Fifteen minutes later, Ashton joined the other chefs in the kitchen. “Here you go.” Jolene put a glass filled with something thick and orange in front of her.
“Thanks,” murmured Ashton, picking up the glass. She wasn’t into breakfast foods, and smoothies weren’t really her thing, either. She took a hesitant sip. Bold, wonderful flavors burst in her mouth. She tasted mango, banana, and something fresh she couldn’t put her finger on. She looked up at Jolene. “Mint?”
Jolene’s lip tilted slyly. “Secret recipe.”
“Did everyone sleep well before the big show?” Duffy asked.
“How about not sleeping at all?” Elena said quietly from the corner of the counter.
“That explains the bags under your eyes,” Morgan said. “You may want to do something about that. After all, the competition is about more than experience. You have to look good on camera, too.”
“You could sleep for a year and not lose those lines from scowling all the time,” Duffy shot back at Morgan.
Her scowl seemed to grow fangs as she turned on Duffy. “Aren’t you late for filming your segment on QVC?”
Duffy was wearing a lot of jewelry to spend the day cooking. He’d added a few more gold chains from the day before, plus large diamond earrings in both ears, but Ashton thought the look worked for him.
She tensed, waiting for a fight to erupt. Duffy just smirked and showed off his gold tooth. “Jealous that I look so good?”
Morgan threw down her fork, which clattered against the plate, and stalked out of the room.
“Hey, we’re not your maid service,” Lance called after her.
“And to think I was worried I’d be cast as the bitch,” Ashton muttered. When everyone looked at her, she flushed. “You haven’t seen the audition tape yet.”
Just then, a knock sounded, and the front door swung open. The woman who’d cast Ashton on the show charged through the living room, followed by three men. “Hi, everyone,” she called. “Can you come in the living room, please?”
She waited until the chefs gathered around her. “I’m Sally Germaine,” she said, “the producer slash director slash babysitter of The Next Celebrity Chef. These men are your film crew. Clint is your cameraman, Ed is lights, and Billy is sound. Get used to them. They’ll be following you around for as long as you’re here.”
Ashton shuddered. Sure, she’d known she would be filmed, but knowing and seeing the camera in her face were two different things. The fact that the camera would come with lights and sound and a little woman with a very loud voice was something she hadn’t considered. If her stomach had been churning before, it was doing repetitive somersaults now.
Sally sped through the morning’s schedule, as if she couldn’t waste even a second to breathe. “When we get to the set, we’ll be doing some on-camera interviews. After that, you’ll be meeting our judges.”
Ashton’s head whipped up at Sally’s last statement. Ty would be on set today. Her pulse jumped a few beats and she immediately berated herself. Why should she care? His only importance was how he liked her food, and nothing else mattered. Certainly not the way he’d filled out those jeans the day before, or the way he lingered on her name with his Southern twang—Aash-ton.
“A few things to remember before we leave,” Sally said, her clipboard still gripped in her hands. “First, don’t look at the camera. We’ll be talking to all of you in interviews throughout the filming, so you don’t need to give the camera your opinions. I don’t want to see you rolling your eyes at the camera, gesturing to it, shaking your head, anything. Second, don’t talk to Clint, Ed, Billy, or me while the camera is rolling. We aren’t here. However, if we talk to you, do whatever we say, no questions asked. Got it?”
Ashton and the others nodded.
“Okay, let’s get rolling.”
When Ashton would have stepped toward the door, Sally put up a hand. “Let the camera crew go first.”
Clint and the others rushed outside. After a few minutes, Sally told them they could go.
Ashton positioned herself in the middle of the herd. She didn’t want the camera to catch her first, nor did she want it to linger on her in the end. Since she was half the size of Anthony, she used his body to shield hers. Still, she was all too aware of Clint following her movements.
Don’t pay attention to the camera? Yeah, right. She had never been so aware of her walk in her life. The way her hips swayed and her arms swung. Whether she stood straight or hunched. She couldn’t help a few fleeting looks at the camera. When they finally reached the black vans, a rush of air broke free from her throat. Before she even had time to take a swift gulp of oxygen, she was pushed into the second van with Anthony and Elena.
“That was awful,” Elena said, visibly shaking.
“I know. But we’ll get used to it,” Ashton encouraged.
“I don’t know why I did this,” she moaned. “I hate being in the spotlight. But the prize this year was too good to pass up. And honestly, I never thought I’d actually get picked.”
“What do you mean?” Ashton remembered the previous seasons’ winners got a cookbook deal, $25,000, and a one-hour special on Food Fanatics TV. The prize details had probably been in her contract, but she’d been afraid to read the fine print. She hadn’t wanted an excuse to back out.
“You didn’t hear?” Anthony chimed in. “They got a new sponsor this year and raised the prize money to a hundred thousand dollars.”
Ashton’s mouth fell open. One hundred thousand dollars could save her restaurant. With that kind of money, they could hire a professional PR team to make sure Sweet Home was on the must-see list of every Chicagoan and tourist.
This changed everything.
Jenna and Chloe had sent her thinking any publicity would help, even if she didn’t win. Winning had been a matter of her own pride. But now an obscene amount of money was involved. Now, she had to win.
Since the studio was so close, the ride was only a few minutes. The car pulled to the curb and they exited.
“The camera crew will go in first,” Sally said, standing in front of the building door. “We want to get your reactions to the kitchen. Be as expressive as possible. Faces of astonishment, gasping, laughing are all good things.”
Exactly what she had done yesterday. Now Ashton would have to fake it. Great. Ask her last boyfriend how good she was at faking.
Sally put a finger to her ear, and Ashton realized she must have some sort of electronic microphone in the cavity. “Right. We’re ready.” Sally looked over the crowd. “Let’s move, people.”
The line inside mimicked the way they left the house. Jolene, Duffy, and Lance up front; Ashton, Anthony, and Elena in the middle; and Jin and Morgan in the rear.
Just before they reached the doorway into the set, Ashton took a deep breath and forced a wide smile onto her face. As she entered the kitchen, she gasped loudly and giggled.
“Cut!” Sally shouted. “Let’s try it again, this time without overacting.”
Again? Fake shock and amazement again?
After two more takes, Sally was finally satisfied, and she let them get their caffeine fix from the catering cart.
“Is it always like this?” Ashton asked Jolene.
Jolene nodded. “Unfortunately. Just stay hydrated and eat some good protein.” She eyed Ashton’s coffee. “You should really drink water instead. That’ll make you crash later.”
Sure, but right now she needed the caffeine boast. Yawning every ten seconds probably wouldn’t look great on camera.
“Everyone gather around!” Sally shouted as she banged her hand on her ever-present clipboard. For someone so tiny, she had a voice that carried.
“We’re going to start by filming each of you individually. This is the first time viewers will see you interviewed, so think about what you want to say about your food style. Remember, you’re trying to create a brand. Got it?”
“Yes,” came eight mumbles.
“Great.” Sally looked
at her clipboard. “Jolene, you’re up first. We’ll call the next person when we’re ready.”
Jolene was whisked off to a side room while the others gathered around the tables and wandered through the kitchen.
After downing two more cups of coffee and an absurdly good piece of coffee cake, Ashton was still waiting. She decided to call the restaurant to check in.
“Sweet Home, how may I help you?”
“Hey, Jenna.”
“Ashton! How’s it going?”
“Boring. Mind-numbingly boring.”
“Since when is cooking ‘boring’?”
“Cooking isn’t boring,” Ashton said. “Sitting around for hours doing absolutely nothing is boring. You have no clue how much time is being wasted.”
“Sure I do,” Jenna argued. “It’s the same whether it’s film or photography.” Jenna had made a small fortune modeling as a teen; she’d invested nearly every penny in the restaurant. “Think of it this way. You can use the time to figure out how to best utilize your stardom.”
“Did you know they’d raised the prize money to a hundred grand this year?”
Jenna gasped, and Ashton was pretty sure she heard an expletive, too. “Do you know what we could do with that kind of money?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
There was a pause. “No pressure, of course.”
Sure, and anchovies swam upstream.
“Is everything going okay?” Ashton hated being away from the restaurant. She demanded perfection in the kitchen, but how could she guarantee it if she wasn’t there to oversee?
“Everything’s fine,” Jenna answered after a pause that was way too long for Ashton’s comfort.
“Jen?”
Jenna sighed into the phone. “We got a shutoff notice from People’s Energy.”
Ashton’s kneecaps thrummed, and she grabbed the wall for support.
“I called them,” Jenna hurried. “We worked out a payment plan, but…if things don’t pick up, we’re going to have a hard time covering the utilities next month.”
Ashton managed to talk over the lump in her throat. “Good thing we have a fireplace. We may have to start cooking over an open pit.”
Jenna laughed, but it was brittle and forced. She paused. “I didn’t mean to say anything. I don’t want to put more pressure on you.”
“It’s okay,” Ashton said. “I needed to know.”
There was another pause on Jenna’s end. Then, “Your mom called yesterday, looking for you. You didn’t tell your parents what was going on?”
That was the last thing she needed. “Why? So my dad can tell me not to embarrass him, like my first day of culinary school? I’m sure they’ll hear about it eventually.”
“You have to call them, Ash. Doesn’t the show do a home visit in one of the episodes?”
It did, and Ashton had been trying to mentally block it out. Otherwise, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t subconsciously bomb her dish to avoid it.
She could just picture the home visit show. Charles Grey, food-critic extraordinaire, telling her on national television that she didn’t know how to properly make an aioli, with Ty Cates looking on. She swallowed back a gag.
“If I make it through a few shows, I promise to tell them. No need to embarrass myself if I get eliminated right off.”
“You won’t,” Jenna predicted.
“Ashton Grey, you’re next.”
Ashton turned and saw Sally waving frantically at her, exasperation on her face. “I’ve got to go, Jen. Say hi to Chloe for me, and I’ll call you in a few days with an update.”
Ashton closed her phone and followed Sally into a small room. A camera was set on a stand, with Clint behind it. Sally pointed to a chair in front of a gray backdrop, and Ashton took a seat.
“Okay, Ashton,” Sally started. “We’re just going to ask you a few questions about yourself, give the audience a chance to get to know you. Remember, it’s the audience who ultimately votes on the winner. Look at the camera, speak clearly and slowly, and try not to fidget. Got it?”
As soon as her head stopped spinning, Ashton managed a nod.
“Let’s start by saying your name, where you’re from, and what you do.”
Ashton barely heard her over the pounding in her heart. She took a deep breath as Clint counted down. “I’m Ashton Grey, the executive chef and owner of Sweet Home in Chicago.”
“Once more,” Sally said. “And this time, speak up, dear.”
She was really starting to dislike Sally Germaine. But the faster she complied with Commandant Producer, the faster she could get to the part of the show she was comfortable with—cooking. She repeated her credentials, following Sally’s instructions.
“In one sentence—what is your culinary style?”
This was an easy one. “I bring comfort food to a new level.”
“So, what do you think of your competition?”
From past seasons, Ashton knew how catty some of the contestants could be. They would bad-mouth the chefs and judges, usually resulting in getting sent home sooner, rather than later. She wasn’t about to play that game.
“I’ve had a chance to taste everyone’s food, and they’re all really talented. This is truly the best of the best.”
“Jolene is a former Miss Texas and has had a lot of experience on camera. Do you think she has an unfair advantage?”
“Not at all. Like I said, everyone here is equally talented.”
“As I’m sure you know, there has never been a female winner of The Next Celebrity Chef,” Sally said. “Do you think gender has anything to do with a chef’s qualifications?”
Ashton’s shoulders relaxed. This was a subject she felt very passionate about. “Cooking has nothing to do with how well you fill out a blouse. I predict this season there will be a female winner.”
Sally asked about the rest of the chefs individually, and Ashton successfully dodged her traps. Finally, she was free. She stepped out of the room and smack into a body.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and looked up. At Ty Cates.
“I…I…” she stammered.
“’Sorry’ pretty much said it all.”
He was laughing at her, clearly entertained by the way her tongue tied into knots around him. Ashton narrowed her eyes. “Fine, I’m not sorry. Technically, you ran into me. You should apologize.”
He bowed his head in fake contrition. “Ms. Grey, I’m so sorry to have walked by the door while you were walking out. It will never happen again.” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Do you forgive me?”
She shivered. Silly, but she couldn’t help it. Her body was operating separately from her brain. “This time. But you’d better not let it happen again.” God, was that even her voice? It sounded…sultry, like she was trying to seduce him.
Ty cleared his throat. “Ashton, I—”
“Everyone to the prep tables!” Sally yelled, cutting off whatever Ty was about to say.
Ashton didn’t move, just stared at Ty.
He broke eye contact first. “Good luck.”
The group gathered around the tables in the center of the kitchen. Besides Sally and Ty, she saw Andrea Cummings and an unknown man. He looked to be in his midforties, and just a little too pretty for Ashton’s taste. His brown hair was shiny and long, flowing down to his shoulders, his eyes green, and his skin the color of a perfect cappuccino.
“Let me introduce you to the judges,” Sally said. “You probably recognize Ty Cates.” She paused while a few of the chefs cheered and applauded. “As an award-winning chef, Ty is here to offer his expertise on everything from the taste of your dish to its presentation. This is Andrea Cummings, Vice President of Talent for Food Fanatics TV. She’ll be critiquing your presence in front of a camera. Finally, we have a new third judge this year—Claude Mueller, food editor from Gastronomy magazine. He’ll be evaluating how your recipes will translate into magazines and cookbooks.”
Ashton made a conscious e
ffort not to cringe. Gastronomy was the most pretentious magazine of food and food culture on the market. She should know—her dad had been a contributor many times.
“We have one more thing planned for today,” Sally continued. “A test run.”
Anticipation and dread shrouded Ashton like a blanket. She knew she was good, knew she deserved to be among the best of the best. But she couldn’t silence the nagging, little voice in her head, the one that sounded exactly like her father, who tauntingly declared her a failure.
She would not let the voice beat her. Giving a quick shake to clear her head, she forced her concentration back to Sally.
“We’re going to do a challenge right now. This will not be on the air, nor will the results count for or against you. This is just a chance for you to get used to cooking with cameras rolling and the clock ticking. It will also give you a chance to get used to having your food critiqued to your face. Our judges will be watching from another room to see how you handle being filmed.” Sally tilted her head. “Ty?”
He stepped forward. “Hi, everyone. We’re going to run this challenge just like the ones on the show. I’ll give you the details and the time limit. If you do not have a plate ready, you will automatically lose.” His fierce gaze passed over each of them. “So, whatever you do, have a plate on that table.”
Ashton looked down and realized her hands had started to shake. She moved them behind her back and stood taller.
“Today’s workers are busier than ever,” Ty continued. “The average American spends less than a half hour eating lunch. Your challenge is to design a lunch item for busy people on the go. You have thirty minutes starting…now!”
Ashton made a beeline for the refrigerator, her mind racing along with her feet. The first thing that came to mind when she thought of a fast lunch was a sandwich. She decided to go with her instincts.
In the refrigerator, she saw a bevy of food that interested her. She grabbed chicken, celery, grapes, capers, and the mayonnaise. In the pantry, she found different condiments and seasonings, and a beautiful loaf of fresh ciabatta bread.
Some Like It Spicy Page 4
