PALATE: SPICY
Part 1 of the PALATE Series
Copyright © 2014
Octavia Wildwood
All Rights Reserved
This publication is a work of fiction. All characters and events are solely products of the author’s imagination. The book’s cover is stock photography and is not endorsed by the photographer nor the model or models depicted therein. This publication contains explicit content that is intended for a mature audience and is written about characters who are consenting adults.
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Contents
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 01
I never quite knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, unless my third grade aspiration to become a “ninja astronaut princess turtle” counts. But I always knew who I wanted to be. When I grew up, I was going to be a strong, successful, powerful woman in control of her life. Or at least that was the plan. You know what they say about the best laid plans, right?
At twenty-eight, I was a graduate school dropout and the single mother of a two year old. When I wasn’t at work, my days consisted of scraping spaghetti off the ceiling, diffusing toddler temper tantrums and trying to teach my son that no, pants are not optional. I swore that kid would grow up to be a nudist – possibly a nudist who stomped his feet and screamed at the top of his lungs while flinging spaghetti at the ceiling.
It wasn’t exactly the life I’d envisioned for myself.
At least work gave me some reprieve. I loved my son with all my heart but it felt so good to be around actual grownups. And being able to work for Hayden Slate was pretty cool. He was a rather big deal, well known both for his career as a gourmet chef and his philanthropist work. But to me, he was just my friend Daniella’s husband – and a great mentor.
After seeing Hayden put his skills to use in the kitchen, I guess I was inspired. I decided I wanted to do what he did someday, although it would take me years to save enough money to open my own restaurant. In the meantime, I felt lucky to have the best teacher around.
Except then everything changed. I wasn’t sure why it still surprised me when life didn’t go as planned. You’d think after an unplanned pregnancy and a betrayal so severe it still left a bad taste in my mouth, I’d know better.
Anyway, I was going to be out of a job. Hayden’s wife was pregnant, you see. It was a good thing…a joyous occasion. It wasn’t like my pregnancy. They’d both wanted it; it had been a happy surprise. Now that Daniella was nearing her due date, everything was changing. Hayden decided to spend the next few years as a stay-at-home dad so that Daniella could focus on her own career aspirations. He said he’d achieved everything he wanted professionally and his focus going forward was simply to be a good father and husband while continuing his charity work.
It was hard to fault him for that. I told Daniella often how lucky she was, not that she needed reminding. I was thrilled for her that she’d found such a great guy but sometimes it was hard not to feel a little envious. When would it be my turn? I wasn’t getting any younger… I knew twenty-eight technically wasn’t old, but some days I felt like a dinosaur.
Maybe a great romance just wasn’t in the cards for me. I had my son and I tried to tell myself that was enough, but sometimes it was tough to shake the feeling of loneliness that came over me in the evenings after I’d put him to bed. It would be nice to have someone, a partner, to share my life with. Actually, it would be more than nice.
I tried to look at the closure of Hayden Slate’s restaurant as a good thing. I’d learned a long time ago that single moms don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity…at least not for more than five minutes, which is about all the time alone a two year old will give you. So I took my more-than-generous severance package, paid off my debts and made a bold move.
Literally, it was a bold move.
I’d taken to watching a reality cooking show on TV on Friday nights because it helped pass the seemingly endless evenings. When auditions for the next season came around, I put my name in. And wouldn’t you know it: I was chosen as a contestant. It probably didn’t hurt that I’d name dropped on my application; saying you’ve worked for Hayden Slate was like an automatic in.
The show filmed in Los Angeles, but that was okay. Actually, it was perfect. I’d wanted to escape Burlington for quite some time. The thought of being able to walk around a store or go to a park without having to look over my shoulder, without having to run into them, was like a dream come true. And if I somehow managed to win the fifty thousand dollar prize, it would fast track my aspirations to open my own restaurant!
So I moved the kiddo and myself to Los Angeles, hoping desperately it was the right thing to do.
And that’s how I found myself a contestant in a televised cooking competition.
It doesn’t matter who you are. When you’re standing in a lineup amongst a bunch of other reality show hopefuls with an arrogant celebrity judge staring you down, it’s impossible not to feel intimidated. But I’d never been one to show weakness. Defiantly, I raised my chin and stared right back at him.
Gavin Rothe was a man whose reputation preceded him. The gourmet chef to the stars was a household name thanks to his uncensored and somewhat scandalous television show. He had a commanding physical presence given his tall stature, broad shoulders and signature smirk.
Lots of women thought he was hot and I supposed he was…but for me it was his demeanor that made me weak in the knees. He had a cocky arrogance about him that simultaneously made me want to crumble at his feet and put him in his place.
“What’s your name?” he demanded, his eyes locked on mine. It figured that he hadn’t bothered to learn any of our names. He was probably too preoccupied sitting in his trailer admiring his own reflection in the mirror, I thought to myself with disgust.
The hot overhead lights were glaring down on me, making me sweat. I wondered if the layers upon layers of stage makeup the stylist had caked onto my face were oozing down the side of it, making it look like I was melting. That would really be something, huh? Hey viewers, tune in next week to see the incredible melting woman!
“Mina Sinclair,” I said, my voice sounding much calmer than I felt.
“What brought you on the show?”
His eyes bore into me as though he was trying to read my mind. It was an invasive feeling that left me flustered and taken aback. I’d expected to be questioned on my soufflé-making technique, but nothing more personal than that. I valued my privacy, as weird as that may have been given that I was on a reality show. I didn’t take kindly to his interrogation-style interview techniques.
Sometimes the simplest answer was the best one. “I wanted a change.”
“You’re not here for the money?” he pressed, slowly circling me like a vulture as he spoke.
“Well of course I’m here for the money,” I replied as though Gavin’s question was utterly preposterous. I heard snickers in the audience and they gave me a confidence boost. A lot of people loved to hate Gavin Rothe. “It’s a lot of money. Anyone who says they’re not here to win fifty thousand dollars is a liar,” I added boldly.
“You’re feisty.”
“I don’t know about that.” The verbal sparring was beginning to wear on me. I wished Gavin would just cut to the chase and tell me whether he was keeping me around for another week or giving me the boot. But instead he was drawing it
out, playing a cruel and sadistic game of cat and mouse for his own entertainment – and that of the viewers.
“Mina Sinclair,” Gavin said teasingly before trailing off dramatically.
This was it. Either I’d be told to hit the road or I’d win a mini-prize of a thousand dollars in addition to being promoted to the next round. Tense music played in the background to add to the mounting suspense. Colored lights flashed wildly above us, temporarily blinding me.
Gavin looked at me. “I have decided that for this week you are…”
I waited, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Undecided!”
Gasps sounded amongst the live studio audience and even some of the other contestants I was competing against. I blinked. “What?”
“You are neither safe nor off the show,” Gavin explained. “You get no bonus prize money this week. You’re in jeopardy. Consider yourself on probation. If you impress me enough next week I just may keep you around. But if all you’re good for is one liners and eye candy, then watch out!”
I stared at him blankly as the reality show host interrupted and informed us we were out of time. As the show’s theme music blasted and the audience applauded enthusiastically, I felt my heart sink. When Gavin walked offstage I followed him. It was as though my body had a mind of its own and my brain was no longer able to give it commands.
“Look,” I said once I had Gavin cornered. “I know to you this is just a show, but this is my life on the line here. I’ve scrimped and saved to be able to afford to be in this competition. It’s like having a full-time job and with no income coming in my budget is down to nothing. Can you please just tell me if you’re planning to get rid of me next week? If you are, I really need to find a job, like…yesterday.”
He chuckled. “If I had a dollar for every contestant that’s given me a sob story…”
“It’s not a sob story!” I interrupted, feeling insulted that he’d take it that way. “I’m not asking you for anything. I’m not begging you to keep me on the show. I just want to know what to expect. That dick move you pulled out there tonight wasn’t in the cards.”
He burst out laughing. “Oh, so now it’s a dick move, is it? You do have a way with words, Mina.” He looked at me then, and I mean really looked at me. “Are those colored contact lenses or are your eyes really that blue?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped. He was still playing games with me and it was infuriating. I didn’t have time for it. I had exactly twenty-three minutes to make it all the way to the suburbs to pick up my son from his sitter’s house. If I was late I’d have to pay extra, and it was money I didn’t have.
Gavin held his hands up in surrender. “Look, I don’t give handouts to anyone. But I run one of the most exclusive gourmet restaurants in Los Angeles,” he said. “It’s called Palate…maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Well duh, of course I’d heard of it. But I wasn’t going to stroke his ego and risk making it even more overinflated. So I shrugged noncommittally and tried not to notice how good he smelled.
“Be there tomorrow night at 8pm,” he told me as he fiddled with his cufflink. “I’ve seen what you can do on the show and I think you have what it takes to fit in at my restaurant. I’ll let you pick up a shift in the kitchen and, if all goes well, I might even put you out on the floor as a server. We’re always short-staffed on Saturday nights and the tips are good.”
“Thanks!” Gavin was an asshole, but at least he was an asshole with a heart. Even so, I still couldn’t help but ask, “If you like what I do on the show then why am I in jeopardy? Why not promote me to the next stage of the competition?”
He gave me a wink. “I haven’t decided yet but I’m leaning toward keeping you all to myself. See you tomorrow, Mina Sinclair. And don’t be late.”
I glowered as he sauntered away. Gavin Rothe was a real piece of work. I’d figured he’d be like the guy I saw on television: arrogant, condescending and self-important. But he wasn’t like the celebrity from TV. No, he was much worse in person…and better looking. And now I was working for him. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 02
Twenty minutes before my shift at Palate was supposed to start, I sat in the parking lot outside the restaurant feeling frazzled. Why had I thought it was a good idea to bring my car to Los Angeles? It wasn’t even a dependable vehicle, what with the way the engine coughed and sputtered. It was nothing but a constant source of frustration for me.
I missed being able to get across the city in ten minutes tops. That was one thing Burlington had going for it. You sure couldn’t get from one end of Los Angeles to the other in ten minutes. Allowing time for travel was proving to be an interesting exercise in defeat. No matter what I did, I seemed incapable of being punctual. These days, I was always running late or else super, freakishly early.
After growing up in small town Vermont, the city traffic took some getting used to. I’d lost track of how many times I’d been cut off and flipped off on the drive to the restaurant and I wasn’t even a bad driver…although I had an ex-boyfriend who might disagree.
At least my son Joel had been somewhat cooperative tonight. I’d felt bad about only getting to spend a couple of hours with him in between filming for the show and going to work, but he’d handled it like a champ. In fact, he’d seemed much more interested in gawking out the window at the cars driving past our tiny apartment than in spending quality time with me.
The countless smudges of his fingerprints on the glass were proof of that. I made a mental note to add that to my list of ten thousand chores that required my attention. Make that ten thousand and one.
I didn’t mind Joel’s lack of interest in spending time with me…much.
It gave me a chance to actually brush my hair before leaving the house. Not to sound like a slob or anything but that was kind of hit or miss these days. I certainly didn’t look all glammed up in real life the way I did on the cooking show after the makeup artists and stylists had gotten through with me. Ah, TV magic…
Though I hadn’t realized it back when I was living the life of a college student, I’d been one hot bitch. The old Mina of three years ago never would have dreamed of leaving the house without being all done up. But these days when I thought of her, she seemed like someone I hadn’t seen in decades.
I missed her.
As I scrutinized my appearance in the rear view mirror, I raised an eyebrow. When had my hair become so long? The wavy black tresses were almost down to my waist! I did some mental gymnastics as I tried to figure out how long it had been since my last haircut. Being unable to remember probably meant it had been far too long.
But I had to say, the longer hair actually didn’t look so bad. In fact, I kind of liked it.
“Right,” I muttered under my breath, giving myself a much-needed pep talk. “Get in there and knock ‘em dead, Mina. Don’t let that asshole Gavin get to you. Just do your job and be damn good at it.”
I had a habit of cursing like a sailor when I was under pressure. My devoutly religious mother said it was a terrible, sinful, shameful habit. I wasn’t so sure I agreed. But then as a rule, we didn’t agree on much.
I got out of the car, locked it and walked inside.
The second I walked through the ornate stained glass and mahogany front doors of the restaurant I realized I was horrifyingly underdressed. I’d assumed my black wide leg slacks and fitted white button up blouse would help me blend right in with the other staff members, but I’d been mistaken.
Every man in the place wore an expensive looking suit and every woman – even if she was an employee – was decked out in a satin or lace cocktail gown of some sort. In fact, I was probably the only woman in the entire building who wasn’t wearing a dress.
Imagine how you’d feel if you showed up to a costume party and you were the only one dressed up. And then imagine you bent over, your costume ripped and you had to spend the rest of the seemingly endless evening walking around with
your butt hanging out. Oh, and to top that off, imagine you just happened to be wearing the most hideous pair of underwear you own.
That pretty much summed up how I felt.
Great, things were just off to a peachy start. Ugh. I should have known that when the kiddo didn’t throw his usual five tantrums in five minutes it was an omen. Sure, I’d been lucky enough to make it to the restaurant on time and in one piece, but at what cost? Of course something else was going to go wrong. I’d been stupid to think otherwise.
“Mina?”
I spun around and came face to face with Gavin Rothe.
Wonderful, my night was getting even better.
I fidgeted, feeling embarrassingly exposed. I mean, I looked fine in my simple attire, but amidst the sea of glamorous and stylish people, I felt as out of place as a cat in a swimming pool. I’d wanted to impress Gavin so much that he’d have no choice but to respect me. But instead I was flustered and humiliated.
He looked as handsome as ever in one of his signature black suits. His chestnut brown hair was slicked back, giving him a slightly more dapper appearance than I was used to seeing. On the show he usually left his hair tousled and slightly messy looking, perhaps as a silent ‘screw you’ to the network executives he made no secret of loathing.
“Your restaurant is beautiful,” I told him.
I was desperately trying to deflect from my fashion faux pas, but I also meant what I said. The soft lighting, subdued shades of blue and grey and unobtrusive music created a rich and relaxing atmosphere. It was a place anyone would want to be – but it came with a hefty price tag.
I still couldn’t understand why Gavin famously had a months-long waiting list of potential customers willing to pay hundreds of dollars per plate. To spend that kind of money on one night out seemed ludicrous. But then the only places I’d eaten out at in the past year or so had pre-cooked burgers on the menu and ball pits full of screaming, sticky-fingered children in them.
Spicy (Palate #1) Page 1
