As predicted, the nation had fallen in love with the plucky little Aussie cook. Five episodes in and the show had already pulled record viewer numbers. First-Class Chef had even knocked off a couple of Britain’s top shows.
He snatched up the bowl of popcorn she’d prepared and began munching at the buttery white kernels. She looked so cute all cuddled up.
‘Hey, give me some of that,’ she said.
Gabe dropped down on the couch beside her and pulled some of the rug onto his lap.
‘You cater for everything, don’t you?’ he said, diving into the bowl and pulling out a handful.
‘I’m beginning to think I might be over-indulging. Having free rein in the kitchen is dangerous.’
He sat back and looked her at her, baffled. ‘Didn’t you cook this much at home?’
Her cheeks pinked as her eyes darted from his. This always happened when he asked about her life in Australia.
‘Ah, with the show – I’m cooking and tasting a lot more than usual.’
The theme tune of First-Class Chef began to play. He nudged her shoulder. ‘It’s on.’
They’d shot thirty hours of film that week and it had taken them four days to edit. Charlie had been the standout. Everything they’d shot of her – superb.
When he’d completed the rough cut, they’d been four minutes over and Charlie had dominated the show. The rest of the edit team wanted to cut other contestants, but Gabe had insisted on eliminating some of Charlie’s scenes. He worried his that his bias influenced the content.
Charlie wriggled on the seat next to him.
‘Still nervous after so many weeks?’ he asked.
‘Terrified.’
As the hour-long program aired, Charlie agitated next to him. He’d never met such a reluctant and highly self-critical contestant. She cringed each time she featured.
His mobile buzzed during the commercial break. He glanced at the name displayed.
‘Abigail. How are we going?’
‘The first half-hour numbers are in and they’re wild.’
‘Tell me.’
‘We’ve hit six million – twenty-four percent of the market. We’re blitzing this time slot.’
His heart rocketed in his chest as he sprang up. ‘Incredible. Ring me when you have the final numbers. Thanks. Bye.’
He clicked off, then reached forward and hauled Charlie to her feet.
‘We’re number one in the slot.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ she said.
Charlie’s eyes sparkled. She looked so adorable in her pink tracksuit and matching ugg boots. Adorable and super sexy. He’d never known anyone make a tracksuit look so damn hot.
A blast of theme music brought him back to earth.
‘We’re back,’ he said, pulling her down again. Even with the biggest success of his career playing out before him, he found it hard to concentrate with Charlie’s warm body nestled so close to his.
The tension mounted through the show, perspiration showing on the foreheads of many contestants. Some made simple mistakes with their preparations. Though he’d seen the package many times, Gabe sat on the edge of his seat.
Charlie could barely stay in hers. She called out encouragement and commiserated when others made a mess of things.
‘Poor Henry, I didn’t know he’d burnt his orange sauce.’
‘Watch it, Emma, that pan’s boiling over,’ she called at the television.
Gabe smiled. This was a competition, yet Charlie cheered the others on.
The show drew to a close and although they both knew the results already, he could feel Charlie tense with anticipation. She’d tied in first place with Tim, the IT guy from Manchester.
The show finished and he switched the TV off. Charlie looked up at him with expectant eyes.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I think this is going to be big,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Really big.’
His phone buzzed again. ‘Abigail.’
‘Seven million,’ she said simply. ‘Congratulations.’
Speech eluded him for a moment. It was his best result yet and there were still five episodes to go. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you, kid,’ he said and clicked off. He’d broken his own record of five million.
‘Seven million,’ he said.
‘Is that good?’ Charlie asked.
‘Put it this way, the most watched show ever in British television history was around thirty million and we still have weeks until the final.’
Charlie stood and held out her hand. ‘Congratulations.’
‘To hell with that,’ he said, gathering her into his arms. ‘If it weren’t for you, this show wouldn’t exist.’
Her soft curves moulded against him. The aroma of popcorn clung deliciously to her hair. He breathed deeply, pulling her closer. The desire to lie her down on the couch and cover her with his body threatened to overwhelm him.
The doorbell shrilled. The noise brought common sense slamming back into his body and his brain. Damn. He dropped his arms from Charlie’s luscious body.
Gabe stepped back. Charlie was off limits.
The sharp sound echoed again.
If it rings again, I’ll rip the bloody thing off the wall.
Charlie sank back on the couch. She snuggled in the warmth left by Gabe’s body.
She ran her hand down her chest, hoping to keep the luscious essence of Gabe alive. The memory of his arms around her body lingered deliciously.
She heard the front door open.
‘Gabe. Darling.’ A posh female voice filtered into the room. ‘Wonderful to catch you at home. So lovely to see you. I’ve missed you.’
‘Sophie. What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ Gabe asked.
‘Can’t an ex drop by for a nightcap?’ the woman purred.
Ex! Charlie bristled.
‘No.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling.’
Charlie heard high heels click on the entry hall tiles.
A tall, immaculately dressed woman swept into the room. Gabe followed with a face that could have turned Medusa to stone. Everything about the newcomer screamed serious wealth. Six-inch Jimmy Choos, Prada handbag and this season’s Balmain military jacket. Although Charlie used to dress in a similar way, she had never looked as sophisticated as this incredibly striking woman.
The visitor stopped abruptly when she laid her eyes on Charlie. An ugly frown savaged her otherwise beautiful, yet slightly severe-looking, face. She looked disturbingly familiar. Diamonds flashed at the woman’s throat and sparkled on her ears. Diamonds from the recently launched Rare Pink collection. Over twenty thousand dollars dangled from her ears alone. An icy chill ran the length of Charlie’s body.
Wentworth diamonds!
‘Who’s this?’ Sophie asked with an arctic sneer and a dismissive flick of her hand. ‘Not replacing me already are we? Or are you staff?’ She threw the question in Charlie’s direction as she looked down her nose.
With horror, the penny dropped – Sophie Eddington-Smythe.
Charlie looked away, not daring to expose her face for another second. How had she not been recognised? The new hair and cheap clothes obviously helped.
Why was Sophie Eddington-Smythe in Gabe’s living room? They’d met once, years ago at the London launch of the Brilliant Yellow diamond range. If memory served, her father owned half of Cornwall or Devon or somewhere like that.
‘Charlie, this is Sophie.’
Why would Gabe date a woman like this? Charlie didn’t know much about Sophie, but what she’d heard wasn’t good. The English aristocracy’s answer to Paris Hilton. She courted the paparazzi, tweeting her location so she would always be surrounded by photographers. She’d even featured on some reality television . . .
Of course. Gabe’s show, Billionaire Angels.
‘Hi,’ Charlie said, keeping her eyes down as she busied herself with straightening the already perfectly placed coffee-table books. She sensed Sophie’s stee
ly gaze and an instant dislike struck like a hammer.
‘Cup of tea would be nice,’ Sophie said finally, taking a seat.
Charlie jumped to her feet, grateful for the excuse to leave the room.
‘Sit down, Charlie. Sophie’s just leaving,’ Gabe said.
‘Oh darling, I’ve just arrived.’ Sophie sat, making herself comfortable. ‘Be civil.’
Charlie didn’t know what to do. Leave the room or sit down as instructed? Sophie’s eyes followed her every move.
‘Where’s that tea?’ Sophie said finally, then shot a brilliant smile to Gabe.
Charlie almost ran from the room.
‘Charlie,’ Gabe called. ‘Come back.’
But she was determined to remain out of sight for the rest of Sophie’s visit.
Once she reached the kitchen, she breathed her panic away. Surely Sophie wouldn’t recognise her. She glanced down. She wore none of the trappings that alerted other rich people to the depth of her wealth. And, she was completely out of context. No-one knew she lived in London.
She fiddled with her short, dyed hair. Would it be enough?
Charlie heard the raised voices coming from the living room. She made tea quickly. As much as she didn’t want to face Sophie again, she wanted to hear what was being said.
Charlie assembled a tea tray and tiptoed down the hall. She waited for a break in the conversation.
‘Why the hell are you here anyway?’ Gabe asked, his voice as hard as granite.
‘Just came to congratulate you on the success of First-Class Chef. All those headlines. Nice work.’
‘Next time, leave a message with my assistant.’
‘But you know I’m only round the corner. So much nicer to deliver the message in person.’ The words slipped out so smoothly but with distinctively sinister undertones.
‘What do you really want?’ Gabe demanded.
‘To pitch another idea of course,’ Sophie said.
‘Not interested.’
‘Where’s that tea?’ Sophie whined again.
Charlie heard the woman stand up and walk towards the hall. She’d be caught eavesdropping. Holding the tray, she stepped quickly into the room. Sophie’s eyes darted maliciously to Charlie’s face, a look of concentration marring her aristocratic beauty.
‘Have we met before?’ she asked as if such a thing couldn’t actually be possible.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Charlie said lightly, sliding the tray onto the coffee table.
‘I don’t know. I’m very good with faces.’
‘First-Class Chef,’ Gabe cut in with disdain, as if Sophie were the worst kind of fool.
‘I know that, Gabriel. I’m not stupid thank you, darling.’ Sophie waltzed right up to Charlie to inspect her. ‘You look different on television.’
‘Yes, well, that’s all very interesting, Sophie, but it’s time you were leaving.’
‘Why don’t you just hear me out?’ Sophie said, her voice dripping with mock indignation. ‘Could be the next big thing,’ she said, stepping close to Gabe and running her finger provocatively down his chest.
Charlie crushed a strong urge to ‘accidentally’ douse that expensive jacket with a cup of tea.
Gabe took Sophie’s hand from his chest and dropped it. ‘If you’re involved, I’m not interested.’
‘Ouch.’ Sophie dramatically clutched her breast as if she’d been shot. ‘Darling, you’re so cruel. Remember I put you on the map. Without me, you’d still be making second-rate cereal commercials.’
Gabe’s body stiffened and his eyes burned with fury. ‘Time to go,’ he said, his tone steady and dangerous. He placed a hand in the small of Sophie’s back and pushed her none too subtly towards the door. He was only just holding his temper in check.
Sophie pulled herself from his grip and whirled back to Charlie.
‘I know you from somewhere,’ she said. Her statement sounded like a warning.
‘I doubt it, until a few weeks ago, I lived in Brisbane,’ Charlie said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.
‘Brisbane? Never heard of it,’ Sophie said, as if the place were not worth knowing. ‘But I never forget a face.’
Gabe gripped Sophie’s wrist. ‘This way, darling,’ he said, drawing out the last word in a mocking tone.
When they disappeared into the hall, Charlie expelled a long, slow breath. She slumped onto the couch.
The front door opened and Sophie’s protests died as the door banged shut.
‘Sorry about that,’ Gabe said when he strode back into the room.
‘It’s okay. She’s your ex. I guess they pop up from time to time.’
‘At least yours is conveniently on a different continent,’ he said, his lips tight with emotion.
‘Hmm.’ The reference to Paul instantly made her uncomfortable.
Gabe lapsed into deep thought for a moment. ‘Have you ever done something in your life that, when you look back, you can’t believe you’d been so stupid?’
My whole life was stupid until I met you.
But as the question was rhetorical, she didn’t answer.
Chapter Eleven
Charlie walked up from the tube station and let herself into Gabe’s place. She needed to practise her recipe for the next episode and didn’t want to do it at Emma’s house and disturb her afternoon nap. She dropped the keys on the side table and pulled off her coat. Autumn had arrived and Charlie loved the chill settling over London.
After Sophie’s unexpected visit last night, she’d barely seen Gabe. It was painfully obvious he didn’t want to talk about her. It hurt Charlie that he didn’t want to share anything about the apparently turbulent past relationship. She’d thought they’d grown close. Cuddle- up-on-the-couch close.
Clearly, she was mistaken. She had to stop reading so much into everything.
She wandered down to the kitchen. She had one day to perfect her roast duck and eight-gem rice. She’d gone over time yesterday when she’d practised.
The doorbell rang. She jumped and banged her head on an open cupboard.
Ouch.
Then another blast.
And another.
For heaven’s sake!
Rubbing her head, Charlie ran to the door.
‘Who is it?’ she shouted, trying to end the torture.
The bell shrilled again.
She flung open the door.
Sophie stood on the step. Her hands rested defiantly on her slim hips and triumph, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. Charlie’s heart slammed wildly in her chest. She grabbed the doorframe. She knows.
‘Well, well, well,’ Sophie said. She stalked straight into the living room.
Charlie looked frantically up and down the street as if something or someone might come to her rescue. Maybe she could just run. She took a step towards the road.
‘I’m waiting,’ an icy voice called.
Hauling in a deep breath, Charlie walked back into the house, closing the door behind her.
Sophie stood in the middle of the Persian carpet as if she owned the place. Charlie stiffened. She felt like a tigress tensing to protect her domain.
‘How can I help you?’ Charlie said, pleased her voice remained so calm and even a little affronted.
‘What’s your game?’ Sophie asked viciously.
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t even think about lying to me. I know exactly who you are – Charlotte Wentworth, soon to be Wentworth-Forsyth.’ She spat each word with contempt. ‘You might recall that I am invited to your wedding. Your postponed wedding.’
Charlie’s body stiffened with shock. She didn’t feel remotely like Charlotte Wentworth.
‘What do you want?’ Charlie asked, all the false bravado gone.
‘To inform you that I was here first. Gabe’s my fiancée and I want to know what you’re up to.’
Charlie’s eyes widened.
‘He didn’t mention me?’ Sophie cocked her head. Her eyes hardened before narro
wing to hateful slits. ‘He didn’t mention his own fiancée?’
The muscles in Charlie’s legs lost their ability to support her and she sat down heavily on the sofa. The weak sunlight coming through the window seemed blinding.
‘Well, we would have been engaged if you hadn’t shown up,’ Sophie said, clearly enjoying every minute of her revelation. ‘As you probably gathered from the other night, we’ve had a little misunderstanding. But that will be cleared up shortly. And that’s where you come in.’
Charlie stared at her. ‘Me?’
‘This is what you’re going to do.’ Sophie picked up the BAFTA award and studied it idly. ‘When I give the word, you’re going to invite Gabe to lunch at Oakley Court Hotel in Windsor. It’s not far from the studio, so it shouldn’t be difficult.’
She dumped the award unceremoniously back on the mantelpiece.
‘And why would I do that?’ Charlie tried to sound defiant, but she knew Sophie was holding all the cards.
Sophie’s face contorted into an expression of contrived pity and genuine disdain. ‘Because if you don’t, darling, I’ll call one of my buddies at the tabloids and tell him exactly who you are. And you won’t be Britain’s latest darling anymore.’
Sophie threw down the latest edition of the Evening Standard.
The frontpage headline shouted: Aussie Darling Captures Nation’s Heart. The accompanying picture featured Charlie stooping to place something in the oven while smiling at the camera.
‘I reckon tomorrow’s headline will read something like this: Heiress Chef Dupes the Nation.’ Sophie smiled. ‘Gabe’s little cooking show will collapse – oh dear, such a scandal. His reputation will be mud. No-one will believe he isn’t in on it. He isn’t, is he?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter. No-one’s going to believe he wasn’t, even if you are everyone’s little darling.’ She said the last word with a sneer.
Sophie sat elegantly on the sofa opposite Charlie and crossed her perfect, tanned legs. ‘So, how do you think all your little fans are going to feel when they find out you’re not a struggling catering assistant, but a woman who could buy Buckingham Palace if they’d let you?’
‘Gabe won’t see you. His filming schedule is so—’
Seducing the Secret Heiress Page 11