by Farrah Paige
“And not only that, when we premiere the show you’ll get to go to the network with other chefs and meet famous people,” he offered. “Sometimes we get celebrities coming down to the studio. Imagine being a personal chef to a movie star.”
“That’s not something that appeals to me,” she said politely. “I just---you know, I really want to bake.”
“You would. But imagine baking for Leonardo DiCaprio on his yacht. That would be baking,” said Steven. “Imagine a party full of famous celebrities eating your food.”
“Uh, I don’t really care who eats my food,” she said. “Most people like it. Anyone can like it. I don’t really care.”
“Will you excuse us for one moment, Honey?” I said. “I need to confer with Steven for a second.”
“Sure,” she said, sweeping up the rest of the cake.
I pulled Steven aside a little roughly this time.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whispered.
“What? She loves it,” claimed Steven.
“Are you in the same conversation as I am, because that’s not what’s happening,” I insisted. “You are severely pissing her off and pissing me off.”
“Who doesn’t love celebrities?”
“She doesn’t. She just said it to you. And you’re not listening to her!” I snapped. “You have to get out of here and go wait in the car. Let me talk to her alone.”
“What? That’ll be weird. I’m the producer of the show,” he said a little incredulous. “It’ll be fine. I’ll tone it down.”
“No. You already had your chance and she’s just about to throw us out of here,” I snapped.
“She is not,” he insisted.
“You are totally misreading the situation, Steven,” I said intently. “Now go outside and let me handle this. I can get her onto the show.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, still laughing and not really getting it.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he shrugged. “But if you take too long, I might come back in.”
“Do NOT come back in!” I hissed. “Now go. Go-go-go.”
Steven went outside the door and looked back. I walked over and locked the door as soon as he turned around and headed for the car. He was totally going to come back. I know it. I could just hear it in his voice. What is wrong with that guy? Can he not take the hint or is he just ignoring the hints?
Honey was definitely not on board with coming onto the show. Every word out of Steven’s mouth drove her further and further away. Honey was the kind of girl that was sweet and mostly innocent. She didn’t deal with celebrities or producers. The cut throat world of television wouldn’t appeal to her sensibilities. Nor would the cut throat world of being a chef for that matter.
In the old days, back in my original restaurant, I would’ve eaten her alive. I remember a pastry chef like her. She was young, idealistic and very talented. By the time she had finished working in my restaurant, she was a shattered shell. Her self-confidence had been reduced to nothing and I’m ashamed to say that I played no small part in its destruction.
Back then I was young, driven---nothing could stand in my way. If it wasn’t helping my restaurant or my cuisine, it would be immediately discarded. I lost more than a few friends during those years. Even during my days in the L’Academie de Cuisine in DC---fellow students knew that if they got in my way, they would be run over.
Perhaps in Honey, I saw a chance at redemption. Perhaps if I could love her and protect her, it would be like I was atoning for my previous behavior. That seemed like a lot to put on a potential relationship, but I guess that’s the baggage we all come with, right? I’m sure Honey has her own sets of problems.
But then looking at her as she came back through the kitchen door, whatever her problems were would seem very small to me. Her eyes, her lips, her flour dabbed cheeks and her smile---it filled me with a humanity in my heart that I had not felt since I was a boy. How could it be that just meeting a person could change your life?
Still, I must be calm, focused and professional. This would be a lot to articulate to another person in a first meeting. I had to get her to agree to come on the show. That was the first step. Once she was in my world---my circle---it would just be a matter of time.
“Steven sends his regrets, but he must take a long telephone call in his car,” I relayed. “This will give us a chance to talk. Please forgive my colleague but his people skills are quite lacking. Please, may we sit? I’d like to tell you all about the show.”
“I can’t Ethan,” she said. “I have so much work to do. Now that I dropped that cake, I am really, really behind.”
I started rolling up my sleeves. It was time to bake.
“I will help,” I said. “All I need is an apron.”
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t ask you.”
“Please, it is the least I can do,” I said. “It was my fault you dropped the cake.”
“All right,” she said. “I have to admit, having a famous chef in my kitchen would be interesting.”
Chapter 6
Honey
Was this really happening? Was Chef Ethan Jones offering to cook in my kitchen and help me? For free? Wow, what a weird, amazing day.
“That guy’s not going to come back in, is he?” I asked. “Because he’s really annoying.”
“I know,” said Ethan, looking back. “But I locked him out. I think we’re safe. Shall we cook?”
I hesitated.
“What is it?” he said.
“Nothing I---“ I stammered. “This is my kitchen, okay? What I say goes, so if I do some things you don’t like well, you just have to live with it.”
“Madam,” bowed Ethan. “I have been a chef all my life. I have the utmost respect for another chef’s creation space. You are the boss. No question in my mind. It is only fair.”
“Okay,” I smiled. “Let’s do it.”
We went into the back. I was a little embarrassed of how messy the kitchen was at the moment, but I was in the middle of cooking several things at once. With the arrival of Steven and Ethan my entire rhythm had been thrown off.
“All right, I need you to mix the cake batter,” she said. “The recipe is on the index card hanging right here.” I pointed to the card.
Ethan got right to work. It was nice having someone in the kitchen who knew more things that I did. I didn’t have to tell him anything. He went right to the fridge, got the eggs and butter. He sifted the flower and baking powder. He mixed everything correctly and in the order I had put on the index card.
Meanwhile, I had been making biscotti like nobody’s business. I wanted to be swimming in biscotti for tomorrow. The great thing about them was they were already hard and crunchy, so if they got a little more dried out before the morning rush, it wouldn’t matter. Same thing with some of the cookies they would keep for several hours.
“Chef, I have the batter ready,” said Ethan. “I like the tweaks in your recipe, by the way. I made a little extra batter because I’m hoping to make a smaller version of the cake that you and I can eat. Do you have a small mold as well as a large one?”
“I do,” I said.
I reached over and got the molds. He poured them in. Then he took the spatula and rubbed the inside of the bowl to fill the smaller ones. He did it so expertly. There wasn’t a single drop of cake batter wasted. The bowl looked almost perfectly clean.
“Nice job, chef,” I smiled. “Let’s get these in the oven.”
We got the cakes into the oven. My worries about being treated like a second class nobody in my own kitchen were unfounded. Ethan was respectful and knowledgeable and dare I say handsome. I mean, if this was a different situation, I could totally fall for a guy like him. But obviously, that couldn’t happen. Right?
Next up, we were making dough for tomorrow’s bread and a few other pastries. I had already made some, but I really needed to kick up my game if I was going to get close to filling orders. If even half the amount of people showe
d up, I’d be out of almost anything. Ethan suggested that I concentrate on the higher priced items, so we made a bunch of the strudel filling and the batter. We also made three times as much honey bun batter and glaze.
“At this rate, I’m going to need another fridge,” I said, filling up the shelves.
“I would say you need another fridge and another cook,” said Ethan.
“Oh, I just hired an assistant and she’s working out great,” I said. “She’s out getting supplies. We’re so low on everything.”
I looked into Ethan’s eyes and he into mine. We shared a moment, but then the timer went off for the cakes. This shook us both back to reality and we headed over to the oven. Everything looked fine, so we took the cakes out and set them to cool on the board. Now it was time to mix up the whipped cream. Ethan was already on it and I got the confectioner’s sugar.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “This is the last bag. Boy, it normally takes me a while to burn through the inventory. This is nuts.”
“Well, it’s good to be busy, right? All the money you’re making…”
“Yeah,” I said a little wistfully.
“What? What’s wrong? You don’t like money?” he laughed.
“Oh, ya know. Sure, but there’s more to life, you know?”
“Oh, sure there is, sure,” agreed Ethan.
I poured in some sugar and he mixed it around. Some of it splashed on my face.
“Whoops, sorry about that,” he said. “Let me get that.”
He picked up a towel from the counter and wiped my face. Again, we looked into each other’s eyes. The moment returned again. There was something there. A spark, a chemistry call it what you will. When he wiped off my face, it somehow became sensual. I put my finger in the whipped cream and offered it to him. He licked it off and then sucked on my finger a little. It was erotic.
There was a bowl of berries we were using to decorate the cake. He picked up a strawberry, dipped it in the whipped cream and fed it to me. I did the same for him and whipped cream dribbled down the side of his face. I moved forward and licked it off, but then the licking became kissing. Deep sensual kissing with tongue and sweetness. Oh, my God. Was this really happening?
As we made out in the kitchen, I could feel myself getting aroused. But how would this all look? Could I have a relationship with a famous chef? Especially one that just invited me on the TV show? And the TV show. Jeez, I almost forgot. Was this his way of getting me to come on the show? Did he do this with all the contestants?
No, that’s crazy. I had seen the show and clearly there were a lot of competent chefs on it. Most people would jump at the chance to be on television and he certainly didn’t kiss like a man who was just doing it to seduce me. There was a raw intensity in his every movement. We were both turned on by the other and it was getting increasing erotic and hot in my kitchen.
Lifting me to the counter, he moved in closer and started kissing my neck. It had been a long, long time since a man held me this way. That was another factor to consider, it had been so long since a man paid me any attention. Was I falling for him just because I was lonely? No, I could’ve made moves on some of the customers. That’s a fact, but I never did. Sure, I was a little lonely, but let’s be honest, Ethan was a hunk. And he was a chef. Talk about winning the lottery if this works out.
Now Ethan was rubbing the insides of my thighs with his hands. It was really getting my motor running.
“Mmmm,” I moaned. “I like that.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “From the first moment I saw you I wanted to hold you in my arms.”
I could feel his hand go up to my panties. Now he was teasing my pussy from the outside of the sheer fabric. Oh, God. It was amazing. I bit on his neck a little bit and I could feel myself getting incredibly wet. I glanced down and I could see his rock-hard erection trying to break free of his pants. Oh, my God, should I fuck him right here? My brain says that would be a violation of health and safety, but my body and heart scream for me to do it. He was bringing me right to the brink.
Then he slipped down my panties and started to tease my clit. I could feel his big, round finger enter into me. I started to cum. I gasped and held onto him, kissing him harder and deeper. He was fucking me with his fingers and I loved it. I was just cumming and cumming all over his hand.
Even as my whole body was celebrating these new sensations, I was worried about his producer. While Ethan seemed like an upstanding guy that was true to the cause of great cuisine, his producer struck me as a sleazebag. While Ethan was an artist in the truest sense of the words, prone to as I was, volatile bouts of passion, how did I know his producer wasn’t sneaking back in to videotape this for TMZ or something.
I pulled myself against Ethan’s torso as he continued to bring his fingers in and out of me in rapid succession. I looked around the kitchen and then remember that Ethan said he locked the door. But the back door was still open, I had to leave it open for Emma because we hadn’t had time to make her a key.
Now I was overcome with sensation. Ethan’s warm torso, combined with what his hand was doing to my pussy, caused me to cum uncontrollably now. He added a second finger, which stretched me in the most wonderful way. Ethan twitched his fingers inside me as he entered.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” I gasped, as a wave of orgasms hit me.
Half of me didn’t care at this point. Let TMZ see it. My orgasm was beautiful and Ethan was a dear for giving me so many. But much to my horror, I saw the kitchen door suddenly swing open and Emma entered carrying various bags and supplies.
“Holy shit. Oh my!” she gasped, totally embarrassed.
She put everything down as quickly as she could and rushed back outside the door. Ethan and I had to take a moment to compose ourselves. We had been caught up in a very heaty moment.
“Oh, no,” said Ethan embarrassed. “I am so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I panted. “But clean this up for me? I have some explaining to do.”
I jumped off the counter and readjusted my underwear, while Ethan proceeded to clean the countertop and anything that dripped down the front. I found Emma in the parking lot trying to call me on her phone.
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” she said. “I had no idea.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I assured her. “That’s Ethan in there.”
“Wait. Ethan Jones? The TV chef?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “He wants me to appear on Baker Battles.”
“Oh, my God. That’s great.” she said. “You have to do it.”
“Well, I was a little iffy about it at first, but now I think I have a vested interest,” I smiled. “You can come back in we’re all decent. And that was a totally unprofessional moment that will never happen again in my kitchen.”
“Oh, sure,” dismissed Emma. “I didn’t think you were like--- Yeah, sure.”
I went back inside. Ethan had cleaned everything up.
“I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds or anything,” said Ethan.
“You’re fine, you’re fine,” I assured Ethan. “We just shouldn’t do this kind of thing in the kitchen. Ya know.”
“Sure-sure,” he said. “Should we finish the cake?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” I said. “Let me finish putting all these supplies away and I’ll help.”
Emma came in with more bags.
“Ethan, this is Emma my assistant,” I introduced.
“Hello,” said Ethan. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” said Emma blushing a little. “I like your show.”
“Thanks.”
Ethan got the Chantilly Cake ready and we were restocked for the next zombie apocalypse thanks to Emma. I guess I could go onto the show. It would be a chance to see Ethan do his thing and for me to get to know him. Although, would people be upset if we were dating? Could I even go on the show if that happened? Maybe we could keep it a secret. Would social media tear us down? Hmm, there was lots to co
nsider here.
“Wow, he is really handsome in person,” whispered Emma.
I smiled and tried not to laugh. We were like a couple of schoolgirls watching the boys from a distance. I felt giddy and energized. Whatever happened from this point on, Ethan certainly made my day.
Chapter 7
Clark
After a terrible flight and an insufferably long wait on the tarmac, I finally got off the plane in Connecticut. I was walking through the airport with my bag when Steven texted me. He told me to meet him at a bar that was nowhere near the airport. What the fuck Steven?
“If this motherfucker went to meet the contestant without me…” I muttered.
I had to keep my head about me, even though that would be infuriating. Working on a TV show like this was a constant battle of wills. Creativity speaking, it was a battle, money-wise it was a battle and fighting for camera time? You’re damned right it was a battle.
Fortunately, my Uber was prompt and I was right on my way to the bar.
“Hey, you’re that guy on the Bakery Battles,” said my driver.
“The Baker Battles,” I corrected him. “But yes, I am he.”
“Ethan Jones, right?” he guessed.
“No, actually,” I bristled. “I’m Clark Peterson.”
I was removing stars with every sentence from this guy.
“Oh,” he said, sort of disappointed. “Oh, right. My mistake. You’re the other guy.”
“The other guy? What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“Um, the guy who, uh…” said the driver nervously. “Y-you usually like everything.”
“No, I don’t,” I insisted. “Do you even watch the episodes?”
“Honestly dude, I was just trying to make conversation,” he admitted. “I am so sorry I confused you with the other guy. I’ve only seen the show once. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I dismissed. “What’s your name again?”
“Taylor,” he said.