As Rosemary shouted her ideas for the wedding feast over the loud music and revelry, GiGi smiled and nodded while anxiously doing acrobatic logistics and math in her head.
She knew she was going to throw herself into some extra debt for one big splashy event, but hopefully, the payoff would be worth it. Word of mouth that rippled around from a DuChamp wedding was invaluable.
She’d just have to manage her time very closely. And hire more people. But the cakes? That would be 100 percent her. Nobody was going to touch a DuChamps wedding cake but GiGi herself. Cake and pastry were her heart and soul.
Suddenly, there was a mood shift in the party. Rosemary turned, and GiGi followed her gaze. The hum of activity was coming from the rooftop’s doorway leading to the stairwell. GiGi heard excited shouts and claps and even some whistles.
“Like Moses parting the Red Sea,” she remarked, landing on no one’s ears over the din of the partiers. And then she got a view of flowing blond locks glinting under the torchlights. Vann West was in the house.
A celebrity was in their midst. GiGi had served a few celebrities at her café and had no problem treating them all like regular, non-famous people. They seemed to prefer it. One particularly huge, household-name movie star, in New Orleans filming on location, had personally asked to speak to the chef—GiGi—to compliment her on her shrimp and grits, and to thank the staff for not making a fuss and drawing attention.
So when the cocky chef West appeared in all his glory—all his attention-craving, crowd-loving glory—GiGi rolled her eyes so hard she nearly pulled a muscle.
That guy is in town? Talk about stealing a couple’s thunder at their engagement party.
GiGi glared at the over-built showboating barbecue-grill man. What was he doing, crashing her cousin’s party?
She looked around, and everyone, including Ash, seemed to be over the moon at his appearance. He got away with crashing parties because he was male, blond, and spent most of his time cashing checks and yammering on TV about underrated street food. Street food that would immediately become inaccessible to the locals of the city in which West was filming because rich tourists would flock there after seeing his Instagram posts and streaming episodes. Not that GiGi had any strong opinions either way on the man.
She watched as Ash embraced him like a brother and realized the real reason the celebrity chef was here. He seemed to be legitimately friends with Ash. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t crashing a party. Still, he was drawing attention to himself, and not hating it at all.
Yeah, I’m a tiny bit jealous, GiGi admitted to herself as she watched the man sign an autograph here, pose for a selfie there. She would love to have the life he led. She longed to go to faraway places and eat interesting food and climb mountains and sleep on the beach and collect a paycheck from some anonymous subsidiary property management company that ran a restaurant with her name on it. Maybe her acne would clear up if she spent a few days outside of her kitchen. Maybe her hair would be in healthier condition if she would come in an hour later because she needed to do a deep conditioning. Living life the way some celebrities did seemed to be good for his skin and hair. He sort of glowed. Everywhere. From his hair to his blue eyes to his beard, to the sun-kissed chest she could see peeking out of the partially unbuttoned shirt.
“Oh, slap my mama, I heard he might be coming, but I didn’t believe it. Can you believe that’s one of Ash’s oldest friends?” Rosemary was ecstatic.
“I didn’t know,” GiGi replied, trying to look enthused.
The crowd that gathered around the blond behemoth finally calmed down. A little chick with giant, immovable boobs and a Barbie-thin waist was hanging on his every word and giggling at what GiGi assumed could not possibly have been that funny.
GiGi tried to focus on refilling her tray of appetizers. As she worked her way through the crowd, intentionally in the opposite direction of the visiting celebrity, Rosemary followed her, chattering away excitedly.
When she paused to refill her tray, GiGi couldn’t help but glance back at the celebrity chef. She knew she shouldn’t, but it was difficult to not look at him. Hell, it was difficult to not flat-out stare at him.
And when she did, to her surprise, he was glancing right back at her. She must have been seeing things.
She looked away to add some shrimp toast onto her tray and checked herself. He’s not stealing glances at you, GiGi. He’s probably bored silly from getting waylaid by the Barbie doll and casting around for anyone to rescue him. Or, more likely, looking around for his next one-night stand. Yes, she’d heard stories about his conquests, too. He was a known ladies’ man. If he was staring at her, she shouldn’t take it as a compliment. He flirted with everyone with a pulse. At least, that’s what the producers of his show made it look like.
As she made her way around the crowd, Rosemary still chattering about Ash, Pen, Uncle Lionel, wedding planning, and table arrangements, GiGi’s skin began to prickle. Hairs stood up on her arm; she noticed it as she moved through the crowd. If she was not mistaken, everywhere she went, someone was watching her. The inner panther was sensing an intruder. Possibly another predator.
She turned to check her surroundings but didn’t see the man now. Likely he was off already making out with some other party guest in a dark corner somewhere. That was the story she told herself. She continued to busy herself, seeing to the needs of the guests.
Her Aunt Betsy startled her out of her racing thoughts about the annoying Chef West. “GiGi, your food is inspired, my dear.” GiGi
