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He popped the entire egg into his mouth. “Don’t look so nervous,” he said.
“I’m not nervous, Ryan. I’m pissed. How did this happen?”
“Kevin let it happen. But Jack spent the morning securing your other accounts with a firewall,” he said, his mouth full. “New passwords, new security codes. Nobody outside this room will have them. Nobody outside Jack, that is.”
“Who is Jack?”
“The new Kevin.”
I frowned. “It’s out there now, though. People are going to think—”
“People are going to think exactly what we tell them to think,” he said. “I mean, listen to Meredith’s statement,” he said as he pulled out his phone and started reading. “My husband, the esteemed producer Ryan Landy, has worked with Sunshine Mackenzie since he discovered her first video on YouTube, making this very recipe. With the exception of being a fan (and I like to think a valued early taster), I have no claim to any of Sunshine’s scrumptious creations.”
“Why is everyone talking to me like I wasn’t the one who wrote that?” I said.
He smiled. “I’m just praising your good work.”
I nodded, but there was no relief sinking in. It had all gotten a little close. And neither of us was saying the truth out loud. Meredith was the real chef. They were her recipes. Her vision. Or, rather, Ryan’s vision, and her execution.
“You don’t think Meredith is behind this, do you?”
Ryan laughed, the thought of his wife betraying him apparently hilarious. “No fucking way!”
“What if she—”
“She didn’t. It would destroy us financially. She would never do that.”
“So, who?” I said.
Ryan shook his head. “A hacker, someone who got into your email . . .”
His nonchalance was really starting to irritate me. “How would a random get so close to the truth?”
He shrugged. “I told you, the bigger you get, the more people come after you. And someone is apparently after you. Probably with the Food Network deal, they’re excited . . .”
The Food Network deal. I hadn’t wanted to mention it. I was slated to be a cohost of a new farm-to-table cooking show. Competition shows were now the Holy Grail on the network. No one was offered a straight cooking show unless they were a movie star turned culinary star. But that’s how popular A Little Sunshine had become. The show was premiering in September—at least it was supposed to. Unless this hacker ruined everything.
Ryan jumped down off the countertop. “The point is I cut off his access. There’s nothing he can do now.”
He. Ryan said he. “You think it’s a he? That’s interesting. That’s my gut too.”
He walked up to me, so we were face-to-face, his palm gently cupping my neck. “Can we be done with this already? I have other things to discuss, okay?”
I looked away, not wanting to engage with any of his other things. “Like what?”
“Tonight. The party.”
I closed my eyes. In the chaos, I had forgotten. Danny had planned a surprise party in the back room of Locanda Verde for fifty of our closest friends.
“We should cancel it,” I said.
“Cancel it? No!”
I already knew where he was going. He was going to use my party to fix this.
“You’re going to spin the story.”
“I’ve trained you well, young Sunshine.”
