by Jackie Braun
“Like we don’t know how he’s going to vote,” Ryder muttered, resting his hand on the hilt of the fillet knife that was hooked to his belt. If this were a contest to decide who was the most intimidating chef, he would win it hands down. But it was about cooking.
“Afraid to compete against her?” Finn asked mildly.
“No way!”
“Good.” He glanced at Lara as he told Tristan, “She stays.”
* * *
Lara was relieved to be back in the competition. More than relieved—she was excited. As well as about a dozen other emotions that fizzed and popped in her mind like bubbles in a celebratory glass of champagne. It was a lot to process. For the past couple of weeks she’d been on a roller coaster, seated in the first car with a faulty safety bar as it had plunged into oblivion, only to rise and plunge again.
It had been one crazy ride...in more ways than one.
Finn.
Feelings she’d never experienced before when it came to a man bubbled up inside her and threatened to boil over. It didn’t help that when she tried to catch his eye now, he wouldn’t look at her.
While his vote had determined she would compete, it was almost as if he didn’t trust her.
There was no time now, but she wanted to explain.
Sunday, a mere hour after Finn dropped her at her door, Tristan had called to summon her to the studio for a last-minute meeting with the network brass and the lawyers. She’d assumed the worst, especially since Tristan had been so tight-lipped on the phone. Was she being sued? All he would tell Lara was that she needed to sign some official forms. She’d walked into the meeting worried about the legal ramifications of her actions and walked out with her head all but spinning.
They weren’t going to sue her. Better yet, Lara still had a shot at joining the other chefs in the studio for taping and competing on the televised program. No one would explain the network’s change of heart or why it had taken nearly two weeks to make the decision they had. Indeed, no one would give her a straight answer when she asked what her father thought of the change. Tristan just kept pointing out that nothing was a done deal. Everything hinged on what her fellow competitors decided.
That caveat had succeeded in keeping her hopes in check overnight. She knew some and possibly a majority of the other chefs had to be happy with the idea of having one less person to compete against on the show. So, she’d remained on pins and needles until the votes were cast.
She was in!
Thanks to Finn.
She should be able to breathe easier now, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how she felt about his vote being the reason she was allowed to compete, since she knew how much he wanted to win. Not just wanted, but how much he needed this victory. Nor could she be certain what his thoughts were either. His expression gave nothing away. It didn’t help that since giving her return the thumbs-up, he hadn’t said a word. Not to her, not to Tristan. Not even to Ryder, who’d been goading Finn with insults akin to the sous-chef remark he’d made the first day.
She supposed she couldn’t blame Finn for giving her the silent treatment. Technically, she’d done the same to him. He’d phoned her twice. She’d let both calls go to voice mail. And she hadn’t returned either call.
In her defense, she hadn’t known what to say and she didn’t want to lie. At the meeting, the show’s lawyers had requested that she sign a second confidentiality agreement. All of the competitors had had to sign one going in. Since the show was taped in advance, the document was to ensure they did not divulge the weekly eliminations and ultimate winner before the last episode aired.
This one, however, covered Sunday’s meeting as well as the possibility of her return. She was to tell no one, to discuss their offer with no one.
She waited until he walked over to the coffeepot in the corner of the greenroom to approach him.
“Want a cup?” he asked as he finished pouring some for himself.
“Please.” She nodded. He filled her cup and handed it to her. When he started to move away, she added meaningfully, “And thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he replied. His tone was surprisingly terse. “Five other people wanted to let you continue.”
“But you were the deciding vote,” she said quietly. “Are you having regrets?”
Finn met her gaze. His eyes were stormy gray and narrowed in irritation. “That’s not how I operate, Lara. I believe in being aboveboard.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But he ignored her and continued. “You’ll get your chance.”
“That’s all I could hope for.”
“Give it your best shot. I’m not going to have anyone claim that I won by default. And, frankly, I plan to beat you. I’m not going to hold back.”
“I expect nothing less,” she replied. She was starting to feel offended, indignant.
“Good.” He nodded. “Great. But I do have a question for you. When did all this go down? Before we...hooked up?”
Lara backed up a step, feeling almost as if Finn had slapped her.
“What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.” His shoulders lifted. “Just wondering.”
Just wondering, my ass.
She knew he had trust issues, but still.
“You think I slept with you to get your vote? What, do you think I slept with Flo and the others, too?”
“You only needed six votes. There are more than six guys here,” he pointed out with maddening nonchalance.
Anger warred with the pain his words caused. She decided she’d rather be ticked off than vulnerable. She set down the hot coffee since she was tempted to toss it in Finn’s face. The words Go to hell were on the tip of her tongue. She opted for sarcasm instead.
“Ryder apparently forgot about our bargain.”
She heard Finn’s muffled curse as she walked away.
Block it out, she commanded. Forget about Finn, their amazing two weeks together and what she’d thought might be the start of something a little longer lived.
She was here to win, and her reasons for wanting to get to the final round hadn’t changed.
FIFTEEN
Sear
Finn listened while Garrett St. John went over the rules, not only for the television audience who would be tuning in at some point, but for the contestants.
To accommodate Lara’s presence in the competition, all of the tastings would be done blind. That meant that instead of the chefs explaining their dishes to the panel of judges, Garrett would do the honors.
It was hot under the set’s lights, even though every now and then Finn caught a rush of cool air from one of the ducts overhead. He fought the urge to swipe the sleeve of his chef coat over his forehead and cast a discreet glance around at his competition. No one was smiling. Ryder’s death-row grimace wasn’t surprising. But even down-home Flo looked as if she could chew nails. They all had their game faces on today.
That included Lara, even though he could hardly bring himself to look at her. His temper had cooled enough since their exchange in the greenroom that Finn could admit accusing her of sleeping with the other male chefs on the show had been low. As for accusing her of sleeping with him to ensure his vote, he didn’t want to believe it, but doubt nagged like a bad tooth.
Finn hated that since his divorce he was so damned quick to distrust people, particularly women. And Lara was the first woman he’d allowed close. But the fact remained that he wanted to be clear on the timeline. What had Lara known and when? And why hadn’t she returned his phone calls? That in particular seemed damning.
The studio was crowded with people. Garrett was introducing the competitors now. The cameras trained on each one while a pithy biography was read. When they got to Lara, her connection to Clifton had to
be disclosed.
Finn gave the producers credit not only for covering their asses, but doing so in such a way as to court higher ratings.
After reading off Lara’s résumé, which on its own was impressive, Garrett said, “Her name may sound familiar. Lara Dunham is Clifton Chesterfield’s daughter. Some of you may think that makes her a shoo-in to win.” He waited a beat while a camera zoomed in closer and then he smiled. “Not so.
“Her own father has made it known that he does not want her working in his restaurant. In fact, their estrangement is exactly why Clifton Chesterfield agreed to let Executive Chef Challenge do his hiring this season. Here is what her father had to say in a previously taped segment after it was revealed that one of the show’s contestants was, in fact, his daughter, who had entered under an alias.”
Finn and the rest of them could hear the audio, although they couldn’t see the actual feed. As it played, a dozen cameras panned to Lara.
“Lara is a disappointment. She was given the finest education, training and culinary opportunities a chef can have and she threw them aside.”
“She works as a food stylist,” Garrett could be heard saying on the tape. “From what I’ve been told, she is rather respected in her field.”
“She can make food look appetizing. Despite all of her training, however, she is no chef, which is why I won’t hire her.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Are you are referring to the fact that she was married to Jeffrey Dunham?” Clifton thundered ominously.
Garrett was undeterred. “It had to have been a slap in the face. Your feud with Dunham was very well-known.”
There was a pause. A long one. In that gap of silence, Finn swore he could hear Lara breathing.
“Her decision to wed that...alleged food critic certainly didn’t help our relationship. It goes to show how impulsive and immature she is. Neither characteristic is what I am looking for in an executive chef.”
“In fairness, that was six years ago,” St. John said. “And the marriage didn’t last.”
“Exactly.”
“As I understand it, the two of you haven’t spoken since then.”
“That’s because I have nothing to say to her.”
“And if she wins?” Garrett asked.
“I’m not worried about that,” her father said on the tape.
“No?”
Clifton made a scoffing sound. From the corner of his eye, Finn saw Lara flinch.
“Lara won’t win. Ultimately, she doesn’t have what it takes to be a great chef. And only a great chef will run my kitchen.”
Lara’s face was nearly as pale as her white coat by the time the interview ended. While it had played, Garrett, followed by several more cameramen, had made their way over to her workstation.
“Those are some harsh words that your father had for you, Chef Dunham,” the host said.
“He’s entitled to his opinion,” she replied stoically.
Apparently, her response—or lack of one—wasn’t what the show’s producers were after, so St. John tried again.
“Still, it must be extremely difficult to hear him say that you don’t have what it takes to win.”
Sympathy infused Garrett’s tone, but the emotion was manufactured, as proved by the fact that he asked for a second and then a third take before he felt he had conveyed the appropriate amount.
“He’s wrong,” Lara finally got to respond.
“Let’s get on with it already.” Ryder’s complaint carried from the other side of the set.
Finn and the others were in complete agreement. Garrett and the people associated with the show were lapping up the added drama, but the chefs just wanted to cook.
Lara included.
Her nerves were palpable when they finally got under way. She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Under the set’s hot lights, perspiration dotted her brow. She glanced over at Finn. It was on the tip of his tongue to assure her she would do well. He didn’t. He couldn’t.
“Chefs,” St. John began. With a dramatic sweep of his hand, he indicated the table before him. “These are the cards you have been dealt.”
And so it began.
* * *
Lara’s heart was beating fast and loud, pounding in her ears and making it difficult to hear. She glanced at Finn. He stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, his hands on his hips. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched. He looked more like he was gearing up for hand-to-hand combat than food preparation. She felt the same way.
Especially now.
She had two goals today. One was to stay in the competition. She already knew what it felt like to have to leave. She didn’t plan to exit early again. Her second goal was more personal than professional. She planned to make sure her food earned higher marks than Finn’s.
She was so angry with him, so...hurt. And, dammit, that just wouldn’t do. So, she channeled her irritation into determination as she eyed the three oversize rectangles on the tabletop.
Garrett was saying, “The cards have been dealt, chefs. The first card will be for the amount of time you have to prepare your dish.” He turned it over with a flourish. “Twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes!
She heard Finn suck in a breath. Across the kitchen studio, Ryder let loose an oath that would have to be edited out later. Dear God, Lara hoped that the second card, which would tell them the kind of dish they needed to prepare, would not be an entrée. Working up a main course with any depth of flavor would be damned hard in so short a time.
“And now for the second card.”
She nearly sagged with relief when the card read Appetizer. Given the vast assortment of ingredients in the fridge and pantry, she could pull off a tasty and creative hors d’oeuvre in twenty minutes. Finn could, too. Asparagus spears wrapped in prosciutto and phyllo dough sprang to mind. Had it really been just over a week ago since the two of them sat in his cousin’s pub and enjoyed drinks and finger food while attraction sizzled and the promise of a relationship had simmered? She glanced over and their gazes met.
She recognized distrust when she saw it. Still, seeing it reflected in Finn’s eyes—the same eyes that, less than twenty-four hours earlier, had regarded her with affection that had the potential to become so much more... Well, it cut to the bone.
Garrett’s voice tugged her back to the present when he revealed the third card.
“And your celebrity judge for this round, chefs, is Robin Falconi. Ms. Falconi is the executive chef at Mateo’s in La Jolla, California. She is the author of three cookbooks on Southwestern cuisine.”
“Southwestern cuisine,” Lara repeated half under her breath.
The smart thing would be to steer clear of that type of fare. Unfortunately, playing it safe in this competition held its own set of perils.
“Not your forte?” Finn asked. His voice was barely above a whisper. Even so, it held the edge of challenge.
She shook her head before she could think better of it. Revealing a weakness was never a good idea, especially to an opponent who’d already managed to deal her a nearly lethal blow.
“Gee, that’s too bad,” he added.
“As I recall, you’re not exactly an expert on that style of cooking either.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
She nodded, put a hand over the tiny microphone attached to her shirt. “I totally agree with you on that score. I thought I knew, but... Well, you proved me wrong today.”
“Don’t.” Finn covered his mike, too. “Don’t even go there. You’re the one—”
He broke off as a big, fuzzy microphone lowered from overhead.
“Chefs,” Garrett said. “Your time starts in three...two...one...”
A buzzer sounded, echoing on the
set. Lara swore she felt it vibrate through her bones. All twelve chefs took off like a shot in the direction of the refrigerator and pantry. Finn was behind her one moment, ahead of her the next thanks to his longer stride.
“On your left, chef,” he called as he passed.
He might be angry with her, but he remained civil. Ryder, however, didn’t bother with courtesy. Putting a hand on the small of her back, he shoved her out of the way. Lara banged her hip on the sharp edge of a prep station. She glanced up to see that Finn had stopped.
“All right?” he asked.
Because his concern caused her heart to ache and vulnerability to creep back in, she snapped, “Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s right. You know how to look after yourself.”
Their exchange took only a few seconds, but that was long enough that by the time they reached the pantry, the spice rack and selection of fresh vegetables had been picked over. Ryder was already starting back to his station, his arms filled with a couple of different kinds of lettuce and all of the ingredients to make vinaigrette.
A salad. Really?
Finn apparently reached the same conclusion.
“That had better be one hell of a dressing,” he said.
Lara moved a bin of mixed peppers and spied a bowl containing half a dozen avocados shoved to the back of the shelves. Either it had been overlooked, or several of the chefs had opted to play it safe and not go the Southwestern route.
Before she could grab a few of the avocados, Finn snatched up the entire bowl.
“Hey!” she hollered. “Do you really need all of them?”
“Need?” He glanced at the bowl, which held six, and shook his head. “No. I’m figuring one, possibly two.”
But he made no move to put the bowl back.
“You aren’t going to share, are you?” She snorted.
“This is a competition, Lara,” he reminded her needlessly.
“So, all’s fair in love and war?”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out. His lips twisted with what passed for a smile, but his eyes glittered as hard as stone.
