet barking orders at several production assistants who were on their hands and knees in front of a cabinet, packing files into boxes, organizing all the supplies.
Violet raised her hands in exasperation. “Where have you been? I’ve called you a thousand times! And your fucking voice mail is full.”
