Fucking Dante Giovanetti. If Nixon doesn’t bust his ass, I’m going to send him into a world of pain. I’m going to make him wish that he’d never been born. I’m going to make him sorry he ever even heard of the Caldwell brothers. I’m going to tie his ass to a chair, and force feed him dead skunk until he pukes.
But not before I apologize to Pepper and try to make everything right. I can’t believe it – I’ve entered into a kind of bizarre Food Network hell, my personal kitchen’s filthy, and I’ve got no idea how I’m going to get my way out of this mess. In the midst of this emotional shit storm, I realize one thing. I want her. And the only thing that had been standing between us until now was my raging arrogance.
The picture’s bleak.
I sigh, leaning against the wall and groaning. Closing my eyes, I can picture her standing in front of me, flushed with her anger. Her freckles, that insanely hot body. I should’ve known from the beginning that she was too smart for such shitty pranks. I should’ve known that she was a hell of a woman, with the kind of strength and vitality that a normal man admires and protects.
But instead, I took her for granted. I thought she was some dumb little hayseed, fresh off the combine harvester from Kansas. I didn’t see her for who she really is: a brilliant woman, hell-bent on making her fortune, and not willing to cave to anyone. Even me. Hell, she cares so much about becoming a famous chef that she left her family behind without looking back. That’s brave as shit.
And there’s another thing too – what if I apologize to Pepper and we wind up getting along, so much so that the ratings of the show tank? What if it gets canceled before we’re halfway through the first episode?
Am I really willing to give up on my lifelong dream just to eat crow and apologize to Pepper?
Deep down, I know that I am.
Chapter Nineteen
Pepper
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Basil leans in close and puts his hands on my shoulders in a protective gesture.
“Basil, I’ll be fine,” I say, patting his hand. I’m not sure why I’ve become the one who’s doing all the comforting. “Honestly.”
His forlorn look grows even darker. “Maybe I should be asking if I’ll be okay while you’re gone.”
“It’s just a couple of days.” He needs to drink some of his own positivity Kool-Aid.
“Yeah, well, girlfriend, the last time you were gone, I nearly lost my mind. And how am I going to handle this new intern? I got a gander at her application, and her name alone would insight fear into the heart of any self-respecting gay man. Deep south anyone?”
I burst out laughing at the theatrics. I’d kind of forgotten about the intern that I picked. When we met, I fell in love with her, and I know Basil will too. But Basil can handle Dixie Pendergrass and anyone or anything else that’s thrown his way. I have so much faith in him. “It’s probably because you didn’t have anyone to gossip with. Who knows, she might be able to slide right into my position as your shoulder to cry on. Besides, you’ll love her, I know you will.”
“Well, maybe,” Basil replies in a sulky tone. “But you don’t know what it’s like around here when you’re gone.”
“Obviously,” I say. “Come on – have a little confidence in yourself. I know you can do it, Basil. You and Kristin have been working so well together. And Dixie, she’s great too. I interviewed a bunch of them, and she was the best, hands down.”
In my mind, I hope Carter received the laziest, dumbest, most arrogant male intern available. A little taste of his own medicine.
“Kristen is good,” Basil finally admits.
“And to think I almost fired her over her relationship dramatics,” I say, teasing.
Basil and I stand conversing at the Vegas airport, right at the security gates. A huge crowd of people here swarm around us like a messy, smelly river. Why does everyone always think air travel is the perfect time to douse themselves in perfume?
“Well, it’s good you didn’t,” Basil says. He groans and leans against a column. “And now you’re going off to find fame and fortune.”
“There’s just one thing you’re forgetting, and his name happens to be Carter Caldwell. He could ruin anyone’s day like a hair in your crab cake.”
“Well, fuck him,” Basil says, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “That man isn’t going to keep you down, sweetheart. You’re going to make him look like a cocky jerk. You’re a sweetheart, everyone’s going to love you, but they’re just going to see him as some rich asshole who thinks he’s already famous. He’s going to have so many haters and trolls on social media, he’ll go running back to Sin City with his feral dog tail between his legs where his dick used to be.”
I giggle and flush under the compliment tornado. Basil’s words fill me with hope – the kind of hope I haven’t felt in a long time.
“I hope so,” I say, not wanting to jinx myself. “Besides, it’s not like I can back out now.”
“So, how was it, really? Working with him, I mean?”
I think back to what it felt like in that test kitchen – Carter throwing barbs at me. But then I think about how good it felt when the audience cheered and clapped, and how good it felt when Barb offered me the gig. I can take being his personal punching bag for the greater good.
“It was okay.” I cross my fingers at the half lie. “And I’m sure the producers know what they’re doing.”
Basil frowns and worries his lower lip with his teeth.
“What is it?” Glancing down at my watch, I realize I only have forty-five minutes before my flight starts to board. “I’ve got to run – I don’t want to miss the plane.”
Basil looks hesitant.
“Look, if you’re still worried about Sakana, don’t be. You can call or text me anytime – you know, aside from filming – and I swear I’ll help you.”
“It’s not that,” Basil says. “It’s just…”
I groan in exasperation. “Spit it out. Basil, I love you, but you’ve got a terrible poker face.”
“What if the producers hired you because they think some kind of giant fight is going to erupt on stage?” Basil asks. “I mean, I hope they weren’t setting you up to fail…but it is a possibility. It’s not like something like that hasn’t happened on every reality show known to man.”
Basil’s parting shot leaves me feeling dumbfounded and paranoid. As much as I’ve thought about my new show on the Food Network – and that’s been a lot – his possibility has never entered my head. I’ve only been focused on the fame and the glory, the kind of applause that’s going to make me a household name. Then turning that into something just as Barb suggested.
“I don’t know,” I admit in a quiet voice. “I haven’t thought about that.”
“Forget I said anything,” he says, leaning in and giving me a quick hug. “I’m a dickhead. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
“Thanks.” Suddenly, I’m reluctant to leave. Part of me wonders if it would just be better if I call Barb up and tell her I’m not cut out for this.
But I know I can’t do that. I’ve worked my ass off my entire life, and I’m not going to give it up just because there’s a possibility that the producers only hired me for the wrong reasons. I’m stronger than that – if I wasn’t, I never would’ve made it out of the Kansas backwoods.
“You’ll do great,” Basil says. “I promise.”
I force a smile. “Thanks, honey.” I rise up to kiss his cheek. “Call me, okay? Let me know how everything is going back at home.”
“Will do.” He salutes me and grins. “Aye, aye, captain.”
It’s hard to tear myself away from my best friend and walk through the security line with my head held high, but I do it. As the bland-faced TSA officer pats me down, my mind returns to the show. Is it going to be filmed live? What happens if Carter and I get into it – really get into it – on stage?
The gate is packed by the time I get there. I sit down and pull out a book I made with notes for recipes, but my
mind tumbles, too frantic to concentrate. It’s all I can do to stare down at the pages and bite my lip until the gate agent calls for my boarding group.
When we touch down in Los Angeles, I take a cab to the hotel and throw my stuff on one of the beds before taking a long, hot shower. Filming doesn’t start for a few more hours, and I want to make sure that I look professional and crisp, not tired from spending all day in airports and planes. I try to meditate and calm myself with breathing exercises, but nothing works. By the time the shuttle from the studio is sent over, I’m a wreck.
I keep looking for Carter everywhere. He wasn’t on my flight, and I haven’t seen him in the hotel. But as soon as I get to the studio, he’s right there, waiting by my dressing room. To my surprise, he gives me a friendly smile.
Great. I push past him and stride inside. I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve that’s going to make me even more nervous.
But shockingly, he doesn’t. Carter follows me inside and hands me a latte.
“I got you this,” he says. “Lisa, the production assistant, told me this was the best latte on studio property.”
Frowning, I glance down at the concoction in my hands. It smells good, like hazelnut and praline, but I’m immediately skeptical.
“What’s in it,” I ask, lifting the cup to my nose and sniffing. “Beef broth? Arsenic?”
“Pepper, come on, would I do that? Can’t we declare a truce for the sake of the show?”
“I don’t know.” I narrow my eyes and stare at him. “Would you?”
Carter frowns, and it’s hard not to want to smooth away the wrinkles on his forehead. “Consider it an olive branch. I thought you might be tired. I was up all night with my pastry chef, trying to reassure him that Steakhouse won’t burn down just because I’m gone.”
I can’t help it – picturing the scene makes me giggle.
“Sounds like me and my sous chef saying goodbye at the airport,” I say. “He was so nervous.”
“Are you nervous?” Carter raises an eyebrow, and I wait for some dig about how my restaurant’s a disaster regardless of where I am. But he doesn’t say anything else.
I take a long sip of the latte, enjoying the creamy taste as it melts in my mouth.
“A little nervous,” I admit. “Not so much for right now…but like, what happens if the show goes well? What are we supposed to do then?”
“We?” Carter asks.
“I didn’t mean you and me,” I explain, pushing down the part of me that’s pleased at the thought. “I meant we, like my restaurant crew and me.”
Carter nods. “Yeah, I get that,” he says. “After that whole skunk incident, my brother was really on my ass.”
I wince. Here it comes. He’s going to start berating me right before we go on stage about those stupid skunks – I should’ve known he was planning something devious just to throw me off my game.
“Yeah,” I whisper, waiting for the inevitable insult. “I get that.”
“Well, glad you made it in one piece,” he says. “Feel like a muffin to go with that latte?”
I can’t stop my face from creasing into a pout. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Carter looks like a deer in the headlights. “I’m a nice guy, Pepper,” he says, scratching his head. “I know you haven’t seen my best…”
“Oh.” That’s all I can say. I’m already feeling lame enough.
Carter gives me another weird look. “Barb stopped by a few minutes ago. We should probably get out on stage.”
Just thinking about the competition gives me butterflies – or maybe it’s all the caffeine in this damn latte. He probably added extra shots on purpose.
“Right,” I say, feeling awkward. “Let’s go.”
Worried that I’m walking toward the gallows, I check my lipstick in the mirror then follow Carter down a long hall. Barb stands at the other end with a wide smile on her face.
“I’m so glad to see you two,” she says. I wonder if she’s always this enthusiastic. “Today we’re going to be doing appetizers again. Just prepare the appetizers we talked about. The prior taping was just a test. Today is the real thing, so bring your A game.”
“Sounds good,” Carter replies. “I can’t wait.”
I frown at him. What happened to the surly, angry man who accused me of ruining his restaurant? Did aliens drop down to Earth and replace him with a nice, normal guy?
I want to shout, who are you and what have you done with Carter Caldwell?
“Alright, then,” Barb says, rubbing her hands together. “Time to get to work. Go knock ‘em dead.”
When I walk out onto the stage, the lights are so bright they blind me. Just like before, there are two ranges set up with piles of ingredients. My stomach does a nervous somersault, but my anxiety starts to fade. Seeing the food organized and waiting for me brings back a cool confidence – as well as the knowledge that I can do this.
Barb walks over to a small table and sits down. She gives a hand signal to the cameras, then turns to the audience.
“Welcome to the first taping of Battle of the Land and Sea! Today, we’re here with two of Vegas’s most famous chefs – Pepper St. Claire and Carter Caldwell!”
The audience goes nuts, clapping and cheering and whooping our names. I have to admit, it feels good. Damn good.
Carter gives me a sidelong glance and a grin. Just what the hell is he up to, anyway?
“Pepper is going to be making her famous ahi tuna tower appetizer, and Carter will be preparing bites of steak with a bleu cheese sauce and potato cakes,” Barb explains. “Now, our contestants will have twenty minutes to finish their dishes. As soon as they’re done – or not done – we’ll invite a few of you up here to try everything and report back to your neighbors.”
Oh, great. We’re being judged by random audience members? He’s charming and eloquent. Grace under fire. And I’m a nervous wreck.
Carter gives me another glance. Then I realize there’s no way the Food Network would open themselves up to such liability – obviously, the “audience members” were planted there by the producers…which makes me wonder if this competition has been rigged in his favor. Whatever the case, I can’t spend more time thinking about it. The clock ticks its displeasure at being ignored, and I’m going to have to bust my ass if I want to make this tower perfect.
I rush around my part of the stage, carefully searing the edges of each piece of tuna before dunking them in a sesame seed blend and arranging them on a tray. My signature tower is shaped like a bucking bronco – it’s a little nod to my Kansan roots and my brother – and it usually takes me the better part of an hour. But today, I don’t have the luxury of spending that much time. I work at warp speed, carefully assembling the pieces of tuna until they resemble a well-muscled horse.
When the timer goes off, a variety of strange smells fill the test kitchen. I hate the scent of roasted beef – it reminds me of unpleasant things back on my parent’s farm – but I force a grin as I pour the last of the sriracha-based glaze over my tuna tower.
Barb walks over to the table and nods her approval.
“Pepper, this horse tower looks fantastic!” she says in a loud voice. “What a wonderful job!”
“Thank you.”
Barb walks over to Carter’s table and says the same thing, smiling at the audience. They clap and cheer again, and I wonder just how this is going to play out.
“Now, we’ll have one of our production assistants carry the dishes over to this table,” Barb says, pointing to a long table that faces the audience. There are maybe twenty seats there – so as long as eleven of those people prefer my tuna, I’m golden. “And as soon as that’s done, we’ll call up some of you to taste the appetizers. Doesn’t that sound delicious? Wow, I’m hungry just looking at this spectacular effort.”
Hurry up, I think, staring at Barb. Without the distraction of food to prepare, my anxiety has returned, and it’s worse than before.
“Now, our assi
stant Angelo will carry the appetizers over to the tasting table,” Barb announces, ratcheting up the drama. On cue, a young man comes out on stage, smiling. He grins at me as he walks over to me and takes the towering tuna appetizer.
“Be careful with that,” I mutter under my breath. One wrong step, and it’ll be a tuna tsunami.
Angelo doesn’t acknowledge me. He carries the tray carefully with both hands over to the tasting table. Right before he sets the dish down, he catapults into the air as if I jinxed him with my warning. I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands as the tuna flies through the air with alarming speed. Angelo crashes to the ground, landing painfully hard on his hands and knees.
For a moment, the oxygen disappears from my paralyzed lungs. The air whooshes out of them as I grip the edge of my range.
That’s when I look up and see Carter wearing a sympathetic smile. He’s up to something. I know it. Did Barb ask him to sabotage me to increase ratings?
“You did this,” I accuse, pointing toward Carter.
Carter narrows his eyes and squints at me. If I would stop to inhale and fill my brain with much needed oxygen, I’d know he looks genuinely confused. But I don’t. I’m all raging emotion and savage accusations. Nothing’s stopping me outside of a zombie apocalypse.
“What?”
“You ruined my bucking bronco!” I scream, grabbing a paring knife from the range and waving it through the air. Hot anger flows through my body, and I’d like nothing more than to murder Carter Caldwell right here on the spot.
With this knife.
“How could I have done that?” Carter yells back, stepping away and holding his hands in the air, putting a physical barrier between us. “I’ve been at my station the whole time.”
“You paid him to do it,” I spit, glaring and gripping the knife in my hand. The studio lights beam down hotter than ever before on my face, and I can feel the sweat pouring down from my scalp, soaking my hair and the back of my neck.
“I didn’t, I’d never–”
Pony Up (Caldwell Brothers Book 4) Page 16
