Sweet Promise (The Grahams Book 1) Read online

  Sweet Promise

  A Novel by Jennifer Woodhull

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: BITE TELEVISION ANNOUNCES NEW ADDITION TO FALL PRIMETIME LINEUP

  Atlanta, Georgia, March 14th: BITE Television has cooked up their latest hit, mixing some of their viewing audience's favorite things. Travel, food, and a splash of sweet heat are on the menu in their new series, We’ll Bite! BITE Television veteran and fan favorite, Lucas Nash will star with newcomer Georgia Graham in the show which is slated to begin production next month with a tentative air date of September.

  CHAPTER 1

  Georgia Graham

  I walked into the office of Bane Talent and made small talk with the receptionist as I waited for my agent to be available. Tasha Bane was one of the top reality television agents in the business. She had called me to come in to talk about an “exciting new opportunity,” as she put it. As a rising star of BITE Television, my second book, Georgia Bakes: A Second Slice, was a best-seller. I loved Tasha. She found me doing a book signing at a women’s show in Nashville not long after I’d won the Southern Baking Championships right out of high school. She was vibrant, polished, and easy to talk to. Her expertise and industry contacts quickly led to me getting a new show on BITE Television. In its first season, my show, Sweet, Georgia!, was one of the network's top-grossing shows of all-time.

  As I sat waiting to find out what new surprise Tasha had in store, I thought about my career. Even with everything I had experienced, sometimes, none of it seemed quite real to me. Within a year of graduating from high school, I was a best-selling author and Tasha had secured me a show on the hottest food channel on television. The social media followers I had managed to develop during the Southern Baking Championships had been quick converts to my television presence. Tasha had always said that my personality, combined with appearance and southern charm had proven a winning combination. I wasn’t sure about all that. There were lots of beautiful women working at the BITE TV, but I always thought people liked me because I looked like a real person. My blonde hair was a mess of unruly curls, and I had a few freckles across my nose. I had some curves, but I was so short, they had to build a platform in the kitchen where I shot my segments to put me at a reasonable height over the counters for the camera. I was a far cry from your typical tall, exotic beauty like so many of the other network stars.

  As I sat in the office, waiting, I was pleating the hem of my floral dress. It was a nervous habit, but better than the nail-biting the network had made me give up when my hands began appearing on camera in cooking segments.

  "Hon, Tasha's ready for you now, go on in," the receptionist said.

  "Thanks, Dara," I responded with a smile. I stood up straight, flicked my long, loose blonde curls back behind my shoulder, and walked into my agent’s office as confidently as I could muster.

  "Georgia!" Tasha jumped up and walked around the desk as soon as I came in, hugging me tightly. Tasha was an elegant woman, five-foot-ten – taller in heels – with a slim frame. Her short, sleek hair perfectly accentuated her long graceful neck, and the jet-black color offset her beautiful, cappuccino-colored skin. "Honey, you look tastier than a sweet potato cupcake! How are ya, darlin’?"

  "Good, Tasha, really good, thanks." I smiled up at her. Tasha was a money-making machine – that much I knew, but I also knew she didn’t take advantage of me. I was by far her youngest client at only twenty. Instead of taking advantage of my naiveté, I often felt like she was trying to protect me from the worst parts of the business.

  "Have a seat - did Dara offer you some cucumber water?"

  "She did, thanks, Tasha." I sat back into the white leather sling chair across from my agent's desk, trying to be cool. "I gotta tell ya, Tasha, I'm not quite sure what I'm doin' here."

  "Georgia, just wait 'til you hear what an opportunity I've got for you!" Tasha beamed at me. "So, you know Lucas Nash, right?"

  "Oh my God, Lucas Nash? Of course! I grew up watchin' him on TV, and I've got all his books. He’s amazin’! So talented!" I should have tried not to gush, but I meant it. When I was in high school, I had studied all the most famous TV chefs and cookbook authors. When our mother had died, I had only been fourteen, and with my older sister in college, it was up to me to cook for my dad and twin brother. Lucas Nash had been one of my all-time favorites, and I learned a lot from his shows. I’d had a sort of crush on him back then, too.

  Tasha dragged a photo of Lucas to the computer screen that was turned on her desk to face me. "Pretty easy on the eyes, huh?" Tasha winked at me, and I felt myself suddenly sit up very straight, my cheeks swiftly growing warm as the blush rose in them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had thick, wavy brown hair. Best of all, though, he had the dreamiest British accent I had ever heard.

  Holy shit he’s hot, I thought. He was gorgeous when I was a kid, and I swear he has only gotten hotter.

  "Yeah, I mean he's a good-looking man, for sure." I tried to be cool but doubted I had been successful. Tasha could always see right through me, after all. The photo Tasha was showing was one I recognized. He had been one of People magazine's sexiest men alive two years before, and the image showed him shirtless, cooking at a campfire as his blue eyes danced playfully as he looked up at the camera. I crossed my legs and squirmed a bit in my seat.

  "So, Georgia, you know that Lucas has had some problems the past couple of years. He had a nasty divorce, and a lot of tabloid press after that - some of it based in truth, some of it not." Tasha rolled her eyes. "The gossip rags can be brutal! Now you are another story! Your star is on fire right now! The fans love you…for the most part.” Tasha took on a more serious tone. “I know you read all your press, despite how many times I’ve warned you not to,” she gave me a wry smile. “Some people love you - super sweet, and what you see is what you get. Some people, though, think you're a little too sweet. They don’t believe you’re for real, or they think you’re a little too girl-next-door. They're ready to stop seeing Georgia, the girl, and ready to see you as a grown-ass woman," she snapped her fingers. "So, when this opportunity came up, I knew you were the perfect fit!"

  "Wow, okay…,” I leaned back, putting my hands on the armrests of the chair. “I can see where it might be time to update my image a little. I can still be me, maybe just a little more refined version,” I nodded, more to myself than to Tasha. “So, what is the opportunity then, exactly?" My curiosity was definitely piqued.

  "BITE Television is developing a new show that combines travel with cooking. The hosts will take viewers around the world, then cook a regional recipe. The working title is We’ll Bite!! So, what do you think?” Tasha's enthusiasm was contagious, and I couldn't help but be excited.

  "Wow, that's sounds amazin’! Are you sure they want me?" I asked, pointing a finger at my own chest, surprised that they would want someone who had never been much of anywhere to show viewer
s the world.

  "Honey, they asked for you by name! You would be hosting with none other than Lucas Nash. Sweet southern girl, a handsome English gentleman, both gorgeous, both popular, both talented...I think it's a match made in TV Heaven! All we need to do is put you two together for a screen test, and make sure the chemistry is there. Speaking of which, when I say chemistry, that’s what the network is looking for, ya hear what I’m sayin’?” Tasha looked me up and down with a raised eyebrow to gauge if I had followed her meaning.

  “Chemistry? Like, they want to be sure we get along on camera?” I asked.

  “Look at the picture again,” Tasha pointed to a shirtless Lucas bending over a campfire. “Now look at this one,” the next photo showed a close-up of him, head and shoulders, with a neat beard, looking directly at the camera, the blue of his eyes so focused and bright, they seemed to glow from within. That image, in particular, made me feel as though he was looking right at me. I felt a warm spot grow between my thighs and shifted in my chair. Tasha clicked through a slideshow with a few more images. Him laughing, one dimple on his left cheek showing, him in his chef’s jacket, and one of him emerging from the water, a tabloid photo that was taken somewhere on a European beach, his rippled chest and stomach glistening with a sheen of sea water.

  How can a man be that gorgeous? I lived on the outskirts of Nashville my whole life. I’d seen tons of celebrities in person, and none of them had ever looked like that. I shifted uncomfortably, my mouth suddenly dry. “Could I-could I please get that water now?” I squeaked the question out.

  Tasha threw her head back and laughed. “Sure thing,” she typed, presumably a message to Dara. “I don’t know about you, girl, but a man this fine is enough to lubricate my lingerie any day!” She laughed again, and I snickered at the evocative turn of phrase. “If this,” she pointed to the washboard abs in the photo with her pen, “doesn’t make you hot, then men might not be for you. Know what I’m sayin’?” Dara appeared a moment later and silently handed me the glass of water. I took a big gulp, nodding my head in agreement. “So that look on your face right now?” Tasha continued, “That look like you’ve been on a no-carb diet for a month, and someone just set the most luscious piece of chocolate fudge cake in front of you? The network wants to see you looking like that at each other. You can keep your sweet, girl-next-door smile, but if you could throw in a sultry grin here and there, maybe a playful little pout, or graze his shoulders with the tips of your fingers when you step around him in kitchen…that’s what I mean by chemistry. Do you think that will be a problem on your side of the equation?”

  “I – I don’t think so,” I replied, “I may need to practice some of those looks, so they’re more comfortable. Making sexy faces feels a little silly if I’m honest.” I smirked a little at the thought of me trying to be sexy. “Well, if you aren’t comfortable…I know Jackie Maloney would jump at the chance to screen test with Lucas…” Tasha was goading me, and I knew it. Jackie wasn’t exactly a rival – we always got along. I didn’t care for her over-the-top sexy persona, though. She always wore too much makeup and showed too much cleavage. On her show, Slow Drip, Jackie focused on coffee culture, and always said “oh my gawwwd,” after every sip or bite as if the very act of consuming food or beverages gave her an orgasm. It was all a bit much in my opinion. Tasha pulled up a photo of me next to the one of Lucas, then added a photo of Jackie. “Hmm…not my first choice, but she’d jump at the chance if you’d like me to call her.” I furrowed my brow, crinkling my nose a little and stuck out my bottom lip, an expression of disappointment I didn’t even know I’d made until Tasha pointed it out. “THAT!” Tasha said, quickly grabbing her phone and snapping a photo, turning it for me to see, “That pout right there. Maybe lose the forehead wrinkle though.” She snickered. “Girl, please! You know I’m not gonna send Jackie’s overexposed ass. I want you for this. So whadya say?”

  “I say, when and where do you want me for the screen test?” I smiled.

  “I've got you scheduled in LA next week. First, though, I booked you a spa day on Friday at La Visage to update your look. I’ll send you all the deets.”

  “How long will I be gone filming? That’s if I get it, I mean,” I said.

  “If everything works out, you'll be filming on location for about three to four months. All goes well…there could be a book and even a second season. There could be a lot of money in it, and some great exposure," Tasha replied.

  “When you say a lot of money…,” I tilted my head slightly, raising an eyebrow at my agent.

  "Lord, pity the fool that underestimates you, Georgia Graham!” Tasha laughed. “I knew you’d ask! You'll get $15k per episode - that's $225k for a 15-episode arc. There'll be residuals, of course, and if there ends up being a book deal and tour, that could be lucrative, too. The more positive press you generate during filming, the higher the bonus...of course, I get my standard rates." Tasha winked at me. “Now Lucas commands a higher rate, but he…,” she started to defend his salary.

  “He is none of my concern as far as that goes,” I cut her off. “He’s a star. I get that I don’t warrant those kinds of rates,” I said, then added, “Not yet, anyway.” I sat back casually in my chair, but inside, my stomach was doing flips. The pay was four times what I had made in my first season with the network, and it was money I desperately needed.

  “I’m glad you’re on board, Georgia,” Tasha said. She walked around the desk and hugged me goodbye. As I turned to walk away, I saw Tasha grab her phone and hastily send a text, smirking.

  Outside the office, I climbed into my 1998 Chevy pickup and headed back home. I couldn't wait to tell my Dad about the opportunity. He wouldn't love his baby girl being away from home for so long, but the money would sure help. The last few years had been rough on us. Our mother’s sudden illness and quick decline had taken its toll on our father. After she was gone, though, it felt as though the entire homestead, from the land to the old house, was determined to follow her to the grave.

  “Soil’s gone still,” my father had said after the third low-yield season. A man came out from the University of Tennessee’s agriculture department to survey the situation. He was a professor. One of the guys my sister Celia had gone to school with, Mike, was in his class, and he had apprised the man of the situation on our farm. The professor was interested because of the history of the place. A Graham had farmed that piece of land for over two hundred years, ever since Owen Graham had received the property as part of a Revolutionary War grant. The professor came out with an SUV full of equipment for testing irrigation and the levels of different chemicals in the soil. Daddy rotated the crops, putting different plants in different tracts each year, a trick passed down from our great-great-grandfather. When the professor had finished all his testing, he gave Daddy a 206-page report, bound with a navy-blue cover, that told him all about the soil erosion, and levels of potassium and alkaline in each tract. The end result was the same. At the end of the conversation, Daddy said simply, “Like I said, son – soil’s gone still. Thanks for coming out.”

  The Graham farm was more than an agricultural legacy, though. All the Grahams going back to the seventeen-eighties were buried in the family cemetery at the end of the harvest road, including our mother. Daddy couldn’t make much of anything grow there anymore, and the government subsidies were running out faster than the tax liens were piling up. Developers stopped by every month to leave him their business cards, interested in putting up subdivisions and shopping centers. If one of us didn’t come up with a plan – and some cash – sooner rather than later, he would have no choice but to start parceling out our birthright.

  My hands gripped the faded steering wheel tightly as I drove home. Pulling into the gravel parking area beside the back door to the kitchen, Rome’s car was there, but Daddy’s truck was not. The screen door screeched and clanged against the frame as I walked through it. “Hey Ro,” I said, squeezing my brother’s neck in the crook of my arm in a move that was part
affectionate, part headlock. He was sitting at the kitchen table working on his laptop. “How was class?”

  “Good, I guess. I still don’t understand why I have to take Survey of American Literature for a music degree, but I don’t have much choice, do I? What about you? Was it a meetin’ with your agent you went to?” He stood up and poured himself a glass of tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator. Without having to look, he put his glass down on the counter and reached behind him for the empty one I was already handing him. He filled it and gave it back to me.

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning against the counter. As I spoke, I texted Daddy.

  ME: in the kitchen – come back to the house – have good news

  “Well, Geo, you gonna tell me what that was about, or are we playin’ twenty questions?” Rome leaned against the counter next to me, crossing his feet just as I did. Geo, pronounced like Joe, was the nickname that only he called me. In turn, I called him Ro. We’d done it since we could first talk. Like mirroring, it was one of the things peculiar to our twin bond. Although he had a good foot on me in height, and his blonde hair was a shade or two darker than mine, everything else about us matched. His hair was curly, just like mine, and he had the same scattering of freckles across his turned-up nose. His apple cheeks made his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughed, just like mine did. I loved being a twin and loved Ro with my whole heart. I was closer with him than I was with our sister Celia, and I knew that above everyone else, that no matter what, Ro would always have my back.