by Jackie Braun
She smiled and relaxed a little, until she saw what he was wearing.
She’d gone with black dress pants and a block-print silk top. The wedge heels weren’t high, but they added a couple of inches to her height and kept the hem of her pant legs from dragging on the ground.
Finn was dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, whose cuffs had been rolled to the middle of his forearms. He looked gorgeous, but the Chesterfield required formal attire. No jacket, no tie...no service. And no exceptions. Her father had once refused admittance to a Grammy-winning artist who’d shown up in his signature black cowboy hat and embellished Western shirt.
“Forget something?” she asked.
He frowned a moment before the realization dawned. Then he uttered a mild oath.
“We can do this another time,” Lara said, feeling the noose around her neck go slack.
But Finn shook his head. “I need a new sports coat and tie anyway. Come on.”
He grabbed her hand. They cut across Forty-Fourth Street to Fifth Avenue and then headed several blocks to Saks.
“I can’t believe we’re going clothes shopping now.”
He held open the door. “Uh, let me set the record straight. Women go shopping for clothes. Men go and buy them. Totally different process.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’ll show you.”
He led the way to the men’s department. Within five minutes of reaching his destination, he had picked out a tie and, after finding his size, was pulling on a jacket. Once it was on, he put out his arms to test the give across the back, and then dropped them to his sides so he could take note of where the cuffs hit just below his wrists.
“This works without having to be altered. Let’s go.”
Lara blinked. “You don’t want to look around some more, maybe try on a couple other things just to be sure?”
“No. See, that’s the difference between men and women. Women go to a store to shop and men go to buy.”
He smiled after offering his explanation. Lara wanted to disagree with him, but she couldn’t. He had a point.
Twenty minutes later, they were back at the Chesterfield, being shown to their table by a woman Lara didn’t recognize. She was glad for that, since it meant the woman likely didn’t recognize her either. Soon enough, her father would find out she was here, trespassing. She just hoped that the scene to follow—and she did not doubt there would be a scene—would be less humiliating than the one in the network’s kitchen.
They were seated at a two-top that might have been intimate were it not in the middle of the dining room. Of course, at this time of day, only a smattering of tables was filled anyway. The hostess handed them a pair of leather-bound menus before heading off.
Lara opened her menu, holding it up high enough to obscure her from the view of the kitchen. She had little doubt her father was in there, preparing for the dinner rush.
“The specials sound good, especially the grilled sea bass,” Finn remarked.
She read over the description. “My father is a big fan of grilling, especially when it comes to fish. Something to keep in mind in the competition.”
“Duly noted,” Finn said. Then his gaze was drawn to a point behind Lara.
“My father?” she asked before Finn could say anything.
He nodded. “And he doesn’t look happy.”
The surprise would be if he had. Lara set down her menu and, though she knew it would look as forced as it felt, she smiled. Turning in her seat, she met her fate head-on.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What are you doing here?” Clifton’s voice was unnaturally low, and a vein throbbed at his temple.
“Having an early dinner. I was thinking the sea bass. It sounds excellent. I was just telling Finn that grilling is one of the Chesterfield’s specialties.”
“You’re not welcome here,” he told her between gritted teeth.
“I know that.”
“Then why are you here?” he demanded again. This time his voice rose enough that the patrons seated at a table nearby glanced their way.
“It’s my doing, sir.” Finn rose to his feet. “I asked Lara to come with me.”
“You...look familiar.”
“Finn Westbrook.” He held out a hand, which her father pointedly ignored. “I’m one of the chefs competing for the chance to run your kitchen.”
That received a snort. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve showing up here with her.”
Finn lowered his hand, but he didn’t back down. In fact, he took a slight step forward. Her father outweighed him by a good fifty pounds, but Finn was at least a couple of inches taller.
“Why?” he asked baldly, although the friendly smile that accompanied his words kept them from being too menacing. “I admire your restaurant and I respect you enough as a chef to want to run the Chesterfield’s kitchen. So, naturally, I want to eat here and see how my cooking style will meld.”
“She is not welcome here, and neither are you if you’re with her.”
“She is your daughter.”
“I don’t have a daughter.” After that pronouncement, he rubbed his chest.
Lara was on her feet in an instant, her own heart thumping as she worried over his. “Dad, are you okay?”
He shrugged off the hand she’d placed on his arm. “I’m fine. Or I will be once you’re gone.”
If he’d inserted a knife between her shoulder blades and given it a few ruthless twists, it would have been less painful. Still, her reception here was no less than she’d expected.
“I’m going.” She hesitated only a moment before telling him, “I know I’ve said I’m sorry, but there’s something else I want you to know. I love you, Dad.”
* * *
Finn watched Lara walk away. Her head was up, her shoulders squared. He wasn’t fooled in the least. She was gutted. And he was just plain pissed.
He turned to Clifton. “She does, you know. What does she have to do to prove herself worthy of your love?”
“Stay out of it,” the older man warned gruffly, but he looked as if he’d been sucker punched.
Finn ignored Clifton’s order and went on. “She’s made mistakes. Some pretty big ones, from what she’s told me. But I don’t think she’s the only one who put strain on your relationship.”
“You know nothing of our relationship!”
“I know your daughter wishes that you had one,” he shot back. “I know she’s been reaching out to you, trying to patch things up. I also know that the two of you have a lot in common.”
That earned a scoffing noise.
“Lara loves cooking as much as you do, Mr. Chesterfield. And she’s damned good at it.”
“She styles food.” Clifton’s tone was condescending.
Finn’s hands balled into fists at his sides, but he went on. “Your daughter’s skill and passion for cooking, both of those come from you. If you gave her half a chance, you’d see that.”
Clifton tilted his head to one side and regarded Finn. “You seem to care a great deal about Lara.”
“I do.”
“Yet you’re after the job she wants. How does that sit with you?”
“I...”
“Are you glad she’s no longer in the competition?”
Because he wasn’t sure how to answer that, Finn replied, “I care a great deal about Lara. I want her to be happy. All I’m saying is I think you should give her a second chance.”
FOURTEEN
Cool to room temperature
Lara leaned against the mailbox near the street and watched the traffic on Fifth Avenue while she waited for Finn to join her.
When she’d left the restaurant, she’d assumed he was right behind her. But sever
al minutes passed before the door pushed open and he came out. She was grateful for the time to pull herself together. She had her emotions under control. Finn, meanwhile, looked as if he’d taken a surprise punch to the gut.
“Are you okay?” she asked, giving his arm a squeeze.
“That’s supposed to be my line,” he replied ruefully and pulled her close for a brief hug. “God, Lara, I’m sorry for bringing you here. Obviously, that didn’t go as I’d hoped. I guess I thought...”
He shrugged and left the words unsaid.
“You thought you could reason with my father the way you might reason with your own.”
“Yeah.” He frowned. “I guess I did.”
But their families and the dynamics at work within them were totally different. Lara accepted that. Maybe it also was time to accept that she could do nothing to change her father’s mind about her or to mend their rift. In fact, the more she tried, the wider it seemed to become.
* * *
They grabbed a bite to eat at a deli a few blocks away. They were overdressed for the casual atmosphere and Lara didn’t have much of an appetite. She picked at her turkey Reuben, but most of it wound up going into the trash.
Still, Lara used the time to give Finn a few pointers about her father’s preferences and peculiarities when it came to his restaurant. Even though Clifton wouldn’t be judging the contestants’ food, later in the competition he would be present and have some input.
After today’s debacle, she worried that Finn had dug himself into a hole that even his stellar culinary skills could not dig him out of.
It was nearly six when she headed home. Finn insisted on accompanying her to her building. The gesture was sweet, if unnecessary, especially since he wouldn’t be staying. He had a lot on his mind and an early morning looming.
“Tomorrow’s a big day for you,” she told him as they stood outside her apartment door.
“Yeah.”
“Call me when you leave the studio?”
“As soon as I clear the lobby,” he promised.
“Good luck.” She leaned in and kissed him, drawing back slowly afterward.
As tempting as it was to ask him to stay, she managed to unlock the door and tell him goodbye.
* * *
It was barely eight o’clock, but Finn had been up since well before dawn and at the studio since just before seven o’clock. In the greenroom, a large urn of coffee and a tray of pastries had been set out on a sideboard. Finn had forgone the sweets and limited himself to two cups of the coffee. He figured he would need steely nerves and steady hands for the competition.
He worked well under pressure. At least he liked to think he did. But there was no denying that his palms were damp and his heart was kicking out a few extra beats as he waited with the other chefs for the competition to start.
Adding to his nerves was the fact that he’d called Lara twice—once the previous night just before going to bed and again on his way to the studio that morning. Both times her cell phone had rung several times before going to voice mail.
Was she okay?
She’d been pretty distraught after the incident with her father, but she’d rallied afterward and had seemed fine when he’d left her at her apartment. Had something happened?
As Finn stewed over that, he listened with half an ear to the gossip in the greenroom over what the show’s new format would be now that they were one contestant short. No one seemed to know, but speculation was rampant that a new development had cropped up since they had been left cooling their heels for another hour.
“Something’s going on,” he overheard Angel tell Ryder.
The big man grunted. To no one in particular he said, “Let’s get this over with already.”
Finn was in agreement. He was in his element in a kitchen. Standing here, waiting, he felt frustrated.
The door opened. He expected to see Tristan or one of the interns who’d stopped in twice already to check on the coffee. To his absolute shock, Lara walked into the greenroom. She was dressed casually in cotton pants, flat shoes and a pale blue tunic. She’d pulled her hair back into a no-nonsense ponytail. A slight sheen of gloss drew his gaze briefly to the mouth that knew how to drive him insane.
“What’s she doing here?” Ryder’s voice rose over the murmurings of the other contestants.
The question was on the tip of Finn’s tongue, too. Their gazes met and he noticed the shadows under her eyes.
Had she come down to wish him luck again? That seemed doubtful, given her expression, which was tentative...guilty?
“Lara?” Her name finally made it past his lips. But the growing tension in the room turned it into a question.
Before she could say anything, Tristan strode in and stood next to her. He tucked his clipboard under one arm and clapped his hands together in his signature gesture.
“Chefs, chefs, your attention, please,” he called out as if every eye in the place wasn’t already trained on him. “Several of you have asked me this morning what the network decided to do about Lara’s position in the competition. To fill or not to fill,” he added dramatically and then paused for effect. “The network has decided to leave that up to you.”
“To us?” someone said.
“What do you mean?” another person asked.
“Does this mean you won’t be bringing back a chef from one of the preliminary rounds?” yet another wanted to know.
Finn listened absently to the chatter going on around him as he absorbed the news, still uncertain what to make of Lara’s presence.
“Quiet, please. And I’ll explain,” Tristan was saying. “First of all, no, none of the previously eliminated chefs will be rejoining us. Instead, we’ve decided it will be up to the eleven of you to decide if Lara stays in the competition.”
The room erupted into chaos then.
“You postponed the show for two weeks and that’s what you’ve come up with?” Ryder demanded.
“That’s not fair!” another chef exclaimed.
“Why bother with a competition at all?” Angel wanted to know.
“Yeah. Why doesn’t Daddy just hand over the keys to his kitchen now and be done with it?” Ryder made a scoffing sound before adding, “We all know that’s what’s going to happen in the end.”
Based on what Finn had witnessed at the Chesterfield the previous afternoon, he doubted that would be the case, but something still seemed off. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it might be.
“I can assure you, the fix is not in. Lara will compete for the position the same as all of you. For that matter, the same as she had been doing all along. If she wins—”
“When, you mean,” Angel snapped.
Tristan’s tone held firm. “If she wins, it will be because she has proved herself to the judges, and her father is not a judge.”
“As if he has no pull,” someone muttered.
“You said we get to decide,” Finn said quietly.
Lara glanced at him briefly. From her expression, he couldn’t figure out what she was thinking. But again he got the impression she felt guilty.
“That’s right,” Tristan said. “The network decided to let the eleven of you vote on the matter.”
Finn glanced around the room. He had a pretty good idea where Angel, Ryder and a couple of other chefs stood based on the comments that had been made. That put the tally at four who wanted her gone for sure. As for the rest, it was a tougher call.
“The network is aware of your concerns about fairness. That’s why, if you decide to allow Lara to compete, the rules will be tweaked to accommodate her presence and quell any doubts about favoritism.”
“Tweaked how?” Angel asked.
“The judging will be blind. The panel will not know which chef prepared which dish.”
“Right,” Ryder muttered. “Enough talk. Let’s vote.”
“Before you do that, Lara wanted to say a few words.”
Tristan stepped aside, granting her the floor. Her nerves were palpable as she cleared her throat and wrung her hands.
“First of all, I want to apologize for entering this contest under an alias, and to assure all of you that no favoritism has been shown or will be shown if you decide to let me continue.”
That was met with a few derisive snorts and a smattering of thoughtful nods from the other chefs. But Lara wasn’t looking at anyone else. Her gaze was on Finn.
He recognized the apology in her expression, as well as the steely determination, when she added, “I’m asking for the opportunity to compete against you, but I’ll understand whatever you decide.”
“No! That’s my vote,” Ryder blurted out.
Tristan held up a hand. “Perhaps a secret ballot would be—”
“There’s no need to waste more time,” the big man complained. “Who’s with me? Who else wants to see this poser gone for good?”
Not surprisingly, Angel’s hand shot up, as did the hands of two other female chefs.
“I do, too,” another man said, stepping forward. He cast an apologetic glance in Lara’s direction. “Sorry, but I’ve gotten passed over for other positions because of nepotism.”
Nepotism was hardly an issue in this situation. If anything, her relationship to her father put her at a disadvantage, Finn thought. But she didn’t argue with the guy. She didn’t even blink. She accepted his opinion with an almost imperceptible nod.
“All right, that makes five. Anyone else?” Tristan asked. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“I think she should stay.” Flo Gimball rested her fists on a pair of ample hips. “Y’all are being way too hard on Lara. She earned her place here just like the rest of us. It shouldn’t matter who her daddy is.”
The young chef named Kirby echoed Flo’s sentiments. Lara gained the support of three more chefs after that, bringing the vote to five in favor. It all came down to Finn. A hush fell over the room. He felt Ryder’s animosity. It rippled from the man the way heat wafted off the asphalt in August.
