SLEAZE: A Hollywood Comeback Story (Book #1)

Chapter 39

“Where’ve you been?” Sophie asked as the door swung open seconds later.

“I went to the store,” I replied, motioning towards the bags before bending to kiss her on the cheek. Although her brows were furrowed with annoyance, her lips betrayed a hint of a smile and I wondered if maybe she was in a better mood than I’d thought.

“What for?”

“I got some stuff to make dinner.”

The corners of Sophie’s mouth twitched again and now her grin was unmistakable. “You’re making dinner? Why?”

“Trying to impress you, I guess.”

“Well,” Sophie said, reaching for a bag, “considering my cooking skills, it might be hard for you to meet my standards.”

Sophie turned to walk down the hallway and as I closed the front door behind me, she called over her shoulder, “How was your day, anyway?”

“Uh,” I said, thinking about the slab of raw meat I’d tackled at lunch, “it was interesting. How about yours?”

“Annoying.” Sophie disappeared through the doorway that led into her kitchen and by the time I caught up with her, she’d already begun taking out the groceries and setting them on the countertop. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Here it comes. “Okay,” I said, bracing myself for the tirade that I’d been expecting from the start. “What’s up?”

Sophie opened her mouth to respond but then bit her lip. With a sigh, she said, “Actually, maybe we should eat first. What are you making?”

“Baked pasta with pesto chicken.” The expression on Sophie’s face was priceless and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing while I moved to wash my hands. “What’s wrong? You eat meat, right?”

“Yeah, no, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, though she continued to stare at me.

“Are you sure?”

I caught a hint of disbelief in her voice when she said, “You don’t really seem like the cooking type, that’s all.”

“I mean, I’m not, but I’m also turning twenty-two in a few months. It’d be pretty sad if I didn’t know how to make anything.”

“Maybe,” Sophie admitted, folding her arms across her chest. “Richard can barely make toast.”

“And you know I’ve spent my entire life aspiring to be like him.” I dried my hands on a paper towel and then began searching through the cabinets for a cutting board and pans. As I laid out the ingredients in front of me, Sophie wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her forehead against my back.

“Can I help at all?” she asked, and I smiled while I enjoyed our closeness.

“Nah,” I said, reaching for a knife and feeling disappointed when she pulled away.

With a frown, Sophie said, “I feel like I should do something.”

“Why don’t you go lie down?” I suggested, slicing a clove of garlic in half. “I’ll come join you as soon as I’ve put everything in the oven.”

Sophie hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “Whatever you say, Martin Stewart.”

I chuckled at that, amused by the play on words, and watched while she wandered off towards the living room. Moving the chopped garlic to the side, I hummed to myself while I prepped everything and imagined what it’d be like to have my own cooking show. Despite my previous skepticism, it seemed like Sophie had been telling the truth when she said that she knew how to cook; her kitchen was stocked with more types of pots and exotic spices than I’d even known existed. I cleaned as I went and once I’d finished combining everything into a casserole dish, I slid it into the oven and went to find Sophie.