Page 122 of A Shot at Love
“If I survive.” Stacy sighed.
Kandy laughed again. “You will. Guaranteed.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, Estella Elizabeth,”—Kandy grabbed her hand—“you’re a natural survivor. Of all of us, you’re the strongest of Sophie’s grandkids.”
Stacy’s mouth flew open in shock.
“You know you are,” Kandy said with a nod. “No one I know could have survived what you did and still grown into the amazing, smart, and wonderful woman you are. No one. Of us all, you’re the most like Sophie.”
Tears threatened. “I can’t believe you think that. I’ve always thought you were the one who was the most like Grandma. In every way.”
“I may have gotten the cooking gene,” Kandy said, “but you got the backbone. Believe it. Just be your usual efficient, calm, and totally kick-ass self and all will be well in Montana. Now, let’s get you packed. What time does your flight leave?”
“Five thirty. I’ve got a car coming at four,” she added with a swipe at her eyes. “How you get up every day at that God-awful hour is beyond me.”
“Years of practice.”
An hour and three packed, over-sized, suitcases later, Kandy gave her cousin a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Text me if you need to vent or be talked off a ledge,” she said, with a grin. “Use our code word.”
“Leech?”
With a laugh, Kandy nodded. “Anytime, okay? I’m always available for you.”
“I know it, cuz,” Stacy squeezed back. “Thanks for everything.”
Alone in her apartment, Stacy dragged a hand through her hair. From her mental to-do list she ran through what she needed to still get done before she could crawl into bed so she’d be able to get up and out the door on time to make her flight.
After throwing out all the food in her refrigerator that stood to spoil for the next eight-plus weeks she’d be gone, she paid her rent on-line, notified the post office to hold her mail, and emailed her parents to tell them where she’d be for the foreseeable future.
She crawled into bed at eight-thirty with the two-inch thick binder Teddy had given her detailing all the information she needed to come up to speed on the show she was now in charge of producing.
Beef Battles was scheduled as a headliner for the upcoming midseason schedule and the network was betting on it winning its Wednesday night time slot. Ratings were the name of the game in television broadcasting and the EBS network had been slowly growing in popularity, ever since Kandy’s show, Cooking with Kandy, had soared to the top of the Nielsen ratings and stayed there three consecutive years. When it ended, Stacy, who’d been Kandy’s assistant throughout the run, had been approached by Teddy Davis to act as assistant producer for another of the network’s reality shows. That program had been having internal troubles, but with Stacy on board, it had turned around, and after one season had climbed in the ratings.
Knowing he had someone who could get along with any personality and who could remain calm during the most trying of times, Davis had given her another opportunity, this time to executive produce one of the network’s most challenging programs, Bake Off. The hosts of the show were continually at personal and professional odds and the series was in danger of being cancelled due to overtime costs. Stacy came in, evaluated and identified the problems, and then turned the once combative co-hosts into on-air besties, pulling the show out of its dull ratings and into the top twenty.
It was during this time Stacy had come up with her own idea for a show and had researched and written her proposal. Now, with confirmation her idea would take off, she snuggled down under the covers and opened the binder.
Within two minutes she bolted upright in bed, fury heating her cheeks.
“That bastard!”
She reached across her nightstand for her cell phone and was all set to call Teddy and back out of the job when her brain cooled down her emotions, forcing her to take a few deep, cleansing breaths and calm down. He hadn’t told her that two producers had already quit before filming even began, citing a terrible working environment perpetuated by the director, or that Dominick Stamp’s list of requests had already thrown the proposed budget to hell. And he’d failed to mention, or even hint at, the unusual living arrangements agreed to by the ranch’s host in an effort to cut production costs.
