Rest in Pizza by Chris Cavender

the key to him, I said, “I don’t want to find a thing in my kitchen or dining room touched while you’re there, do you understand me?”
    He laughed in my face. “Are you actually threatening me? You’re nothing but a pizza maker.”
    I had had just about enough of this windbag’s attitude, and I started to say something when my sister, Maddy, of all people, put a restraining hand on my arm. I took a deep breath, smiled gently at her, and then allowed myself to speak with the chef in a voice that wouldn’t reflect how I really felt. “I treat my restaurant like it’s my baby, and trust me, you don’t want to get this mother mad at you.”
    He took the key, stared at me another second, and then stormed out without another word.
    “I’d better go after him,” Patrice said, and hurried out the door.
    Maddy punched my shoulder lightly. “Wow, I thought you were going to smack him right there. That took guts.”
    “You know how protective I am about the Slice,” I said.
    “Just don’t get angry with me,” she said with a grin.
    Cindy turned to Oliver and asked, “What are we going to do? Is he even going to bother coming back?”
    The assistant just shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I’m really not sure. In the meantime, we’ll have to plan for both contingencies.” An idea seemed to blossom in him as Jessie came out. “If worse comes to worse and he doesn’t make it back in time, I’ll do the demonstration myself.”
    Jessie heard it, as I was certain she was meant to, since he’d said it with enough volume for folks out on the street to hear him. “Forget it, Oliver. If Benet bails out on this, the show is cancelled, and I’m not just talking about this book launch.”
    “I could take over his show, Jessie,” Oliver said, the pleading thick in his voice. “All of Chef’s best creations were inspired by me, and I can prepare them better than he could ever dream of doing.”
    “I’ve told you before, Oliver, it’s Ms. Taylor to you,” Jessie said. “And to be honest with you, I don’t care if you’re the best chef that’s ever been born; you’re not getting your own show, at least not as long as I’m running things there.”
    “Why not?” Oliver demanded. “I’ve got talent. You’ve tasted my dishes and said so yourself.”
    She nodded impatiently, the irritation of this distraction clearly starting to bug her. “In the kitchen, you might just be as good as you keep telling me that you are, but all that really matters is that the camera doesn’t like you. If you want to keep the petty little job you have now, I suggest you go find Benet and try to persuade him that it’s in his best interest to give his talk and demonstration today.”
    Oliver looked crushed by her ruthless assessment of his chances to have a show of his own in the future, and as he walked out of the bookshop with shoulders slumped, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the guy again.
    “Wow, you are a real toad, aren’t you? You didn’t have to be so hard on him, you know,” I said.
    Jessie appeared not to have heard me at first. She examined me as though I was something on the bottom of one of her shoes, and then asked, “Excuse me, but were you talking to me?”
    “You’re the only one trying to be a bigger jerk than Benet is, and if I hadn’t just seen it for myself, I never would have believed it,” I said, not caring what the producer thought of me at this point. I doubted we were even going to have a signing and a cooking demonstration anymore, and if we did, it was clear that Benet would do it, or not, because of the way he felt, not based on someone else’s input.
    She frowned as she said, “Perhaps you should just worry about your own little corner of the world, no matter how small and insignificant it might be, and leave me to mine.”
    “Was anything served by being so mean to Oliver just now?” I asked. “That was just plain cruel.”
    Jessie shook her head, and with more