Cook the Books

be in the book.” I stood up and began handing out sheets of paper to the mystified students. “Julie, you look like a tiramisu girl, am I right?”
    “I guess so,” she said.
    “Come on. It’ll be fun,” I begged.
    “I like to cook,” Robert said. “What else do you have?”
    “Open ravioli with spinach, tomato, and cream?”
    “Yup, that’s mine.” Robert snatched the paper out of my hands.
    “So you all get to test a recipe for the book, and your names will be in the acknowledgments. Isn’t this cool?” I said enthusiastically. “Simon, how about I give you lamb? And for you, Ann Marie? Chicken Creole!”
    “I love anything Creole.” Ann Marie rubbed her stomach. “That’ll be dinner tonight, for sure.”
    “Chloe, I don’t think this is really—” Professor Ruiz began.
    “You’d like one, too? Of course.” I beamed and handed him Vietnamese fresh wraps with chili-peanut sauce. Then I hurriedly distributed the rest of the recipes. “Thanks for all the great work, everybody! Oh, looks like class is over. Let me know how the dishes turn out. My e-mail address is on there. I need to hear back from you by Sunday. Just imagine! You’ll all have your names in print!” I quickly gathered my belongings and bolted out of the lounge before my professor could protest. My method wasn’t the smoothest, most polite way of soliciting recipe testers, but I really had no choice.
    I was in an excellent mood during the drive home. Besides having made solid progress on the cookbook, I’d just recruited recipe testers. What’s more, I was looking forward to a wonderful restaurant opening tomorrow. And I had a hot new dress to boot. Things were looking up.
     

FIFTEEN
     
    Early on Friday evening, my condo looked as if a tornado had swept through and flung my possessions across every available surface. Well, come to think of it, a tornado had struck: the tornado’s name was Chloe. The living room was absolutely covered in cookbook material and client notes, my bedroom was thick with yet more paper as well as with clothes, and the bathroom had become a solid mass of beauty products. Although I’d spent an obscene amount of time that afternoon getting ready for the Penthouse opening, I’d been slow to realize that I’d need to wear shoes and nylons. While tossing pretty much the entire contents of my dresser and closet onto the bed and the floor, I’d found a pair of strappy navy heels underneath a box of Christmas gift bags and a non-ripped pair of nylons in the back of my pajama drawer. The shoes needed a bit of polishing with a wet washcloth, but they cleaned up fairly well. I’d pulled my hair into the fanciest updo that I could manage without Adrianna’s help, and my makeup was flawless. I repeatedly told myself that my obsession with my appearance had nothing to do with Josh and everything to do with Kyle, but the nothing-to-do-with-Josh mantra didn’t seem to be sinking in.
    Kyle showed up promptly at seven. When I was dating Josh, I’d spent countless hours either waiting for him to get off work or having him entirely cancel on me because the restaurant “needed” him. He was rarely on time, and his perpetual tardiness had always irked me. Kyle, on the other hand, was here when he said he’d be. Unfortunately, this was one time when I’d have been grateful for an extra fifteen minutes so that I could tidy up the place and finish fussing with my hair.
    “Come on in! I’ll be right out!” I called from the bathroom as I jabbed another pin into my hair. “I’m so sorry about the mess, but you can see how hard I’ve been working on the book!”
    Kyle’s warm laugh echoed down the hall, and I heard the back door shut. “Don’t worry, we’ve got time.”
    I snarled at my reflection. A damn wisp of hair had fallen out of my updo, and it took me a few minutes to fix it. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I was appalled to see that I hadn’t even left a clear spot where Kyle could sit. He stood formally in my small living room, his hands clasped together as he waited.
    “God, this is horrible! I’m so sorry!” I quickly rushed to the couch and gathered up my client notes.
    “Are you afraid I’m going to read your diary?” he joked. “Yeah, right. I’m just horrified about this mess.” To have left the confidential notes lying around was really inexcusable. Not that Kyle would be terribly intrigued by the details of my internship, but if I intended to behave