Free And He Cooks Too by Barbara Barrett Page B

can’t-get-along-without-you edge to her voice. He’d better not take it lightly.
    He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket and returned to his table, motioning for the waiter to bring him the check. To Reese, he said, “Something’s come up with my aunt. I have to get over there right away. I’m sorry.”
    Reese’s forehead creased in concern. “Is she okay?”
    He could have invented some ailment for Leonie, but Reese had said she wanted the truth from people. “No emergency, but she’s working on something for the show that needs immediate input. She gets like this sometimes. I’ve found it best just to humor her.”
    At the mention of the word “humor,” Reese screwed up her face, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
    “Family members are sometimes demanding without realizing it.” He handed the waiter several bills. To Reese he said, “The restaurant will take care of your cab fare. We can, uh, finish our review next week.” Then he raced for the door, reproaching himself yet again for not standing up to Leonie.
    For a Saturday night, traffic was light and Nick made it across town to Leonie’s apartment in eighteen minutes. Leonie’s housekeeper answered the door and led him to the drawing room, where he found Leonie and Jasper leaning over what appeared to be a small dollhouse on the coffee table. As he moved closer, the object took on the shape of their set.
    “What’s going on?” he asked.
    Leonie placed a hand on his arm. “Nick. I’m so glad you came. This decision just couldn’t wait any longer.”
    Nick took a second glance at the mock-up. “Tell me you didn’t pull me away from a delicious dinner just to have me pick a paint color.”
    Leonie sought out Jasper, who rolled his eyes, then glanced away. “Of course, not, dear. This change is much more involved than that. I’ve noticed how your new wardrobe fades on camera. That’s totally unacceptable. The whole point of the new clothes is to make you stand out.”
    “Excuse the cliché, Leonie,” Jasper said, inserting himself into the discussion, “but clothes don’t make the man. Nick’s camera presence and the way he makes his cooking look so easy week after week count for much more than whatever shirt he’s wearing.”
    Leonie shot a look to the ceiling. “Of course, Jasper. I don’t disagree. But every little detail matters right now, when we’re on the brink of network recognition.”
    Not that again. He waited for Jasper’s response. However, instead of his usual warning not to take the network too seriously, Jasper threw up his hands and walked away.
    Undeterred, Leonie pulled a folder from the table and retrieved what appeared to be several large color samples. Each had a sort of oblong shape cut into one side. “I couldn’t judge how well these colors would work with your complexion from just your headshots. That’s why I needed you here tonight. The painters start tomorrow morning, so they can be done before we tape next week.”
    “You’re not serious?” Nick asked, incredulous. This had better not get back to Reese. What an insult to learn her dinner companion had left her for a color check.
    “Bend down,” Leonie ordered.
    “Huh?” But he complied.
    She selected one of the samples and placed it over his head, tiara-style. “What do you think, Jasper? How does this one go with his face and hair?”
    Nick jerked upright, the flimsy card stock caving in but still circling his head. “Get this off me! I must look ridiculous.”
    Jasper returned from where he’d been taking cover on the side of the room, a hand across his mouth in a lame attempt to conceal his grin. He stood back from Nick, one elbow resting on his other palm, his free index finger stuck in his chin. “I don’t know, Nick. This one definitely brings out the midnight blue of your eyes.”
    “Cut the crap, Jasper,” Nick growled, snatching the paper from his head.
    Leonie quickly replaced the rejected color sample with another.