The Flirtation Game: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Allie Burton

  Her hurt and anger shredded inside him, so he let her make a fool of him. Sensing her fury and agony, he wanted to explain. He couldn’t yet. He snatched the hat off his head. “Isabel.”

  “Did I mess up your TV-ready hair?” Her insincere smile flashed at the camera.

  His soul sank. The camera recorded all of this. “Turn off the camera.”

  “Oh, no.” She blazed in her fury. “You can take away my position.” She snatched the chef’s hat out of his hand and placed it on her own head. “You can’t take away my cooking excellence and my pride.”

  He raised his hands trying to soothe her. He needed her to think about her actions and words before she said something she’d regret. “I’m not trying to take anything away.”

  “I challenge you,” her voice rang out loud and clear. “I challenge you to a cook-off. Filmed by the cameras, and broadcast live.”

  * * *

  The words Isabel had shouted an hour ago echoed in her head and throbbed in her ribcage. She’d challenged a famous chef to a cook-off on live television. She bonked her head with her flour-covered hand, sending white powder into the air.

  What was I thinking?

  She used her frustration to pound the pastry to the right thickness and consistency. The nerve of the man, thinking he could bestow the position on her, a position that should’ve been hers in the first place. She kneaded the dough harder. She wanted to show him, humiliate him, prove to him he wasn’t the best chef in town. Michael had tried to weasel out of the challenge. Jorge had thrown the terms of the contract at him. The high-and-mighty celebrity chef didn’t have a choice.

  Hah.

  She’d challenged him because she wanted to be head chef at The Heights, and she wanted everyone to know she hadn’t been given the job. That she’d earned it. That she was good enough to be head chef. She tossed the ball of dough onto the counter and smashed the heel of her hand into the gooey stickiness.

  She’d prove to Michael and the entire town she was better than him. Her job prospects would increase, and she’d have the pick of fine restaurants to cook for. Not that she wanted to leave Castle Ridge, but it was always good to have options.

  Jorge waved from the door, not wanting to be noticed by other employees. “I need to see you in Chef’s office.”

  She rolled her eyes. What now? “I’ve got work to do.” Complaining, she followed him into Michael’s office. Thankfully, he wasn’t there.

  “I reviewed the footage of you challenging Chef.” Jorge’s happy tone bounced around the inside of her head. “Brilliant!”

  She didn’t feel so brilliant. Nerves infiltrated the anger in sneaky waves of attack, puncturing her furious temper.

  “I ran the idea up to the network executives and they loved it.” He waved his hand around, as if directing. “We can use the actual challenge footage for the promo. We wanted more from you, though. Here, sign this.” He held out a pen and pointed to a contract on the desk.

  His words confused her as much as his tone. “I’m not signing anything.”

  He made jazz hands. “The cook-off is already on the schedule.”

  Horror leached into her lungs like bleach on a colorful dish towel. She staggered back and gripped the edge of the desk. What had she done?

  Either Jorge didn’t notice or didn’t care. “What we need from you is to sign this contract, and to record a short sentence with you looking into the camera and challenging Chef Michael.”

  Her knuckles turned white. This was going to be big. Way big. Bigger than she’d expected or wanted. Either she’d lose and never work in a kitchen again, or she’d win and humiliate Michael. She couldn’t decide which was worse. “No, really. I don’t think—”

  “Since Michael told you about the reality show he broke the terms of his contract.” Jorge used the indiscretion to push. “You don’t want us to sue him because he shared a secret with you?”

  All the breath left her. “No.”

  “You challenged him, and the network wants to run with it.” Jorge’s reminder made her feel even stupider. “If you don’t agree to the cook-off, the network lawyers will have to talk with Michael about breach of contract. You will be interviewed and become a witness against him.”

  She understood the threat. If she didn’t agree, Michael would be sued. She might be upset with him and have challenged him, she didn’t want him to face another lawsuit. “Fine.”

  Jorge clapped his hands together in a lightning-quick mood change. “The promo is almost ready. I want to record the direct challenge from you. If you’re not going to help, I can piece something together from the earlier footage.” He tapped his finger on his chin. “This gives you a chance to think your words through. To sound knowledgeable and intelligent.”

  What he meant was she hadn’t sounded knowledgeable or intelligent before. She wasn’t an actor or a celebrity. She was a regular person who wanted to crawl into the dough ball and cry.

  But she couldn’t and she wouldn’t.

  She wanted to beat Michael. To humiliate him. To get revenge. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Sign here.” With a smirk, he handed her a pen.

  Isabel took her time reading every line and the small print. She wasn’t going to be tricked ever again. The wording basically had her agreeing to do the cook-off challenge in front of a live audience and agreeing to the additional promotional items. Stabbing the pen into the paper, she signed.

  He pointed to the office’s hidden camera and explained what she needed to say.

  She noted how the lens glinted under the fluorescent light. She should’ve been able to spot it before now. Her face flamed, remembering the things she’d said and done in this office.

  Enough about her stupidity, she needed to pull herself together and prove to the world she could take the heat. Straightening her shoulders, she adjusted her chef’s coat and glared into the camera. She only planned to say this once. “I’m challenging the oh-so-famous Chef Michael Marstrand to a cook-off. Winner is named head chef of The Heights Restaurant.”

  She wanted the last part out there in public. Winner take all.

  “That’s a wrap.” Jorge made the cut motion against his throat, and Isabel felt the cut through her. “I’ll get Michael so he can film his part in the promo.”

  She sagged against the desk, her body exhausted from the firestorm of emotions. If she didn’t make a fool of herself on Kitchen Catastrophe, she better not make a fool of herself on the cook-off. She’d have to study and prepare and plan to win.

  To beat Michael.

  The man she loved. The man she planned to humiliate and make a fool of.

  Doubt prodded like a meat thermometer. If she lost she’d be overcooked. Her career done.

  The object of her rampant thoughts walked into the office. His broad shoulders and strong neck and chiseled chin displayed his confidence. He didn’t appear to be afraid to shoot a promo. Then again, he’d done promos millions of times. A professional chef and a professional television personality.

  She was drowning in a pot of boiling water. Hot, wet, and weak.

  He stepped to her, his sincere-concerned expression softening her more than the imagined hot water. He raised his hand to cup her cheek.

  Intimidation turned to tenderness. Instead of boiling, she started to liquefy, remembering his caresses. She jerked her head away, not willing to show how much she cared.

  “You’ve got something right here.” His finger rubbed at a spot on her cheek and the tip came away dusted in white.

  With thrills racing through her, she stared with fascination at his large hand. Heat swamped her when she realized exactly what he’d rubbed. Flour on his finger. Flour he’d wiped from her cheek. Flour she’d had on her face for the entire promo video.

  She’d filmed the promo with flour on her face. So much for proving she was a professional. So much for not appearing the simpleton.

  * * *

  “I do have flour on my face.” Isabel droppe
d her head into her hands, unable to look at the promo on the laptop computer. It had only taken a couple of days for Jorge to slap the promo together and announce to the world she’d challenged a famous chef to a cook-off on live television, and that Kitchen Catastrophe was being filmed at The Heights Restaurant in Castle Ridge. Great publicity for the Castle Ridge Lodge, not so much for her. “I look completely incompetent.”

  Jorge must’ve seen the flour and didn’t say anything. He wanted her to appear stupid in the package he put together to promote the reality show. The Cook-Off Challenge was taking place weeks before Kitchen Catastrophe to help publicize the series.

  “You look dedicated.” Danielle swiveled the computer toward her standing behind the front desk to rerun the promotional video. “And beautiful.”

  Isabel’s hair had been a messy tangle with the chef’s hat sitting lopsided on her head. She’d put on extra make-up that morning to hide her red and puffy eyes from crying, and her mascara had clogged. She looked like a clown. A joke.

  In Michael’s portion of the promo he appeared smooth and professional. He peered directly at the camera wearing a calm, competent expression as if he’d made a decision and was sticking to it. A decision to whip her butt in the challenge.

  And yet, she melted, staring into the gray orbs. Her knees weakened, and so did her resolve. She wrapped her arms around herself in a self-hug.

  “Look at this.” Her friend clicked on a link at the bottom of the page. “There’s another video linked to the promo.”

  “Another version of the promo piece?”

  “It’s a YouTube video gone viral.”

  Grainy images flashed on the screen. Moaning over the rumble of a machine. Bodies wrapped in a torrid embrace.

  All the blood drained from Isabel’s head. The room started to spin.

  The lens focused out. Two sets of washers and dryers. A woman sat on a moving dryer, her legs naked. Her upper body covered in white.

  A chef’s coat.

  Her chest clutched tight. Dread chilled her skin.

  Danielle pointed. “That’s the lodge’s laundry room.”

  If she recognized the room, others would too.

  Nausea rose in Isabel. “No.” She peered at the faces.

  Not quite clear from the angle.

  The male bent lower, moving his face under the chef’s coat.

  The shivers on her skin cascaded into heat. She remembered the move. Remembered the feeling of Michael’s tongue on her. Remembered the magical spark of pleasure.

  And now everyone else would see. And know.

  Desirous heat flashed to revulsion, setting a slow burn. A burn of embarrassment and anger and horror.

  The camera view moved up her torso to her face.

  Danielle pointed at the woman’s chin. At Isabel’s chin. “Hey, that looks like—”

  Air rushed from her lungs making her breathing shallow. Her head spun even as the face—her face—on the video focused and became clearer. She was completely exposed as she shattered from the lapping of Michael’s tongue.

  His head ducked out from beneath her chef’s coat. And there he was. Michael Marstrand, recognizable, a known face, a celebrity. Having sex with her.

  She slapped the laptop closed. “Oh my oh my oh my oh my oh my.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say because she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  Collapsing onto a chair, she sucked in air. She couldn’t face her best friend. There’d been cameras in the laundry room.

  “That’s you and Michael.” Her friend’s knowing tone made it worse.

  Anguish slashed in her heart, betrayal the knife. Everyone would know. Everyone would see. Her reputation as a chef and as a woman would be ruined.

  Michael had promised the room was clear. But he’d been present during the remodel. He’d watched them place the cameras in the kitchen. He’d been part of the secret production from the very beginning. Her pulse pounded and rage swelled.

  She could sue Michael, Jorge, and the network, get them to take the offending video down. She knew it was too late. “How many hits?”

  “What?”

  “How many hits does the video have?”

  “Over a million.”

  The knife in her heart twisted. The sex video going viral would solve Michael’s problems in Los Angeles. People would realize he wouldn’t have tried to coerce a male colleague into having sex with him. Not when he wasn’t gay, as this video proved, and not when he could get willing females to have sex in a public place and videotape it.

  She yanked out the imaginary knife in her chest and used the pain to torch her anger. Fury so bright she couldn’t see straight. She jumped to her feet. “Michael. Did. This.”

  “Isabel, think.” Danielle grabbed her wrist trying to stop her. “Michael wouldn’t—”

  “You don’t know the whole story.” Isabel had never told her friend about his problems in L.A. “This sex tape would prove a point.”

  A very large point. A point that would get his Hollywood career back on track.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Michael set the one-hundred-pound weight back on the bench rest with a clang. He’d pushed himself extra hard this workout because he needed to think, and working out always gave him a new perspective. Sitting up and grabbing a towel, he wiped sweat from his face.

  He’d made a decision. He wasn’t going to wait until he had financing for his business to tell Isabel everything. Everything about his plans for his new business, about his deal with Parker for her to get the head chef position at The Heights, and about his love.

  Michael’s heart thumped. The last item on the list was the most scary. With his new resolve of being upfront and honest, he’d rather know and be rejected, than never know how she felt.

  A long-haired blond guy dashed into the workout facility, his expression tight and his skin red. It was one of the ski patrol guys Isabel hung out with. He looked familiar in other ways, too.

  “You son of a bitch.” The guy threw a punch, smashing into his jaw.

  Pain struck. His teeth rattled. His confusion settled. This was Isabel’s younger brother, Dax. Why was he hitting him? “What the hell?”

  “How could you expose my sister?” Dax’s accusation punched again. Wearing sweats and a sweatshirt, he stood on the balls of his feet ready to do more damage.

  Feeling more ridiculous of being jealous of Isabel’s brother, Michael held up both hands. Even though he and Isabel had their problems and misunderstandings, he’d done nothing to deserve a fist to the face. “The Cooking Challenge was her idea. I tried to talk her out of it.”

  He had. He’d tried to talk Jorge and the network executives out of the idea, too. Not because he didn’t think Isabel was a good cook, but because the two of them had had enough conflict. They didn’t need a cooking challenge simmering between them. He hadn’t succeeded, and now they were both stuck.

  Dax sneered. “I’m talking about the viral video.”

  “Viral video?” Michael had seen the promotional video earlier today. Isabel had been gorgeous. “Sure, she had a little flour on her skin, still she looked magnificent.”

  “A little flour?” Isabel’s brother roared, his body lurching forward. “You call exposing your dirty sex tape with my sister magnificent?”

  He tried to wrap his head around the words. Sex tape? His earlier confusion multiplied. They’d flirted and kissed in front of the cameras. They’d never went farther.

  He grabbed Dax’s arms to stop a second punch. “What’re you raging about?”

  “You haven’t seen it? You don’t know?” The disbelief and anger in his tone sent a warning shiver down Michael’s spine.

  “I’m talking about this.” Dax shook off the hold and pulled out his cell phone. He punched a button, and held it out. “It’s gone viral. Over a million views.”

  The punch Isabel’s brother delivered minutes ago was a tap compared to the internal strike Michael experienced. The sharp pain had him
bending at the waist and sinking onto the bench. His heart battered—a punching bag striking back and forth against his sore ribs with each mental thought of anguish. He didn’t care about himself, but Isabel…

  His chest banged and exploded, imagining her suffering. She’d be devastated.

  Swiping up his sweatshirt, he pushed Dax out of the way and raced for the kitchen. Michael’s pulse throbbed, faster than when he’d been working out. He couldn’t let her deal with this alone. He wanted to hold her and comfort her and tell her everything would be okay.

  After finding out she’d called in sick, he ran to her house and rang the doorbell. On the way, he’d called Jorge and left a message, and called Vivienne. They were going to need all the help they could get.

  The black-and-white video had been copied from a recording. The network must’ve installed a camera in the laundry room, and someone had videotaped the network’s film before releasing. The network could say the video had been stolen and copies made illegally. The video couldn’t be tracked to the network.

  Fury erupted and Michael’s muscles screamed with agony. He had an idea of who was at fault. Jorge. Michael wanted to find the producer and kill him.

  He pounded on the door. “Isabel! We need to talk.”

  No answer. No noise from inside.

  He banged again. “Please, Isabel!”

  She had to be in there. His heart pounded along with his fists. Pounded an erratic beat. Pounded the loss of his plans and the loss of his love.

  She’d blame him for the video scandal. And she’d be right to do so. He’d promised there were no cameras in the laundry room. His need for her had been so urgent, he’d recklessly convinced her to make love there. He’d exposed her.

  Excruciating pain cut through his midsection. “Isabel.” He leaned against the door and thudded his head against the hard wood. He couldn’t lose her before he got the chance at a relationship. To have a real and open affair.

  To end the flirtation game and begin a romance.

  * * *