Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [131]
Devon strolled into the tense moment with easy, liquid grace. “We’re here to do a segment for the Cooking Channel, Adam. Miranda, here, has promised to go on record and clear up some of the ugly rumors that have been flying around. My hosting the piece pretty much guarantees a viewership,” he said smugly.
Adam shook his head as though he were trying to clear water from his ears. “No. No, you’d have to have permission for something like this. And I most definitely do not agree, so you can all get the hell out of my kitchen.”
The cooks chimed in, Frankie vocal and loud about it, arguing with an equally loud Devon, while the camera crew, evidently used to working in war-zone-like conditions, went about setting up their lights and booms. In seconds, the entire kitchen was in an uproar.
Miranda was aware of the exact moment that the decibel level brought Grant and Jess running from the dining room, but she never took her eyes off Adam, his snarling mouth and flashing eyes and the lingering pain he couldn’t hide when his gaze hit hers.
“We have permission,” Miranda said. She didn’t try to compete with the shouting match, but somehow her voice carried enough to shut everyone up.
Adam gaped for a second before realization dawned. “You went to Eleanor,” he ground out.
Miranda nodded. The woman who controlled the purse strings and who had a controlling interest in the restaurant, Eleanor Bonning. Since she’d been the one to get Miranda into Market in the first place, she’d been the obvious choice. Once Miranda had groveled suitably, of course.
“She was very helpful,” Miranda said.
“I’ll bet. She’d cheerfully murder a homeless guy if she thought it would get publicity. Helping out the woman who dragged her name, and mine, through the mud, would be nothing to her.” Adam looked thoroughly disgusted.
“Can we start rolling now, or what?” one of the camera guys asked.
Adam practically vibrated with the clear desire to tell them all to fuck off, but he reined it in. “Bonning signs all of our paychecks,” he finally said with ill grace. “We’re stuck. Go ahead with your little dog-and-pony show. But I want to say one thing,” he burst out, pinning Miranda with an accusing eye.
“Yes?” She was determined to take whatever he dished out, knowing she deserved it.
“You knew,” Adam said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “After what Rob did, you saw what it did to me. He forced his way into my kitchen. He fucking violated this place. What you’re doing now—it’s the same.”
Miranda flinched, eyes going wide as her body absorbed his words like a blow. The stubborn wish she’d been harboring, that this might actually do something to turn her stupid, messed-up life around, withered and died.
“I’m sorry,” she said numbly, fighting through the utter desolation of all her hopes. “I know it’s inadequate, but it’s also true.”
Adam scowled. “But you’re going ahead with this no matter how sorry you are, huh?”
Miranda was vaguely proud of the fact that she was still standing when disappointment was crushing down on her so heavily. “Yes. I understand that nothing I can say will change how you feel about me, but I think I can do some good here. Please, for the sake of your crew, please let us do this. I only want to help, I swear it.”
The impassioned plea seemed to reach Adam. He glared down at her, brows lowered and lips tight, but he didn’t sneer or scoff or shrug her off. Miranda held her breath.
She didn’t legally need his permission to proceed, but she desperately wanted it.
Adam acquiesced with a short nod that sent the camera guys and Devon’s people into a flurry of motion. Miranda barely registered them chivvying the cooks into a group and getting ready to shoot. She closed her eyes, digging down deep for any reserves of strength that would help get her through the next few minutes.
When she opened them again, the room was quiet. Her eyes fell on her brother, who’d come