Chapter Two

Ella

I hold up my jeans, staring at them. Are they really appropriate for my first day at work? It's so hard to tell, and I sigh, sitting down on the couch in my dressing room. Why didn't I decide what to wear last night? It would have made this morning so much easier.

I know the answer to that, of course. It was because Hunter and Livia came over for dinner. It wasn't something we'd planned, but Hunter called in the afternoon, and I ended up inviting them… probably because I didn't want to spend another evening on my own, worrying about my new job, especially as starting it was so imminent.

They hadn't seen my apartment before, and both seemed impressed when I showed them in. I have to admit, now it's furnished and I've had a few days to get used to the place, I'm really quite pleased with it myself.

We ordered in, and while we were waiting for our food to arrive, and drinking wine in the living room, Hunter told me about their trip to Falmouth to see Livia's parents.

"I'm surprised you're not still there," I said, looking across at them. They were sitting together on one of the couches, while I was on another, opposite them.

He shook his head. "We came home early. I think between us telling them about our engagement and discussing the plans for the house, it was all a bit too much for Livia's dad. He was exhausted this morning, so we thought we'd leave them to it."

"It's sometimes better that way," Livia explained. "I hate feeling like I've abandoned them, but…"

"You won't have to feel like that for much longer." Hunter let go of her hand and put his arm around her instead. I had to smile to myself. It was lovely seeing my brother so happy.

"So they've agreed to the plans?"

He turned to look at me. "How did you know about it?"

"Aside from the fact you just mentioned it, Drew told me."

He nodded his head. "And you're okay with it?"

"Of course. I think it's a fabulous idea."

"I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to discuss it with you, but…"

"You've got nothing to apologize for. I honestly don't mind."

He smiled. "Well… Livia's mom took a little more persuading than you, but we got there in the end, didn't we?" He turned back to Livia again and she gazed up at him, nodding her head.

"When does the work start?" I asked.

"I don't know exactly. Hopefully sometime in the next couple of weeks."

"And how did they react to hearing about your engagement?"

"They seemed pleased."

Livia nudged into him. "They were thrilled. It was just that Dad was getting tired by then. We talked about the house first, which was probably a mistake."

"No, it wasn't. It was intentional. I know I said I wanted to put it to them as your fiancé, but I realized when we were driving up there that it would be better to talk it through while your dad was alert enough to understand. It seemed to me, if we'd broken the news of our engagement first, he'd have been too tired to think about anything else, and that might have backfired if we'd needed him to help persuade your mom about the house."

"Which was exactly how it happened."

"So, have you set a date?" I asked.

"For the wedding?" I nodded. "Not an actual date, no," Hunter said, smiling down at Livia. "But the architect assures me the house will take around five months to build, so sometime in February, probably…once Livia's parents have moved in. We want them to be there without it tiring them out."

"You're having the wedding at home?"

"Of course."

I wasn't that surprised. We all look on the house in Newport as ‘home' even though each of us has an apartment in Boston… including me now.

"Have you heard from Drew?" I asked. "I haven't spoken to him for a few days."

Hunter nodded his head. "We've been talking fairly regularly."

"How do you think he is?"

"In a bad place. He feels guilty for getting Lexi pregnant. He's hurting because he can't even be friends with her sister anymore, let alone have a relationship with her… and he's got no idea what the future holds."

"Is he back from New York?"

"Yeah. He came back on Thursday." He frowned at me, tilting his head. "Don't look so offended." I hadn't been aware that I was, but Hunter could always read me like a book.

"I'm just surprised I haven't seen him, that's all."

"He's not feeling very sociable."

"But he's talking to you on the phone?"

He sighed. "Yeah." He released Livia and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on mine. "It's not personal, Ella. And by that I mean, you shouldn't take his silence personally. This is all very personal to him, but I think he needs to talk things through with another man… with someone who knows what it feels like to lose the person they love most." He sat back again, taking Livia's hand in his.

"I think it's also not something you or I can understand," Livia said, and I looked over at her.

"Why not?"

"Because I think men have a difference perspective in this situation."

Hunter looked down at her. "Just so you know, I've never been in Drew's situation myself."

She smiled. "I know. I'm just saying I think it's probably easier for you to put yourself in his shoes than it is for Ella and me."

He nodded his head, and I did, too. I could see what she meant, and why my big brother loves her so much.

"Do you think he'll travel around as much as he did before?" I asked. Drew's job has always involved him traveling far and wide. It was one of the things that most appealed to him when he started out. Obviously, he can afford to go wherever he wants, but he once told me he liked the idea of traveling with a purpose, rather than aimlessly… and I guess that makes sense. At least, it does when you've got as much money as we have, and can do whatever you please.

"He said he'll be going to New York a lot more, but as for everything else, he hasn't decided yet. I imagine he'll carry on as before until the baby's born, but nothing's set in stone. He and Lexi haven't decided what they're going to do yet… how they're going to live."

"Not together, I'm guessing."

"No… not together. That much is for certain." He shook his head. "Drew's still getting his head around losing Lexi's sister, let alone the whole concept of becoming a father."

"It's such a mess, isn't it?"

It is a mess, but so am I, and I need to stop sitting here daydreaming about last night and get dressed.

I'm still not sure about jeans and I throw them down on the couch and go back to my closet, standing with my hands on my hips. I'm only wearing the towel I wrapped around myself when I came out of the shower, but I can't even choose my underwear until I've decided about the clothes. Practicality is essential, given what I think I'll be doing, but I also want to be smart… so maybe a dress?

I turn, opening the closet behind me. It's warm today, so a summer dress would do, and I pull out the yellow one with blue piping, holding it up. It's new, and French… like a lot of my clothes. I'd gained a few pounds while I was in Paris. It was one of the hazards of learning to cook, I guess. Before I came home, I wanted to get back in shape, and as well as watching what I ate, I joined a gym for the first time in my life. As a result, most of my old clothes didn't fit… and that gave me the perfect excuse to go out and buy some new ones.

This dress came from a lovely little boutique I discovered on the Boulevard St. Germain. It's quite fitted, but stretchy, so I can move around easily in it, and it's informal enough that it shouldn't look like I'm trying too hard.

"Perfect."

A white bra and panties will be fine, and I grab them, heading back to the bedroom, where I throw everything onto the bed and start styling my hair. I don't know who thought short hair was easier to maintain, but they were wrong. I keep mine this length because it saves me having to tie it up in the kitchen, but it still takes me a good twenty minutes to straighten it into the pixie style I like, and then work through the smoothing oil, to make it look messed up. If I'm not going anywhere, I can just let it dry naturally, and I often do, but I'm trying to create the right impression today… even if I'm not entirely sure what that impression is.

One thing I do know as an absolute certainty is that I'm not wearing heels today. I fully expect I'll be on my feet until the time I get back here tonight, so I'm going for comfort, and once I'm dressed, I wander back into the dressing room to find my navy slingback ballerina flats. They have huge blue buckles on the front, and I love them.

Finally, I grab a cardigan. My dress is sleeveless and if I end up working late, I might get chilly…

My stomach is churning with nerves, so I skip breakfast, making myself a coffee and pouring it into a travel mug. I'm running a little later than I'd hoped, thanks to my indecision – and my daydreaming – and I grab my purse and knife case, and head out the door.

I've been sent a list of instructions, which include the code for the parking garage, and I input it into the device by the barrier, waiting until it rises, and I can drive through. None of the spaces seem to be numbered, or have anyone's name by them, and I park beside a Lexus, making for the elevators in the corner. The instructions say to go to the fourth floor, so I press the button numbered ‘4', and suck in a breath, trying to calm my nerves as the doors close.

Unfortunately, they open again within moments, before I've had time to release that breath, and I step out to face a long, light wood reception desk. Standing behind it is a pretty blonde, who turns to me with a smile.

"Can I help?"

"I'm Ella Bennett. Kennedy Black is expecting me."

Her smile widens. "Ahh, yes." She nods over my shoulder. "If you want to take a seat, I'll let Ms. Black know you're both here now."

Both? I turn as she picks up a telephone, to see a dark-haired man already sitting on one of two couches. He's casually dressed in jeans and a white button-down shirt, and I'm wondering if I should have gone with my first instinct, and worn jeans too.

He glances up as I approach, then stands in a most gentlemanly way, and I struggle not to gasp. He's heavenly… and he has the most perfect smile. It seems to match his deep blue eyes, which are currently roaming over me, in a heated gaze. I ought to be offended… I know that. I should probably tell him I'm not a piece of meat, or an object to be judged. But I can't, because my eyes are wandering, too, so to tell him off would be something of a double standard. He has to be at least six foot five, and while I've always thought of my brothers as muscular, this man takes it to a completely different level, his biceps positively bulging as he raises his right hand, pushing his fingers back through his thick, dark brown hair.

"Ms. Black will be along in a moment." The woman's voice startles me back to reality, and without a word, I take a seat at the opposite end of the couch, putting my knife case down by my feet. The man sits back down too, and I wonder if I should say something… maybe introduce myself, as it seems we're both here to see Kennedy Black. Except I'm not sure my voice will work properly. My nerves are still threatening to get the better of me… and he's not making any effort, so why should I?

The silence is just becoming awkward when I look up to see Kennedy Black walking toward us. In her precarious heels, she's around five foot nine – so about the same height as me, except I'm wearing flats – and she has unnaturally blonde hair, which she wears tied up in a neat but fairly stark bun behind her head. Her stick-thin body is encased in a tight black dress that's practically glued to her. She's wearing a lot of makeup, perfectly applied to flawless skin, and it's impossible to say how old she is. If I had to guess, I'd say she's in her early forties, but luckily, I don't have to guess.

Before I can even flinch, the man beside me quickly leaps to his feet, and I copy him, both of us holding out our hands, although it's mine that Kennedy reaches for.

"Welcome, Ella."

"Thanks."

She turns to the man and although I know I'm being childish, I can't help feeling a stupid sense of triumph that Kennedy greeted me first.

"Have you two introduced yourselves?" she asks, letting go of his hand.

"No." He shakes his head, looking down at me. I half expect him to say I've only just arrived, but he doesn't.

"Well… let me do it for you." She tilts her head toward me. "Ella Bennett, meet Blake MacKenzie."

I turn, and he offers me his hand, which I accept. "My friends call me Mac," he says and I notice his British accent. It's unmistakable and very sexy. "What do your friends call you?"

"Ella."

"Okay." He frowns, turning back to Kennedy. What's his problem? I don't have a nickname. I never have had, so I'm not being standoffish… just honest. Don't tell me he's going to be super-sensitive to everything I say? That's the last thing I need. Not that I know who he is, or if we're even going to be working closely together. Kennedy hasn't been forthcoming with that piece of information yet.

She looks at the gold watch on her wrist and then back up at us again, her eyes settling on me. "We need to get on." I nod my head, because I feel it's expected, and she turns away. "I've set up a meeting," she says as she walks back down the hall. It seems we're supposed to follow, so I quickly grab my knife case, and Blake and I catch up to her while she talks to us – or rather at us – over her shoulder. "I'll introduce you to the team, so you can find out who you'll be working with, but don't worry about remembering who they all are."

I wonder if the people who work for her mind being dismissed so readily, although I doubt they have a choice.

At the end of the hall, she opens the door on the left, going in first. Blake waits and I pass through ahead of him, although I wish I hadn't when I see how many people are in the room. There must be at least twenty of them, either seated at the enormous oval-shaped table, or in chairs around the edge of the room, and they all stand and look at us.

I can feel myself blushing as Kennedy walks over to the head of the table, taking a seat.

"Ella, sit here beside me," she says, and I do as I'm told, while she indicates that Blake should take the seat next to mine. Everyone else sits down, too, and although I feel like they're all staring at me, I know they're not. Blake is getting just as much attention. In fact, he's getting a lot more… especially from the women in the room.

Kennedy coughs, and all heads turn in her direction, which makes her smile.

"Good morning," she says, and I half expect the assembled group to reply, ‘Good morning, Miss,' like they were still in school. They don't. They simply nod their heads, some of them smiling. "This is the Meal Master team." I'm not sure who Kennedy's talking to, but she holds out her arms in a collective acknowledgement, and I struggle not to laugh. ‘Meal Master'? Is that the best name they could come up with? It's awful… "I think we'll start with introductions."

She turns to the lady on the other side of Blake, who leans forward and smiles in my direction. "I'm Ruby. I'm the floor manager."

She's probably in her mid-thirties, with dark blonde hair, and she gives me a sympathetic look, like she knows how nervous I am. I nod my head, trying to appear grateful and knowledgeable at the same time, when I realize the man beside her is talking.

"Vince… sound," he says, in a deep, monosyllabic voice, which matches his dour appearance. He's quite young to be wearing such a stern expression, and as he glances at his watch, I wonder if this meeting has interrupted something more important.

In studying him, I've missed the next two people, and I realize Kennedy was right; I'm never going to remember everyone, or their titles. Instead, I let their words drift over me, nodding my head and trying to look polite. I'll have to catch up with who they are later.

Eventually, we've made it around the room, and although my head is spinning, I focus on Kennedy for a moment or two before it becomes clear she's got no intention of introducing herself. I suppose she doesn't need to. Everyone knows who she is… and that she's the executive producer. In other words, she's in charge, and I get the impression no-one is allowed to forget it.

She looks at me. It's my turn to say something, and I lick my lips, my throat drying, although I croak out, "My name's Ella. I'm the culinary consultant." I feel a little pompous saying that, when I'm really a chef. But the title on my contract says ‘culinary consultant', and I get the feeling that, if I called myself a ‘chef', Kennedy would correct me. She seems like that kind of woman. And besides, the man beside me is the real chef…

I twist in my seat slightly, the spotlight now on him, and he stares at me for a moment before turning and facing the assembled group. "Hi. I'm Blake MacKenzie. I guess I'm the presenter."

***

Mac

I look around at the sea of faces, none of their names registering with me, nor their job titles, for that matter. I've never been a great one for titles… especially not ‘Meal Master'. Who the hell thought of that monstrosity? Frankly, I'd like to wring their neck. As for names, I rarely use the one I was given at birth, preferring to stick with the nickname I was awarded at school… although Ella Bennett didn't seem to appreciate that when I told her. Instead, she just stared at me, like I'd grown a second head.

She may be aloof, but she's beautiful, there's no denying that. Her short dark hair fits neatly around her lovely face, and I know from years of experience that she will have spent ages perfecting that style. I've spent far too long waiting around for girlfriends to get ready, to underestimate the time these things take. In Ella's case, the effect she's achieved is like someone has been running their fingers through her hair… or she's just got out of bed, which makes me wonder what she looks like first thing in the morning. I know what she looks like right now, in that figure-hugging dress. She looks divine. When I first heard her speak, telling the receptionist she was here to see Kennedy Black, I looked up from my seat, simply because I was here to see Kennedy as well. I hadn't caught her name, even though I was fairly sure she'd said it. I couldn't be absolutely certain about that, though, because I was distracted at the time by the sight of her delectable backside. My cock twitched in acknowledgement of the vision before me. Although in my defence, she was leaning over slightly, and her dress was quite tight, so there wasn't really anywhere else to look. She turned around moments later, and I wasn't disappointed. As I say… she's beautiful, and I couldn't help admiring her, or smiling to myself when I noticed her eyes taking a tour.

I wondered if we should shake hands then, but I couldn't decide what to say and ended up pushing my fingers back through my hair instead, in a very uncool move. Luckily, Kennedy arrived a few minutes later, so what was merely awkward avoided becoming embarrassing.

Now, Ella is sitting beside me in this brightly lit room, with her silver case on the floor between us. We're close enough that I can see her amber coloured eyes have flecks of green in them, and that although her skin is porcelain smooth, she's barely wearing any make-up at all.

The woman beside Kennedy sits forward slightly. She's probably in her late-twenties with long, straight brown hair, and much darker brown eyes. "I'm Diana… the make-up artist, so you'll be seeing quite a lot of me." She looks at me as she's speaking, which makes sense. We'll be the ones working together, after all.

The next in line would be Kennedy, but she doesn't introduce herself and simply turns to Ella, who pauses for a second or two, then licks her lips, taking her time. She seems even more nervous now than she was before.

"My name's Ella. I'm the culinary consultant." Her voice is a little hoarse, and she blushes as she speaks, although I don't know why. Without her, none of this is going to happen. Believe me.

She turns, facing me, and I stare at her glistening lips, mesmerised… perhaps even a little enchanted. Then I remember where I am and look back at everyone else.

"Hi… I'm Blake MacKenzie. I guess I'm the presenter."

I thought for a moment then about saying, ‘I'm the actor', or even ‘I'm the fraud'. I'm starting to feel like one in the present company. Everyone else in the room seems to know what they're doing, while I'm less and less sure why I'm even here.

Kennedy clears her throat, getting the attention back on her again, and she places her hands, palms down, flat on the table in front of her.

"This first season will be ten episodes long," she says, even though I'm pretty sure everyone here already knows that. I do. It was in the contract. "If we're gonna persuade the network to give us a shot at a second season, then trust me, we need to ensure this one is perfect."

Perfect? Could she set the bar a little higher? A few faces turn to me, and I feel the pressure mounting. We may be a team, but the weight of getting it ‘perfect' is going to fall on me. We all know that. Even so, I try to stay focused, not wanting to miss anything important.

"As you all know," Kennedy continues, "the format is simple. Each week, a different guest will present us with their culinary problem, and Blake – or Blain as he's going to be known for our purposes – will solve it for them… on air."

I raise my hand, feeling a little childish, except that I need to stop her talking and this seems like the only way.

"Excuse me?"

She turns, her eyes narrowing. "Yes?"

"Did you just say ‘Blain'?"

"Yes, I did. That's what we've decided to call you."

"Blain MacKenzie?"

"No. Just Blain. You won't have a last name. We think it'll make you sound more interesting."

"I didn't realise I was boring."

She smiles at me, in the same way you might smile at a small child who's failed to understand the simple concept of adding one plus one. "It'll be better for the show… trust me."

She looks down at the table, but I raise my hand again, and she sighs, tilting her head at me. "When you said I would solve each guest's problem on air, you didn't mean it would be live, did you?"

There's a slight ripple of laughter around the table, and I feel stupid now for having asked the question.

"No," she says, and I can hear the impatience in her voice. "We'll record in advance, one episode per week."

The woman sitting beside me leans a little closer. "Recordings take place on a Thursday." I can't remember her name, but I know she said she was the floor manager, which even I realise means she's pretty much in charge of everything that happens in the studio.

"Thursday?"

She nods her head. "Most of the week will be taken up with preparations and rehearsals, we'll record on Thursdays and allow Fridays to pick up any continuity errors or other mistakes that need re-recording, and also for Ella to begin work on the following week's content."

I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Kennedy leaning right over, across Ella, which strikes me as rude. Her eyes are fixed on mine, though, in a way that tells me I need to keep quiet.

"I know you're new to this, but trust me, it'll be fine."

I'm not entirely ‘new' to this, but I refrain from telling her that and I smile and nod my head, wondering why she keeps saying ‘trust me', like that. In my experience, when someone feels the need to repeat those two words, it usually means ‘run… run as fast as you can, and don't look back', and while I'm tempted, I like to eat, so I'm staying put.

She sits back and opens her mouth to say something else, just as Ella raises her hand, copying my earlier action. Kennedy turns to her, her face like thunder at yet another interruption. Not that Ella seems to notice.

"Can I ask…" she says.

"Ask what?"

Kennedy's impatience is getting the better of her and I half expect Ella to blush and say it doesn't matter. She doesn't, though. She frowns and says, "About the guests and their questions. Will I have any input in choosing which ones are selected for each episode? And will I get to meet the people first?"

Kennedy rolls her eyes. "You don't need to worry about any of that. The selections have already been made…"

"By whom?" Ella interrupts her, and I bite my lip, trying not to smile. She might have been nervous before, but she's got the bit between her teeth now, and she's not letting go.

"By me."

"I see. Your knowledge and experience of cookery being…?" Ella leaves her question hanging and I – along with just about everyone else in the room – brace myself for Kennedy's response. It won't be good. That much is obvious from the dark expression on her face.

"Irrelevant," she snaps. "The questions have been chosen because they'll make good television."

"And the guests?" Ella persists. "The members of the public?"

"They're not members of the public. They're actors."

"Seriously?" The word leaves my lips and everyone turns to me. I knew the whole thing was a sham – I'm evidence of that – but they're not even going to use real guests?

"Yes, seriously." Kennedy huffs, shaking her head. I guess she's not used to justifying herself. "In a situation like ours, involving members of the public is fraught with all kinds of dangers. We're going to use genuine problems, sent in by viewers, but have actors play the parts of the people presenting them." She pushes a blue folder across the table in Ella's direction, as though the subject is now closed. "This is the list of questions you're going to be working on during this season."

Ella hesitates for a moment, like she's not sure whether she's supposed to open the file now, but Kennedy looks down at it rather pointedly, and Ella folds back the flap, pulling out the top sheet, and glancing down at it. The room falls to silence, all eyes fixed on her, which is unfortunate, because it means we all hear her snort of laughter.

"What's wrong?" Kennedy says, frowning and sitting forward in her seat.

Ella looks up. "This…" She taps the piece of paper. "It isn't a problem, and even if it were, the answer is common sense, and certainly doesn't need explaining on a television show."

Kennedy glances over, presumably to refresh her memory, as she's just told us she selected the ‘problems' herself. "It might be common sense to you, dear, but it isn't to everyone. That's the whole point of the show. We're taking cookery back to basics."

She looks around the table for support and gets it in the form of nodding heads and sycophantic smiles. Ella blushes and I feel sorry for her, watching as she puts the piece of paper back into the folder again. I wonder about saying something, even if it's just to ask what the ‘problem' is, but that would probably only make matters worse, and I think in her shoes, I'd rather forget the whole thing.

The woman sitting beside me leans forward. "Shall I show Ella and Blake around the studio?" She's looking at Kennedy, but I sense a solidarity with Ella and myself… or maybe that's just wishful thinking. I'm feeling very much on the outside here.

"I think that would be an excellent idea." Kennedy's reply makes me think she'll be glad to see the back of us, especially as she stands the moment she's finished speaking. The others follow suit, filing from the room, until we're left alone, just the three of us.

I get the feeling Ella's still smarting from Kennedy's remarks, and it wouldn't hurt to take some of the heat from her, so I turn to the other woman. "Forgive me… I can't remember your name."

She smiles. "I'm Ruby."

"The floor manager, right?"

"That's it."

She gets to her feet, revealing that she's around five foot seven tall, and is wearing casual grey trousers and a white blouse. I stand up too, as does Ella, grabbing the folder at the same time, and holding it close to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she says, biting on her lip, which is only a little distracting, "but what exactly is a floor manager?"

Ruby chuckles. "That depends who you ask. The director would tell you I'm just here to fulfil his or her wishes. My assistant would say I'm here to boss them around. In reality, it's my job to make sure everything runs smoothly, so we stick to the schedule."

"And how do you do that?" Ella asks.

"By knowing what's happening at all times. No-one's even allowed into the studio without checking in with me first."

"So, you're in charge?"

Ruby laughs a little louder. "Hell, no. Kennedy's in charge. She's the executive producer, and the buck stops with her. In terms of creating the show, the director calls the shots… quite literally. But I'm the one who makes it all happen. Although it's probably best if you don't tell either of them I said that."

Ella nods her head, although she's frowning slightly. "What's wrong?" I ask her and she looks up at me.

"I don't remember anyone saying they were the director. Or did I miss that?"

I wrack my brain, trying to recall all the names and job titles, but I can't think who it was either, and we both turn to Ruby, who's smiling at us.

"That's because he's not here. Linus Hicks is our director." I'm not sure if we're supposed to recognise the name, but it's not familiar to me, and judging by the blank expression on Ella's face, I'd say she's never heard of him either. "He's done a couple of cookery shows before, but he made his name in daytime quizzes."

"Is that significant?" It doesn't sound like a claim to fame to me, but what do I know?

"It means he's used to working quickly. The turnaround time on a daytime quiz is next to nothing."

"I see."

"When will we meet him?" Ella asks.

"Not until rehearsals start, and then obviously he'll be here for the recording sessions." She glances at Ella and then up at me. "Don't look so worried." She pats my arm and I try to change my expression, unaware that I'd given myself away so easily. "Linus is a pussycat, and in any case, he'll be up in the booth. I'll be the one pushing you around in the studio."

Ruby doesn't seem the type to push anyone around, although I'm still surprised that the director won't be putting in an appearance until so late in the schedule.

"Is it normal for the director not to take part in the planning?" I ask, unable to help myself.

She hesitates for a moment and sighs, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "I wouldn't say it's normal, no, but you need to remember, this is a new show. Budgets are tight, and Kennedy's argument is there's no point in paying a director's fee when we can manage perfectly well without him."

"So what does he do in the meantime? Sit around at home waiting for us to call and say we're ready for him?" I ask.

She smiles. "No. He's a freelance, like a lot of directors these days. He has other projects he's working on and he's fitting in around our schedule."

"I see." I nod my head. "What about scriptwriters?"

"You mean scriptwriter… singular. That would be Gavin. He was in the meeting, sitting next to Vivian."

"And who was Vivian?"

"My assistant."

I shake my head. "I don't remember her… sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It's a lot to take on board."

"Why is there only one scriptwriter?" Ella asks, as though she'd been expecting more. I had too… but I've got more experience of this than she has.

"Again, it's a budgeting necessity. And…" She pauses and we both look at her. She's focusing on Ella, though, and I wonder what's coming next. "And Kennedy thought you'd want to have some input into the scripts."

"Me? I know nothing about writing."

"You don't have to, really… not in this instance. Gavin's very good at what he does. But your culinary expertise will be invaluable."

Ella frowns, but I don't know why. I'd love the chance to get involved in the writing. I doubt I'll be given it, though. And in any case, I feel like I've already got my hands full.

Ruby starts for the door, perhaps hoping to halt our questions, and I take the chance to lean in to Ella. "Are you okay?"

She turns, her frown deepening as she looks up at me. "I'm fine."

That was a little dismissive. I was only being friendly… or trying to, and I watch her walk away, shrugging my shoulders. Beautiful or not, she can be really frosty.

I follow Ella to the door, which Ruby is holding open, making it there just in time to see Ruby smile at her and place a hand on her bare arm.

"Don't worry too much about Kennedy," she says, keeping her voice quiet. "She can be abrupt sometimes."

"I noticed."

"You have to bear in mind, she's got a lot riding on this show."

I'm not sure that's a good enough excuse for deliberately belittling someone, but I don't comment. It seems Ella can be quite abrupt too, when she wants to be.

As I step outside and we start along the corridor, she hangs back a little, and I hear a slight sniffle. When I turn, she's pulling a tissue from her handbag, and I'd swear there are tears in her eyes. I want to ask if she's okay again, but I doubt she'd thank me. She seems embarrassed about being upset… and having me draw attention to it won't help. I turn away to give her some privacy, but I'm wondering if I might have misjudged her. Perhaps she's not so frosty after all. Maybe it's Kennedy's attitude that's made her defensive…

"I'm just gonna focus on the areas you really need to know about." Ruby stops walking and turns around as she's speaking and I step just slightly to my right, to block her view of Ella, and hopefully give her the chance to compose herself before she catches up with us. It seems to work. Within seconds, she's by my side, and when I glance at her, she looks perfectly normal… and very beautiful.

We're standing by a door and Ruby opens it to reveal a make-up room.

"This obviously concerns Blake more than you," she says, turning to Ella with a smile before she looks at me. "I think you're familiar with what goes on in here?"

"I am."

I glance inside, noting the three make-up stations, their chairs tucked neatly beneath the black surfaces. The lights around the mirrors are switched off, making it feel dull and lifeless, and I'm about to step inside when I notice Ella, standing right beside me.

"I never realised they actually had lights around the mirrors like that," she says, sounding intrigued. "I thought that was just something they did in the movies."

"It's to replicate the lights in the studio." I look down at her, studying her enquiring face, her full, rose-pink lips and flawless skin.

"Oh… I see." She frowns, tilting her head slightly. "Will you need to wear make-up then?"

"Yes, he will."

We both spin around at the sound of a voice and see a woman coming towards us. I recognise her from this morning's meeting. She was the make-up artist, although I cannot, for the life of me, remember her name. Now she's standing up, though, I can see she's around five foot six tall, and like most people here, she's casually dressed in black jeans and a grey t-shirt.

"Ahh… Diana," Ruby says, saving me the trouble of asking. "I'm sorry we've intruded. I was just showing Blake and Ella where hair and make-up is."

"Well… Ella won't be needing my services," she says with a smile and then turns to me, narrowing her eyes as she assesses my face with a professional eye. "And I know I said you'd be seeing quite a lot of me, but on second thoughts, I don't think you will." She sighs. "Such beautiful eyes… and perfect skin…"

I'm not sure how to reply to that, but Ruby saves me the trouble. "We'd better be getting along."

Diana nods her head and we step out of her doorway, allowing her to move inside the room, as we pass on down the hallway, going through a set of double doors. Here, the corridor widens and although there are several doors on our right, there's only one on the left.

"The men's room is just here," Ruby says, nodding to the first door on the right. "And the ladies' room is at the other end." She stops by the solitary door on the left and opens it. "This is the rehearsal studio."

We all move inside, and she flicks on the lights to reveal a vast room. It has a high ceiling and is mostly empty, other than the large kitchen area at the back, and the table right in front of us, which is surrounded by half a dozen chairs. Between the two is an empty space, which I know is where the cameras would be in a real studio.

Ella wanders over to the kitchen, putting her folder down on the work surface and turning around to face us. "I appreciate this is for rehearsing, but is everything real? I mean, the ovens are fully functioning, and there's running water, and a working refrigerator, isn't there?"

"It's an exact replica of how the kitchen will look in the main studio," Ruby says, going over to her. "Blake needs to get used to where all the equipment is, so every detail is identical."

Ella nods her head, and Ruby wanders to a door in the corner of the room, which I hadn't noticed until now. She opens it, revealing yet another kitchen.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"It's for your personal use," she says. "You'll be spending a lot of time in here, so if you want to make a coffee…"

"We can't just make it over there?" I nod towards the professional kitchen and she smiles, shaking her head.

"It's gonna be best if you keep that for rehearsing… for the show."

I'm not sure I understand why, but I go along with her. She seems to know what she's doing. There's not very much more to see in here, and although I can tell Ella is itching to spend more time in the kitchen, there seem to be other things that Ruby wants to show us, and she makes her way back to the door, clearly expecting us to follow.

Ella picks up her folder again, and I wait for her to pass through the door, closing it behind me.

Outside, Ruby takes us through yet another set of double doors into an equally wide corridor, with just two doors; one on either side.

"We'll be filming in here," she says, opening the door to our right, and letting us into what is essentially a large, very dark, very empty room.

"Where's the kitchen?" Ella asks, getting in the obvious question before I can.

"Unfortunately, the studios are used for filming other shows during the rest of the week, so we'll install it on Wednesday evenings, in time for filming to start on Thursdays… and then take it out again on Fridays as soon as everything's wrapped."

Ella frowns, but remains silent, and so do I, even though that sounds like an inordinate waste of time to me. Ruby reiterates how tight the schedules are, which I feel has been said a dozen times already, and I turn around and almost gasp out loud when I see the banked seating behind me.

"I—I know Kennedy said the shows weren't going out live, but we're not recording in front of an audience, are we?"

"No." Ruby shakes her head. "Each show will probably take the entire day to shoot, and they'll be full-on days. It's going to be stressful enough as it is, without throwing a live audience into the mix."

I've never felt so relieved in my life. Acting in front of an audience is one thing… and I'm quite used to it, after my experiences in the theatre. Playing the role of an alcoholic chef was challenging. I got by, though. It was how I landed this part. But cooking for real, with people actually watching me? I'd be terrified…

I'm all for adventures, but even I have my limits.