Seared (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 2)

by Hadley Harlin

  “Ooo, that does sound difficult. Okay, now that you’ve won, what’s your plan for the prize money?”

  I held up my hands in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “I think I’m supposed to say something responsible like, investing in my new restaurant, but what I really want to do is buy a motorcycle and travel a little bit. Before this competition, I’d never left the state of New York. Now that I’ve traveled the world, I want to see more of America. You know, drive Route 66, take in the food and culture across our country, and then decide where to open my first restaurant.”

  “Wow, that sounds amazing. I’m sure there will be lines out the door for any venture you try. Do you know what sort of food you’ll serve?”

  I shook my head. “I’m open to everything. I can’t wait to start exploring.”

  “I don’t blame you,” the host said. “Now, I can’t let you get away without asking the question everyone wants to know, of course.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “We saw all sorts of footage of you and another contestant, Liam Long, getting pretty cozy.”

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as they rolled some post-production tape. It was Liam and me, making out in the Italian villa. So they did catch us!

  I turned bright pink and stammered as the anchor continued. “Any updates on that relationship, if that’s what it was? Did you know him before the show?”

  I opened my mouth, gaping like those fish in Vietnam. Liam and I hadn’t discussed how to answer this question. Was I supposed to be honest? Would Liam be pissed or would that violate my NDA? Maybe I should deny or play dumb?

  I cast a look backstage for a little guidance, but Liam was nowhere to be found. That fucker. He probably slunk away the moment he heard the question, leaving me out here to flounder all alone.

  “No, I had zero knowledge of Liam Long before—”

  Suddenly a huge figure loomed over me, blocking out the bright lights. I blinked, shading my eyes. Then, the figure bent down.

  “Liam?”

  He grinned up at me. “I think I can answer that question.”

  Without any sort of prompting, the audience let out gasps and a few cheers.

  Liam Long was on one knee in the middle of a live television talk show. Liam Long looked for all the world like he was about to propose to me. Liam Long was holding a little tiny box and reaching for my hand.

  Liam smiled that devastating smile at me. “We didn’t know each other before filming, but there was an instant connection. As the show progressed, we got closer. It’s not easy losing, but I wouldn’t want to lose to anybody else other than this woman right here.”

  “Liam?” I whispered.

  He popped open the box. I looked down, expecting to see a ring. Instead, there was a key sitting on a little velvet cushion. “Clara Romero, will you have the key to this motorcycle and let me join you on your wild dream of chasing food across America?”

  “You fucker!” I shouted. Whoops. Hopefully they could bleep that out with the two-second delay. “I thought you were proposing!”

  Liam pretended to look confused. “What? Because of the knee?”

  The host stood there, mouth open. For being a live television show host, she didn’t do well with unscripted moments.

  Liam reached into his back pocket and pulled out a single, diamond ring. “How about now? Will you marry me?”

  I knocked Liam over as I lunged at him, smothering him in kisses to the delight of the cheering audience.

  “Is that a yes?”

  I slipped the ring on and grinned. “Let’s go look at my new bike!” I shouted, forgetting the interview was only half over.

  Liam took my face between his hands and kissed me passionately. Just like in the fucking movies.

  In just the space of a year, I’d graduated culinary school, lost my virginity, found the love of my life, won an international cooking competition, and finally, finally got a motorcycle. Scorched orange and denim black. Liam really did know me.

  We left the studio that day, giddy in our future. I could imagine our days on the road, doing cooking shows, maybe a few pop-up restaurants, before finally opening our own place together. Being with Liam meant accepting him and his addiction. He’d stumble, but I’d be there to help pick up the pieces. I’d stumble, too. That was life. That was a love that moved the sun and stars.

  And what a beautiful love it would be.

  Two hundred and fifty days.

  The End

  Thank you for continuing the fun and competition in Cooking up a Celebrity! With so many books to choose from, it means a lot that you’d spend a few hours with me.

  Keep up with my new releases by signing up for my newsletter here.

  If you missed Book 1, catch up with Sophia and Hawthorne’s story in:

  Melted (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 1)

  I’m squealing in anticipation to share Puck and Lena’s story with you next. What happened between our fun-loving pastry chef and Chef Sophia Sato’s business partner over Christmas? Vegas, baby.

  Flip ahead to get a sneak peek of Fired and be sure to add it to your list—only on KindleUnlimited!

  Fired (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 3)

  Hugs!

  Hadley

  Sneak Peek of Book 3!

  Fired

  A trust fund baby desperate to get out from under her family’s name. Her carefree employee whose pranks hide his hurt. Waking up married to your boss in Vegas was never so much fun—or so risky.

  Lena Beaumont has life on a silver and gold platter with a flute of sparkling rosé on the side. She invested in a restaurant just to prove she could work. She never expected to fall for her fun-loving pastry chef, but it’s Christmas. Anything can happen.

  Puck Williams’s past is one he’d rather forget, which is why he’s always been known as the goof who makes sure everyone has a good time. It’s hard to think when you’re having fun. Now this pastry god will face his demons when he ends up in Vegas with his beautiful boss.

  Fired (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 3) is a stand-alone, full-length romantic comedy with an accidental marriage between boss and employee that is sure to melt your Kindle! HEA and NO CHEATING!

  *While each book in the Cooking up a Celebrity series is a stand-alone novel featuring ONE couple, the books are connected by a shared storyline. Be sure to read Melted (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 1) for the full picture!

  Fired (Cooking up a Celebrity Book3)

  Chapter 1

  Lena

  The Cinderella spell wears off after about the third puking session. During Ring Around the Rosie with the porcelain king, you realize you secretly went to Vegas with your employee and married him against everyone in your life’s wishes. Also secretly.

  My business partner, Sophia Sato, was jetting around the world with her mortal enemy to co-host a cooking competition. That meant I was in charge of our restaurant, Sassafras. Sophia had this ridiculous idea that, because I was young and impressionable, I would screw it up. Also, probably because I’d never had a real job until I threw money at her to open Sassafras.

  Waking up married to our pastry chef, Puck, probably wasn’t going to help my case once she got back.

  I groaned and dragged myself off the cold, tiled bathroom floor and staggered to the bed. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Or food poisoning. Doesn’t one hallucinate with food poisoning? That would explain the puking.

  Except, it didn’t explain the lump under the covers. I tentatively lifted one end of the sheets to peek underneath it. And came face-to-head with a very naked, very large case of morning wood.

  With a yelp, I pressed my hands to my boobs and glanced down. Still fully dressed. Whew.

  “I think I drank Vegas dry,” Puck groaned, sitting up and blinking his eyes. His beautiful, ocean wave blue eyes.

  “Here, I’ll turn around,” I said while half-covering my eyes and half-watching in fascination as Puck stretched and yawned. His abs rippled in the sunlight of our expensive h
otel suite at the Cosmopolitan, and his glorious back muscles flexed up and down. He flipped back his golden, surfer-boy hair, but one piece refused to stay put. It perpetually dangled like a lure between his eyes, drawing me in. My eyes couldn’t resist. I dropped my hands to watch fully as Puck reeled off the bed and onto the floor.

  “Ouch!” He rubbed his incredibly broad, yummy, lick-able shoulders and—wait. If I was dressed, but he wasn’t, what exactly happened last night?

  “Puck?” I asked slowly. “Do you remember last night?”

  “Before or after we busted out of the pastry convention hall? God, they’re so stuck-up and boring. Yes, I know, pastry is a science. But it’s also art.”

  “After. Definitely after.”

  Puck pulled the white sheets around his waist and tucked it in. “Okay, before or after you ‘commandeered’ the red Ferrari and then pulled back the roof and made a dude off the street drive us around to all of the Christmas sites in Vegas as you sang carols at the top of your tiny lungs? You really like Christmas, Lena.”

  I remembered… the red Ferrari, Christmas lights, blinking Vegas signs, and… multiple drive-throughs. Only two of the three drive-throughs were for food, if my foggy memories were to be trusted.

  “This cannot be happening.”

  I began digging through the mess of our suite, flinging clothes, shoes, Taco Bell Triple Double Crunchwrap Supreme wrappers, folders of itineraries, and ten cases of designer sunglasses around the room. Hey, it was the desert. My eyes needed the UV protection.

  In a corner, wadded up under a rosé-soaked washcloth, was all the evidence my father would need for the judge, jury, and executioner he would surely hire.

  There was a Santa hat, a string of twinkle lights that were still blinking red and green, two commemorative Vegas wedding poker chips, and the real kicker: a marriage certificate with Puck Williams and Helena Beaumont in big black letters. With my signature damning me at the bottom.

  So much for food poisoning. This was much, much worse. Sophia would get to gloat that she was right for the rest of our miserable lives.

  “I didn’t know your real name was Helena,” Puck said, looking over my shoulder.

  I sank to the ground, rosé washcloth over my face. Kill me now.

  I would not recommend flying with a hangover. It took two days before my body forgave me, but I blamed it on jet lag and the two more bottles of rosé in first class. Hair of the dog.

  To apologize to my liver, I bought myself a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps. At least, that was how I rationalized it. So sorry, Liver, please take these shoes that make us look fabulous as my sincerest apologies.

  Also, I don’t recommend getting married at a drive-through chapel. The immediate convenience isn’t worth the annulment headache that inevitably follows.

  The moment I got home to Chicago, I holed up in the back office of Sassafras to formulate a game plan. Unfortunately, Puck had other ideas.

  He stuck his stupid-big foot in the door as I swung it closed. And yes, it does coordinate size-wise.

  Think about it.

  “Maybe we should talk about this, Helena.”

  “We did. And my name is Lena.”

  “No, I did, while you passed out in first class. Helena.”

  Ah, noticed that, did he? It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid Puck, but I didn’t know what to say. Marry me? We already checked that box. Okay, how about: I actually really do love you and please don’t divorce me. Yes, I know my family and friends and all of our co-workers will hate you for getting with the boss, but you’re cool with that, right?

  It’d been a measly month since Sophia had left for her international debut in Cooking Around the World. I’d like to say things were going well. In fact, whenever Sophia called, that’s exactly what I said.

  If only.

  Instead, we’d run out of butternut squash twice, had a minor (practically nonexistent!) fire incident, overbooked, under-booked, and un-booked just about everything else in between. Worse, the pastry chef convention in Vegas was meant to be Puck alone with strict instructions to actually attend the workshops. Not only did I go with him, but we bailed early. Apparently to get hitched while wearing Santa hats festooned in twinkly lights.

  After Thanksgiving this week came the busy holiday season with lots of office parties and seasonal celebrating at Sassafras. I had to get the train back on track. It would not surprise me in the least if Sophia flew back for one night to check up on me or made her sister come visit and video chat the whole thing. They had an unhealthy relationship. Sophia was bad about boundaries. It was the control freak in her.

  Clearly, I was in way over my head, but Sophia couldn’t know that. She needed to focus on the competition and all the buzz it would bring our restaurant. Only by having a successful restaurant would we both get what we wanted.

  But back to Puck, standing in my door, grinning innocently. He was enjoying this!

  “This is a nightmare,” I snapped.

  “And here I thought it was a mid-winter dream.”

  “We both know we have to get this fixed. Sophia would fire you and do God knows what to me if she found out. Just—don’t mention it to anyone. Pretend it never happened. I’ll get it fixed.”

  Puck snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”

  I locked eyes, pretending I was cool and indifferent. “Just like that.”

  “You got it, Boss Lady,” Puck promised, unaffected and immediately back to the fun-loving employee I knew so well. “I better start prep for tonight. Beet mousseline cake with freeze dried oranges and strawberry dust.”

  Puck turned to leave, so I coughed.

  “What’s on your mind, Boss?”

  I stood, moved a day planner here, scooted a few glitter pens over there. “Puck, did we…”

  He grinned, in his element. I saw the way our patrons ogled and googled him after tasting his creations. He typically went home with at least one girl after every service. The muscular, laid-back surfer vibe helped.

  “Did we what?”

  I made a “you know” motion with my hands.

  Puck wouldn’t give in, though. He stood, arms folded, still grinning.

  “Are you really going to make me say it?” I asked.

  “What? S-E-X? It’s not that hard. Well, some things are hard, but—”

  “Fine!” I threw my hands up. “Did we consummate our marriage?”

  Puck stared for a heartbeat too long. Finally, he dropped his arms. “Don’t worry, Boss Lady. The judge will have no problem annulling our unconsummated marriage. I tried to pry the third Double Crunchwrap out of your hands and put you to bed with a bucket, but you literally bit me to get at the taco and insisted on the toilet.”

  He bared a teeny tiny set of teeth marks on his forearm.

  “Oh my God, Puck, I’m so sorry! I don’t have rabies, I swear.”

  “It’s fine. I made a mental note to myself never to try to fight Lena Beaumont over food. It was a good life lesson.”

  For some reason, my heart saddened and a boulder settled on my chest. This should be a good thing. Puck was right. Our annulment would be a cakewalk. It seemed a shame, though. Especially after what I’d witnessed in our hotel room that morning. If Puck even half-knew how to operate his extra-large joystick…

  “Okay, well, I’m going to start prep. Let me know if you need any sustenance. I don’t want to turn around and find you nibbling on my arm again. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

  I shook my head, not trusting my response. Yes. I could be into that kind of thing. If it was with Puck. And chocolate. Chocolate on Puck. Mmmm.

  The moment the door closed behind him, the freak out could occur. Gah! There was so much to do. I ran my finger over the December calendar. We had three big parties coming in this week alone and all sorts of special bloggers and reviewers that Sophia would be busting my balls about. And I still had to decorate Sassafras. That’s not even getting into my family’s ridiculous holiday schedule they
’d insist I flew home for.

  As if right on cue, timed with the cosmos, approximately three billion text messages beeped onto my phone.

  I could not deal with Sophia right now, so I scrolled down. And down. And down. Finally, I found one that wasn’t from my psycho best friend/business partner. Unfortunately, it was worse. My ex-boyfriend, Lysander, wanted to know when I was coming home for Christmas. He’d be in town for two weeks and wanted to catch up. No purple eggplant emoji included.

  Okay, I could not deal with him, either, right now. I scrolled past him to my mother and opened it.

  Mom: When are you coming home? Your father wants you to light the Christmas square with Lysander this year. It’s a thing. I’ll let him explain.

  Damn. They were in league together. With the cosmos, clearly. My twin sister left me one, too. I’d given her a unicorn emoji and a rainbow instead of her name. It was ironic, but you’d have to know her to get it.

  Hermione: GET HOME. I CAN’T TAKE MOM AND DAD WHEN THEY’RE TOGETHER. JUDGING ALL MY LIFE CHOICES. TAKE SOME OF THE HEAT FOR ONCE!

  I slumped in my chair, wishing for that rosé washcloth to suck on right about now.

  Chapter 2

  Puck

  And just like that, Lena shut me out of her personal and professional life. I wasn’t the one she went to with problems about Sassafras or anything else for that matter. That was fine. It wasn’t like I’d know what to do anyway. I made sugar art. I was a pastry god.

  Cocky wasn’t my thing; I had pride in the one thing and only because I knew I did it well. Everything else I did was pretty much shit. I owned that. So let me lay out my crimes for the jury.