THE TASTE TEST (#1 STEAMY CHEF SERIES)

◘ six ◘

"What the fuck, Elliot?" I knew my voice would carry down the hallway and reach the audience—but I couldn't wait until my dressing room door was closed.

"Béa, please," they said, scrubbing their face as they fell into one of the couches. They weren't wearing as much makeup as usual, which should have been a sign to me earlier, when they were acting weird.

"Don't. I've known you for too long for you to try to placate me right now." I leaned against the closed door, my breaths hitching, heat swarming up to my face. "You knew about this, didn't you? Zane coming on to the show? The way Grace and Archie fucking invited him after he publicly humiliated me?"

Elliot set their elbows on their knees, their hands holding up their trembling chin. "They swore me to secrecy, Béa."

"You mean they threatened your job." It was the only way they'd ever get Elliot to hide something from me, and I loathed them for doing that. Elliot loved their work, but they relied on the steady income. Unlike me, they weren't famous and in high demand for their makeup skills, though I thought they should have been.

"Yeah, even when I begged Grace to have a fucking heart, for once. She snarled at me." Elliot shook their head. "She and Archie were so into this, so excited with what Zane would bring to the table."

I banged a fist to the door. "I can't believe this is happening."

"And of course, when I told Grace you'd slept with him—"

I pushed off the door, fire in my veins. "You told her? You—" Betrayal turned the fire to lava, and I felt like it washed over me, burning me to a crisp. "Why would you do that? Why would you give Grace any details about my private life?"

"It slipped." Elliot averted their gaze, keeping their chin down. "I saw his name on the list of upcoming chefs, and I recognized it—unlike you, I remember insignificant details."

I pointed a shaky finger in their direction. "Don't you dare push right now."

"I tried to warn them, conflict of interest shit and all." Elliot let out a lengthy sigh and melted into the couch, their gaze on the ceiling. "But they actually thought it was funny. She slept with him? Oh, this is too good, they said, and Grace rubbed her hands in delight."

I almost spat at the image of Grace greedily using my personal life for entertainment. I'd been warned about her—by Luca, even by my book agent—and informed that she was ruthless in this industry and did everything for ratings. But I'd been so eager to get this show on the road that I'd ignored the comments, turned a blind eye to those who'd told me she would ruin me.

"They insisted it would make for great TV, high stakes, drama, all that shit." Elliot got up and swung their arms as they paced, tension in their posture, their normally graceful legs wobbly.

"So they're enjoying this, is what you're saying." Forgetting about my intricate up-do, my makeup, I shrank to the ground, crouching, as I ran my hands through my hair, gritting my teeth. "As I sit next to this dude that I haven't been able to stop thinking about for days, and whose body absolutely haunts me?"

"Come here," said Elliot, grabbing my wrist to haul me off the floor. They yanked me to the makeup chair and threw me in it, though not unkindly. "You're melting, and I need to fix this before you go back out there."

I grimaced at my mirror-image—smeared lipstick, hair a mess, rage in my eyes. "I can't go back out there. No, I can't."

I tried to get up, but Elliot pushed me down, using their surprising strength—hours of holding makeup brushes and spraying setting products gave them incredible arm muscles. "You have to." They swept a wipe over my lipstick, powdered the area, lined my lips, and reapplied the bright red shade I'd been wearing earlier. "The best way to stick it to those assholes is to go out there, put on a show, and move on."