Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel

by Tracey Jerald

  “If that cake tastes half as good as it smells, this restaurant deserves six stars,” Elle declares loyally as I start to frost tonight’s chef’s special—apple buttercup cake.

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” I voice distractedly as I begin applying the scratch coat to the outside of the cake.

  “At least to a certain food critic’s fingers?” Taking a tasting spoon, she dips the tip into my bowl of frosting. “God, this is delicious. It tastes like spring exploded on my tongue. What did you use?”

  I pop the cake into the blast chiller for a few minutes and use the white towel tucked into my apron to wipe the sweat off my brow. “It’s just vanilla frosting.”

  “My ass,” she snarks, then suddenly straightens as Chef Palazzo strolls up to my station.

  “Chefs,” she greets us and then grabs her own spoon. She dips it into the bowl of frosting, and I hold my breath. As much as Jonas’s opinion, this woman’s opinion weighs just as heavily on me. “Orange, lemon, almond,” she hums. Her eyes snap in my direction. “Trying to hide the apples, Chef?”

  “Not at all,” I say smoothly. Reaching behind me, I grab a smaller bowl with finely minced apples integrated with the frosting.

  Chef Palazzo grabs a new spoon and dips it in. Finding the crunch of the Gala apples, she smiles. Then her face takes on a puzzled cast. “I taste them, but they’re not as earthy. What did you do?”

  “I rolled them in orange sugar.”

  “That’s…” I wait anxiously while she licks her spoon clean. “Brilliant. It enhances the sweetness while removing the clingy flavor apples can often leave on the palate.”

  “Thank you, Chef.” I want to collapse in relief, but I can’t because the night’s not over.

  Not for me anyway.

  “Is the frosting the only place you used the apples?” She’s reaching for a clean spoon to dip into the filling frosting. “Divine,” she murmurs.

  Elle does a fist pump in the air which causes both Chef Palazzo and me to laugh. My tension alleviated somewhat, I turn to the blast chiller and remove the triple-layer cake. I’m gratified by Chef Palazzo’s moan of appreciation. “No, Chef. The apples have been incorporated into the cake itself.”

  Quickly, I grab the top coat and swirl it on, leaving generous peaks of frosting along the top. Just as I’m about to reach for a scraper to smooth it, I feel a strong hand stay my fingers. “Even it out, but I’d recommend leaving it as genuine as possible.” Chef Palazzo’s comment stills my movements. Facing her, I absorb her words. “Every night, we seduce people with all their senses. Tonight, you found a way to do it in the best way possible: you went after their hearts.” And with that, she drops the spoon in my dirty-dish bucket and walks away.

  Elle’s silent as I stare at the peaks and valleys of frosting. Every instinct as a pastry chef is telling me to scrape off what I don’t need. It’s warring with the one as a woman telling me to listen to my heart. Just like I’ve been doing all night.

  My hand hovers for just a second before I reach into the bowl for the rubber spatula and to even out the frosting. Without stopping to question myself, I ask Elle, “Can you get me a few Valencia oranges out of the fridge?”

  “Yes, Chef.” Elle scampers off.

  A few moments later, I use the planer to zest a few times across the top of the completed dessert. Carefully, I slide the cake onto the wheeling cart Baptiste has waiting with a carafe of coffee, creamer, sugar cubes, and a crystal server to cut into my creation at Jonas’s table. “Take it away,” I whisper.

  With a nod, he carefully wheels the cart past the line of prep cooks, expediters, line cooks, and out the door. Once it swings shut behind him, the room erupts into applause. Elle wraps her arms around me. “You did it,” she whispers fiercely.

  Suddenly tired, I lay my head on her shoulder. “No, we all did.”

  The sound of a bowl scraping across my station gets our attention. Springing apart, we catch Sterling in the act of dipping a spoon into the filling to get a taste. “What? Mia said it was incredible and I should get a taste,” she says innocently.

  I’m about to respond when I hear an excited voice call, “Baptiste is cutting the cake!”

  Suddenly unable to resist, I grab Elle’s hand and quickly drag her over to the door. Pushing it open just a little, I crouch down, and there he is. “God, he looks so handsome,” I breathe.

  She bumps my hip. “Shut up before he hears you.”

  “Right.” In silence, we watch as Baptiste offers coffee to Jonas, who accepts. Baptiste carefully pours and leaves him with an individual service tray containing cream and homemade sugar cubes. After doctoring his coffee, Jonas takes a sip.

  My heart’s thumping against my rib cage harder than the KitchenAid whacked me under the jaw. Is this how love’s supposed to feel? Is love supposed to make me want to explain I was an idiot for not responding? Is love supposed to forgive I was devastated by his words? Even as he pulls his dish toward him, hope begins to bloom in my chest. We could have a chance to repair us. It’s early and we’re getting to know one another. There’s so much we could build on, I think as he takes the first bite of the cake.

  Suddenly, Jonas’s fork clatters to the side of his plate. His eyes dart around the room as he shoves to his feet. Pulling out a wad of bills, he drops them on the table.

  Without a word, he turns and strides from the room.

  After a single bite.

  Straightening, I bump into Elle, pushing her back. “It’s over. All of it.”

  “No, T, that can’t be right,” she protests.

  “You just saw!” I yell, ignorant of the small crowd gathering around us. “He took a single bite and walked out the door, Elle. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I know what I was feeling.”

  “What’s that?” Her voice is soft in contrast to mine.

  “Pushed aside.”

  “Trina,” Elle pleads. “Let’s get out of here and…”

  “That sounds like a great idea, but I want to go home and be with my kids.” Moving quickly, not hearing the interested murmurs around me as I strip off my chef’s coat, I manage to gasp, “Never should have let him in. I promised myself Annie and Chris were all I needed. And look what happened when…”

  “When what?” Elle asks.

  Turning with my hand on the back door of Seduction, I lock all my emotions down before stating simply, “When I hoped for more. After all, people like me want to believe we deserve better.”

  “Trina, don’t think like that. You deserve everything.”

  “No, my kids deserve everything. I deserve exactly what I get. I forgot that for a little while.” Slamming the door open, I start out into the night to catch the train, ignoring Elle’s pleading voice to wait.

  On the train on my way back to Parkchester, I realize it’s exactly a month since Jonas followed me home. A month after it all started, and I’m just as shaken as I was when I walked out after my confrontation with Chef Spencer.

  My soul feels completely irreparable. Would it have been better for me to have never met Jonas Rice? I guess only time will tell.

  I undo the locks on my door, expecting to find Mrs. McPhearson waiting. When my mother stands, wringing her fingers together, it’s too much. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. I’ve come full circle from where I started. I lost Jonas, but I gained my Mom. I won and lost.

  And with that knowledge, I break down and cry.

  Seconds later, my mother’s arms are wrapped around me. She doesn’t say a word.

  She doesn’t have to.

  Some things don’t require words.

  Like Jonas’s actions tonight.

  Chapter 31

  Trina

  Anxiously, I enter the kitchen the morning Jonas’s review is supposed to be in City Lights, both online and in print. God, this is being immortalized in a way it can never be taken back, isn’t it? My heart aches at the thought.

  After not hearing from him all night, I’m terrified wit
h what to expect. Surprisingly, it was my mother who said, “Trina, I’ve learned a lot from you in the last few weeks.” She nodded to my kids. “Look at everything you’ve done right, how hard you’ve worked to give your family so much more. I’m ashamed I took my feelings out on you all these years. Whether or not things work out with Jonas, I know you. You’re going to be all right.” Then she gave me an awkward hug.

  Accepting we’re never going to have the mother/daughter relationship of the year but she’s trying, I patted her back before shrugging. “If it’s meant to be, it will be. It’s out of my hands now, Mom.”

  “Trina, yours were the only hands it was in.” On that rare sage advice, Mom shuffled out of my kitchen, giving me a brief moment alone before I left to catch the subway.

  Now, I’m greeted with silence. Knives are laid down next to cutting boards. Spoons clatter to the counter as Mia Palazzo storms out of the office carrying a stack of papers. The only sound I hear other than my heart pounding is the whir of the industrial mixers churning up today’s lunch bread as everyone stops what they’re doing.

  I open my mouth to speak, but before I can apologize for ruining Seduction’s review, she begins speaking.

  “A month ago, Chef Sterling privately contacted me about morale issues beginning to pop up in our New York restaurant, before Jonas Rice was witness to everything that occurred between Chef Spencer and Chef Paxton. She expressed her concern about whether we would be able to retain the talent here at Seduction New York. Then I received several phone calls that disturbed me. First, our review had been accidentally transposed with another restaurant. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t an enormous problem. City Lights was more than willing to correct the mistake. However, when the food critic came to make a personal apology, he witnessed behavior we do not tolerate in our restaurants under any circumstances. Chef Spencer was terminated immediately. I felt at that point it necessary for a new review because there was a cloud over the old one. But how were we going to top it when our staff, our family, all of you, were in an emotional disarray? That night I reached out to Chef Paxton directly because she bore the brunt of Chef Spencer’s anger that day. It was an extremely enlightening phone call.” Her eyes blaze at me across the room. I flush beneath her direct stare as Chef Palazzo continues. “And despite her willingness to give Seduction a second chance, I asked Chef Sterling to keep a close eye out on morale. I’m glad I did.”

  Chef Sterling steps up and begins speaking. “We were trying to regain not only our credibility with New York but with all of you. I had to ascertain if there was any behavior that might be a detriment to the restaurant. Every day, I was sending reports up to Portland about the staff and their outlook. And, to some extent, that includes your outside influences. It wasn’t meant to be an invasion of privacy but a pulse check.”

  “It turns out some of you are merciless about refusing your own right to be happy,” With a smile at Sterling, Chef Palazzo continues. “Kind of reminds me of a few people I know.”

  “You were such a peach, if memory serves,” Sterling drawls.

  A bunch of us look confused, so I bravely speak up. “I’m sorry, but could you explain how all of this has anything to do with the review?”

  “Absolutely, Chef Paxton, as it has everything to do with these.” Chef Palazzo holds the papers aloft. My stomach muscles clench in fear. “Last week I received a phone call from Jonas Rice. It turns out due to his heart being tied up with a certain dessert chef, he feared he would no longer be able to be impartial in our review. So, he proposed using ingredients that were known wide in the industry that he ‘abhorred.’ While it was hard for Chef Sterling to drop that bomb on our chefs, I knew they would prevail. After all”—I suck in a shocked breath over her admission—“Seduction has the best chefs at every station in this restaurant.”

  I scrub my hands over my face as I recall the single bite Jonas ate before standing and walking out of the restaurant. “I don’t know about that anymore,” I mutter.

  Chef Palazzo clears her throat. “It isn’t always a fair business we work in; good restaurants fail because of poor business management. Excellent chefs are overlooked because of where they work. For the Seduction Restaurant Group, I’m charged with the responsibility of overseeing all of you in multiple locations around the globe—something I take very seriously. So, please accept my apology to all of you for this necessary maneuver. I believe you’ll all be as pleased as I was at the results.” She begins to read the review Jonas wrote about the restaurant. As each team receives their much-due praise, they relax. But just as she’s about to read about the dessert review, Chef Palazzo makes her way to stand directly in front of me. “Here.” She holds out the folded paper. “I think you should read this part aloud.”

  Terrified, but refusing to show it, I accept the paper from her. I clear my throat and lick my lips before speaking aloud what I know will be the death of Jonas and me, let alone my career here at Seduction. “I hate apples.”

  My lips form the words he told me after we made love the first time. My fingers clench the edges of the paper even as my heart bottoms out. I clear my throat and begin again.

  I hate apples, but somehow I should have known the incomparable dessert staff behind the scenes at Seduction would make me crave them with simply one bite.

  I was astonished when a simply decorated white cake was wheeled to my table. While it may appear amateurish to those used to more elaborate decorating, don’t let yourself be fooled. Inside it was rich and luscious as if it was crafted by someone who understands what it means to transform ingredients into magic.

  I can’t quite figure out what it was that made the cake so light and airy. Was it egg whites? Was it sorcery? I can still taste the notes of orange dusted over the apples which highlight them instead of the bite leaving an earthy taste to the surrounding cake.

  This cake felt timeless—something I felt like I could eat at a restaurant year-round instead of seasonally. It will change your mind about every dessert you’ve ever had. It’s simply that delicious. After one bite, I had to stop otherwise I might have stormed the kitchen to demand the right to take the rest with me.

  Overall, I’d give the restaurant four and three-quarter stars. I’ve said before, no matter what Seduction you’re in, you will have an extraordinary experience, but I’ll amend my statement to be if you are at Seduction New York, save room for dessert.

  It’s exceptional.

  "What? Did he not give us the quarter of a star for not dabbing his lips clean or something?” Elle snarks.

  “No. I bet there were spots on his fork,” Baptiste chortles.

  I don’t say a word as a raucous cheer goes up around the room. I hold Jonas’s words close to my chest. They may be the last words he says to me, but he judged everyone fairly.

  It’s all I can hope for.

  “I received a call from the paper this morning,” Chef Palazzo yells. Since she’s standing right in front of me, my eyes snap open. Hers are filled with compassion. Everyone around us is still celebrating. Putting two fingers between her lips, she whistles. Loudly. Silence once again descends on the kitchen. “I was just saying I received a call from the paper this morning. Some of you may be aware there was also supposed to be an exclusive interview about Chef Paxton.” There’s a sparkle in her blue eyes that can’t be suppressed. “I was asked to read ‘The Gossip Guy’ column today as well. Quite an intriguing article,” she announces.

  “Why?” I say along with my confused coworkers.

  “You’ll all do me the favor of listening to this as well.” Lifting the other part of the paper in front of her, a corner of her mouth hitches when she reads, “The Gossip Guy. There’s a bunch of information here about how to contact Julian Rice, but right below it, it indicates—in a nice-size print, I might add—guest byline attributed to Jonas Rice.”

  Before she can start, I interrupt, “Jonas wrote this? You’re sure?”

  She nods. “Yes, Paxton. And I found
it rather enlightening. Now everyone get comfortable.”

  I grab onto the worktable behind me as the world around me spins. I nod, as if Mia Palazzo needs my permission to continue. But this unstoppable woman must take it as a sign, because she continues.

  I’ve hijacked my brother’s column for the day not to gossip about anyone else but to tell you all about myself.

  There’s a pivotal moment when your life intersects with that one person and it changes the course of everything that’s to come. For me, that moment happened after I witnessed an unpleasant altercation between Chef Trina Paxton and another individual (who shall remain nameless) after I wrote a review about the restaurant Seduction New York a little over a month ago.

  After all, how does your life not change when a strong woman slams into you with enough fire radiating from her, you’re immediately singed?

  I was at that place, that moment, to apologize to Chef Paxton because of an editorial mistake and found she challenged me on many levels I never expected.

  She’s remarkably devoted. She’s determined to succeed under conditions I’ve watched people with a lesser heart go off course. I began to admire her greatly on a personal level.

  Then, I found out Trina enjoys serving her guests processed food, an intriguing concept for her being a professional chef. I began to fear for her sanity as well as my own. How could I be falling for a woman who frequently ate food like this?

  To be fair, I can’t entirely blame that travesty entirely on her. Her children frequently plead with her to eat a dish I’ve dubbed “mac’n’crap” on a frequent basis, and she indulges them to a ridiculous degree. I would too, considering they won me over somewhere between the first and second time I met them.

  But even subjecting her guests to endure culinary torture within the confines of her own home, Chef Paxton hasn’t left my thoughts since the day I met her not only because of the fact she might be one of the most remarkable pastry chefs in the country, but because of the fact she healed something I didn’t know was broken.