by Allie Burton
Isabel leaned against the other side of her front door trying to decide her best course of action. Her hands splayed against the door about the same spot where Michael’s head hit the other side. The reverberation penetrated the wood.
Black shadows crossed her chest, threatening to engulf her soul. She’d wallowed between tears and anger since seeing the video this morning. She’d shut herself away in her house, refusing to answer the phone or the door. She couldn’t face anyone.
Embarrassed didn’t even begin to describe her emotions. Mortified. Horrified. And every other type of fied. A funnel of fury twisted, making everything inside her go taut. She wanted to explode. She wanted to scream. She wanted to disappear.
She clenched her hands into fists and stepped back.
Wanting to reach out to him, to open the door and be comforted by him, instead, she tucked her hands under her arms. Opening the door would mean opening her heart. And she’d already done that and been destroyed.
His phone rang and he answered in a deep voice. Tenseness stretched his tone explaining the situation. About the video and the hidden camera and the woman with him.
Her.
Squeezing her eyes tight, the images from the video seared against her eyelids. He’d made her feel wonderful and desirous, naughty and sensual, beautiful and loved. How could so much pleasure bring so much pain?
A single tear slipped from between her closed lids and down her cheek. She swiped it away. She didn’t have time for tears. She needed to yell and scream. She needed to pummel her target with harsh words and fists. She needed answers.
Determination jolted her like a cup of coffee. She wasn’t going to hide from Michael. Adrenaline surged and she stepped forward, whipping open the front door, ready to confront him. Ready to blame and bludgeon. Ready to ask questions and demand explanations.
Disappointment and loss slammed into her as if a door had been closed in her face instead. Not a door. Opportunity. She skidded to a halt in front of nothing. No one.
He was gone.
* * *
Michael needed Isabel.
In more ways than the most obvious.
He needed to hold her and comfort her. He needed to ravish her and prove his love. He needed to explain. He understood she blamed him. He blamed himself.
Staff members ran back and forth between stations in the kitchen, trying to prepare for service. One worker bumped into another, spilling an entire container of potatoes. Water boiled over the sides in one pot. A pile of apple slices lay in a bowl, ignored and turning brown.
Chaos reigned. And he was the ruler.
“Chef.” Maria carried a large plastic bin full of clean pots and pans. “Who’s going to cut the fish?”
“Isabel called in sick.” Not that he’d talked to her. She wouldn’t answer his calls or texts. She wouldn’t open her front door when he’d returned again and again. He knew she wasn’t really sick, and understood her reticence to come to work. Everyone who worked in the kitchen—heck everyone in town—had seen the video. “Have Earl get started, and I’ll pick up the slack when I get back. I need to run to Parker’s office.”
Michael had watched the short, five-minute video a dozen times, pinpointing the clues to the location and scouring what clothes they were wearing, and how much skin showed. Their faces made the biggest impact. Because he was a celebrity, the video had gone viral.
The burden lay heavy on him. He never should’ve gotten so carried away at work.
Untying his apron, he jogged into the lodge’s main office where Vivienne had set up a command station. She was talking on his cellphone, while hers buzzed on the desk.
Parker fielded calls, too. He slammed down his desk phone and straightened the neckline of his polo shirt. “Good news and bad news, which is sort of good news.”
Michael couldn’t handle any more bad news. He needed something to get him through this night. “Give me the good news.”
“Between the lodge’s lawyers and your lawyer, we’ve gotten the video taken down, but people may have saved or downloaded it, so it’s still accessible.”
His chest squeezed tight. “That’s the good news?”
“Best that can be done.” Parker patted him on the back, trying to give comfort, and not succeeding. The only healing touch would be Isabel’s. “These type of things can live on forever. Suppressing the video is the best option.”
He’d been a solid best friend throughout the ordeal. Making phone calls, organizing the media, listening to Michael rave.
“And the bad news?” He braced himself.
“We’re completely booked at the restaurant for the next month.” His friend’s smile fell and he peered intently waiting for a reaction. “Including tonight.”
He staggered back. “Without Isabel that’s going to be impossible.”
“That’s why I said it was bad news.” Parker’s brow furrowed with concern. “I know tonight, the next few nights, are going to be difficult. I’ve called in the entire staff to work extra shifts. Whatever you need, ask.”
“I need to find the bastard who posted the video and kill him.” Fisting both his hands, Michael focused on each fingernail cutting into his palm. The slight pain didn’t assuage the anger simmering inside, waiting to charge forward, waiting to beat up Jorge, who hadn’t shown his face for the last couple of days.
Because it had to be Jorge who’d put the camera in the laundry room without telling anyone.
“We can’t prove anything.” Vivienne used her soothing tone. Nothing would calm Michael. “We can use the threat of suing the network to our advantage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got the network to agree to put Kitchen Catastrophe on hold and most likely cancel the show, although they wouldn’t put it in writing.” Standing from the office couch, she smoothed her skirt, looking professional through the turmoil.
A glimmer of hope. “How’d you manage that?”
“I told them we had proof one of their producers stole the video and put it up for public consumption.”
“We don’t have proof.” In his gut, he knew, though.
Jorge was trying to make a name for himself. He’d brought in bridezilla and Alfred, the cook who’d almost burned down the entire kitchen.
“Doesn’t matter. I said we’d tie them up for years in court.” Vivienne patted her perfect hair. “Lawyers are expensive.”
Doubts festered in Michael’s stomach. The network had been adamant and determined. They’d already spent a lot of money. “The promos have been airing.”
“After the Cook-Off, the network is going to announce there were production problems for Kitchen Catastrophe.” Vivienne clicked a pen. “You and Isabel will need to go through with the Cook-Off. She signed a contract. And the one executive I’ve been talking to said if the ratings for the Cook-Off are as high as expected, they might be interested in pursuing that as a show idea.”
His head steamed when he’d learned Jorge had told Isabel he’d sue Michael for breach of the secrecy clause if she didn’t sign on to do the cook-off. She’d signed to save him. That had to mean she felt something for him. He had to fight for them even more now.
“And for you, Michael, it’s part of your promotional responsibilities for Kitchen Catastrophe.”
“You just said they were going to cancel the show.”
“They will.” His new agent seemed confident. “They want to air the Cook-Off live. They have advertisers lined up, and believe the ratings will be phenomenal because of the recent, shall I say, exposure.”
Fury flared like an over-flaming Baked Alaska. He clenched his fists again, sick of the negotiations. Sick of being taken advantage of. And sick of them taking advantage of Isabel.
“I’ve got to get back to the kitchen.” At least he could control working with food. Although the kitchen staff was another matter entirely. They’d been unusually quiet and morose today, and he didn’t blame them. They loved Isabel almost as much as he did.
Chatter brought the noise volume up, still he heard someone exclaim, “There’s Chef Michael.”
Being recognized wasn’t new to him. He was a celebrity chef. This kind of fame, the notorious kind, wasn’t what he wanted.
A woman dressed in a low-cut blouse pawed at his arm. “I want what the woman in the video had.”
Her suggestive tone got beneath his normally tough skin, and disgust churned at the woman’s touch. Shaking off her hand, he clamped his mouth shut and stormed away.
Escaping to the kitchen, he slid to a halt.
Another crowd had gathered. This one made up of riled kitchen employees. They’d probably been gossiping about him, because once he entered the room only silence greeted.
His disgust wavered to uncertainty. “Back to work, everyone. We have two full turns, and people are waiting.”
No one moved.
He didn’t want to deal with a kitchen revolt tonight. Too many other tumultuous thoughts and emotions stormed inside him.
A dishwasher raised her hand. “Is Isabel okay?”
“What about your no-dating policy?” Tony heckled from the back of the group.
“She wasn’t fired, was she?”
Questions were spat at Michael. He understood their animosity, concern, and their loyalty to Isabel. He’d done nothing to earn their respect. He’d yelled and set strict rules that he’d broken. He’d lied. And he’d exposed Isabel, their friend, to ridicule.
He needed to let them know he understood their protectiveness toward her. He needed to reassure them. He needed to put the rumors to rest.
“First off, I’m cancelling the no-dating rule.” Heat crept up his cheeks. “I believe the reason is obvious.”
The workers cheered, Tony and Maria the loudest.
“So you and Isabel are a couple?” Finally, a friendly voice from the crowd.
Relaxing, Michael let a smile slip onto his face.
“I hope so.” He really, really hoped they could work it out and be a couple. And more. “Isabel has not been fired and has not quit. She will be back.” Again, he hoped so. “I’m sure you understand why she needed to take a few days off.”
The crowd murmured with sympathy.
“I’ll also let you in on a secret.” He wasn’t sure how much to say. He wanted them to understand and not worry about the future. “After the cook-off, which will be televised live, no matter who wins, Isabel will become head chef at The Heights.”
Another cheer. They loved Isabel.
Warmth settled some of the chaos inside him. The staff would be behind her when she became head chef, and they’d help her through any trouble.
“What about you?” The friendly voice again.
Maybe the workers didn’t completely hate him.
“I’m making plans of my own.” Lots of plans. Both personal and professional. “So tonight, our job is to please every diner who sits at one of our tables. We want them to not only return again and again, we want them to tell their friends about what a great meal they were served. We want their dining experience to be perfect. For The Heights.” Like a coach before the big game, he raised his fist in the air. “And for Isabel!”
The crowd raised their hands, holding spatulas and spoons. “For Isabel!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Isabel scraped the flopped soufflé into the trash. The gooey mess plopped and sank like the feeling in her belly. If she was going to win the cook-off challenge, she had to perfect a difficult recipe prepared in a limited amount of time.
In front of millions.
Millions who’d seen her partially naked.
Her skin crawled and heated. The humiliation was only surpassed by the anger. She’d prove to Chef Michael Marstrand who could cook in the kitchen. She’d show everyone watching on television she was more than a flirt or his partner in a sex tape. She’d demonstrate she was a professional, and damn good at her job.
Yanking open her refrigerator, she scoured the meager contents. She’d have to go to a grocery store eventually, go out in public, change out of her sweats and face the world. Her crawling skin chilled. In the last few days, she’d only talked to Danielle and Dax.
She sagged against the kitchen counter. She’d almost given in. Several times. She just didn’t know what to say or how to react with Michael. Her emotions boiled and brewed.
Angry. Hurt. Betrayed. Hurt. Embarrassed. Hurt. And yet, she still loved him.
Darn it.
It was the last emotion shocking her into action. Even if she loved him, she was going to beat him. She was going to win.
Danielle had acted as intermediary, sharing the news Kitchen Catastrophe was put on hold because of production problems. A pinch of good news in Isabel’s otherwise dismal world. She wasn’t sure how Michael and Vivienne had worked it out.
He must be thrilled. He could move from Castle Ridge right after the cook-off. Go back to his celebrity life. The video scandal had gotten him out of a contract he’d hated, and cleared the path for him to go back to L.A. And helped his image problems from the lawsuit. The viral video proved Michael liked women. He’d gotten everything he’d desired.
Bitterness soured on Isabel’s tongue. She’d gotten an infamous sex tape and a broken heart.
She’d wallowed in her situation for a while, believing she deserved a good cry. Cry time was over. She needed to get serious about taking control of her life and her career, starting with winning the cook-off challenge and shoving her success in Michael’s face, before he returned to his Hollywood lifestyle.
Winning would prove to everyone she deserved to be head chef. There’d be no Kitchen Catastrophe for people to see her openly flirting at her job. And sex tapes were a baker’s dozen. People would forget. Eventually.
Opening one cabinet after another, she pulled out a large round pan, rice, tomatoes, onions and garlic. Nailing the crispy, caramelized crust on the bottom of a paella, and cooking the rice so it had excellent bite took practice and concentration. She needed to concentrate on the cooking and not on her emotions.
A text buzzed in on her phone. Michael.
She held her breath as she read: The network sent the format for the cook-off. Can we talk?
Her body froze. He’d been calling, texting, and knocking on her door off and on for days. She’d ignored him. Her heart tugged. She wanted to hear his voice, see his handsome face.
No, no, no.
She would not be weak. She’d see him on the day of the competition. He only cared about his career and his celebrity. Not her. With her cooking skills, she’d gut his reputation. She refused to let him try to sweet-talk her. Picking up her phone, she texted back a one-word negative.
Strangling the phone, she scowled at the screen waiting for a response.
Will send format information with Danielle.
Her shoulders slumped. Guess she wasn’t important enough to persist this time. Emptiness hollowed her insides. He couldn’t wait even a few minutes for her.
Because he didn’t care.
The emptiness scorched into a black hole of numbness. She had to stop thinking about Michael. She needed to focus. She needed to win.
Taking out some spices, she mixed them in a bowl and watched the rice cook. She’d put her energy into creating a fabulous paella, pouring her pride and her love of cooking into the dish. She’d cook to forget her despair.
She had her friends and family. She had her cooking and her career. She’d get to stay in Castle Ridge. And by winning, she’d get revenge.
Minutes later, her friend arrived with a sympathetic hug. “How’re you holding up?”
“Fine.” So not fine. “How’s Michael?” Isabel mentally kicked herself. She didn’t care about her betrayer, the question had been polite conversation.
“Elusi
ve.” Her friend took off her coat and set it on a chair. “And sad. He misses you.”
Good. Let him stew for a while. Stew until she paid him back for the embarrassment he’d caused by making the vile video. The cook-off might not go viral, but the cooking network executives would be watching while she demolished him.
“When he’s not in the kitchen, he and Vivienne have been working almost twenty-four hours a day.”
On what? Isabel refused to ask the question perched on the tip of her tongue. “He’s not practicing for the cook-off?”
“Between playing interference on legal battles, and running The Heights kitchen without the first sous chef, he hasn’t had much time.” Danielle’s words sliced Isabel with guilt.
Her eyes burned. She’d let the kitchen staff down. She didn’t care about Parker, and certainly not Michael. “I can’t face other people yet.”
Her friend wrapped her in another hug, the soft sweater rubbing against her cheek. “He understands. He’s been working with lawyers and network executives and social media people and even computer hackers.”
Air snagged in her lungs. That sounded unsavory. “Computer hackers?”
“He’s doing everything to get the video taken down, and to find the people responsible and bring them to justice.”
“What?” She’d thought he wanted the video out in the public as evidence in his employee lawsuit. “Why would he do that?”
“For you.” Danielle used an aren’t-you-silly tone, as if Isabel should know his feelings.
When she didn’t. Was her anger clouding her judgment about him?
“From Michael, and from the network.” Her friend handed her a bottle of wine and a sealed envelope.
“I’ll open this.” She took the envelope cautiously. “You open the wine. I’ll probably need a drink.”
Her friend moved into the kitchen and got to work opening the bottle. “What does it say? Michael wouldn’t tell me anything when he gave it to me to deliver.”
Ripping the envelope open, Isabel sank down on the couch and read through the contents. The sinking in her stomach returned. This wasn’t going to be similar to a cooking school audition, or a job interview, where you cooked your best recipes.