Waving his clipboard at her, he said, “Hey, if I’d known we were going to get this kind of drama on a daily basis, I’d have pushed for more cameras.” Eva felt a burst of frustration that threatened to bloom into a full-on rage. It was as if the entire universe were conspiring to make this the crappiest day possible. “Look, Mr. Cheney,” she gritted out, her jaw so tight it hurt. “I told those visionless pricks at the Cooking Channel months ago that this competition had the potential to be their hottest new show, or at least a special-event program that could pull in millions of viewers.” “That’s right,” Cheney nodded. “And they sent me to check it out, get some B reel, and assess whether there’s enough here to bother bringing in a full crew. Which is expensive, as I think I don’t have to probably remind you.” Eva put her hands on her hips, digging her fingernails in until she could feel tiny crescent moons of pain stinging through the clingy wool of her trousers.
