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“Kisses, Dee.”
I hang up and shove my phone back into my pocket as the executive producer’s office comes into view, lingering outside of it for a moment as I steel myself for whatever happens on the other side. I wipe my hands that are only slightly sweaty against my jeans, sliding them over the curve of my hips in an anxious gesture. It doesn’t help that I have to go in alone, since my agent, Theo, got held up in another meeting. I always feel better when he’s here.
You’re Delilah Baker, I tell myself, attempting a pep talk. You studied under Olivier Guillaume in Paris before you were twenty-five. You’ve got this.
I knock gently, pushing the door open when I hear my EP bidding me entry. Gia is on the phone at her desk, and she holds up one perfectly manicured finger, signaling me to give her a second. I study her face to try to gauge her mood; her rich brown skin is smooth between her eyes, devoid of the singular wrinkle that sometimes pops up there when she’s particularly stressed, and her bright red lips are still perfectly vibrant, which means she hasn’t spent the afternoon going through Red Bulls as she is wont to do when things are going bad. I let these little things give me a glimmer of hope that this won’t be as disastrous as I’ve been assuming it will be.
Gia hangs up her phone call after only another minute or so, blowing out a breath as she rubs her temples. “I swear, if I have to talk about budgeting one more time this week, I’m quitting to manage TikTok influencers.”
“Frank giving you shit again?”
“When is Frank not giving me shit?” She turns in her chair then, eyeing me warily. “Speaking of…I assume you’ve gathered that’s why I called you up here.”
“I had an idea,” I admit.
“I take it you’ve seen the numbers these last few months,” she starts carefully.
I nod grimly. “I know they’ve dipped a bit.”
“Twenty percent in the last four months,” she says. “Now, this could be due to a lot of things, but…it’s definitely a problem.”
“I’ve had consistent numbers for the last two years,” I point out. “My ratings have always been solid. I know the revenue the show brings in, and I think that’s important to remember.”
“Of course it is,” Gia assures me. “I don’t want you to think this is some sort of ultimatum here, but it is a concern. You know I love you, but upstairs…All they care about is numbers. We need to really figure this out and find a way to turn that needle so I can remind them that Whisk-y Business is a valuable commodity.”
“I know,” I sigh, sinking deeper into my chair. “I’ve been dragging out more difficult recipes, trying to make it more of a wow factor when I simplify them for the people at home, but…”
“People are fickle.” She nods in camaraderie. “They’re wanting flashier and flashier hooks every day. It’s all about competitions in cooking now.”
“You know I don’t want to do that sort of thing.”
“I know, I know. But that means we have to think of some other way. People love you, that hasn’t changed. You’re the girl next door, the sweetheart of the Boston baking scene, and that will always be true.”
I suppress the urge to frown. I don’t hate being known as the proverbial good girl, it’s just a brand, after all, one that I suppose looks fitting with my small-but-curvy frame and my freckles and my big brown eyes that Jack and I share. Although, he uses his for evil far more often than for good. Still. It almost feels backward to lean into the whole Suzy Homemaker schtick.
I remind myself that I need the views.
“We could do specials focusing on particular cultures?” I cross my arms over my chest, thinking. “Or maybe I could get in contact with Olivier for some sort of collaboration?”
“Do you think he’d be willing to come to the States?”
I grimace, remembering hours upon hours of conversations that ended and started with: you Americans. “Ah…maybe not.”
“I do like the idea of collaborations though. We could do crossovers with other shows on the network? What about Courtney?”
I make a face. “She refuses to do anything that doesn’t involve fruit.”
“People like fruit!”
“I guess,” I huff. “But I think two bakers isn’t really much of a wow factor, if I’m being honest.”
Gia frowns. “Fair point.” She taps a nail against her lower lip, thinking. “Well, we need something quick to give us a boost. I need some solid reasoning as to why we need to put the fate of your show on the back burner for a little while. Just something that will make that needle move enough to give us more time to come up with a more permanent solution. What can we do that will get the people of Boston excited about baking again?”
Her phrasing pings a memory, my brain grasping at straws before settling on the conversation Jack and I had before I came in here.
This is Boston, my dude.
My lips part, an idea forming. Although, whether or not it’s a good one or a terrible one remains to be seen.
