Sweet Seduction

by Jennifer St George

  ‘Okay,’ she said, as she rushed to the only empty station. She pulled the fish, sauces and vegetables from the fridge, reworking the dish in her head. She could manage this but she had no margin for error.

  She didn’t know if it was the pressure of time or the fact that Gabe was watching her every move, but each cut, stir and blend was perfect.

  Just as she flipped the fish, Jasper arrived, followed by a cameraman.

  ‘Morning, Charlie, and what are you cooking for us today?’ Jasper asked. The camera zoomed in close.

  Jasper nodded and looked impressed as Charlie described her recipe.

  ‘Where on earth did you get a Bowen mango, in London, at this time of year?’

  ‘It was tricky, Jasper, but you have to find the best ingredients to make this dish work properly.’

  Her hand trembled as Gabe sent her a sizzling smile. She mashed the macadamias and some pine nuts together with the mortar and pestle so no-one would notice the effect he had on her.

  ‘Why aren’t you using a blender for that?’ Jasper asked.

  ‘I want the sauce to have a crunch – it’s too uniform if you use a blender. And a variety in nut size makes the sauce more appealing visually. Creates more interest.’

  The camera moved in again for a close-up.

  Jasper continued with his questions and Charlie found discussing food came as naturally as breathing. She actually tingled with pleasure. Gabe’s nods and smiles didn’t hurt either.

  ‘That’s great, Charlie, I’ll be back to taste it when time’s up,’ Jasper concluded before walking to the next station.

  Gabe leaned over the bench as if to smell the sauce. Instead he looked up, gave her a wink and left without a word. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face after that.

  ‘Come on, everyone, five minutes to go,’ Jasper announced. ‘A place in the finals hangs in the balance.’

  Someone dropped a pan and cursed. The man next to Charlie cried out and held his fingers. An assistant rushed over with a first aid kit.

  Charlie slid the fish from the grill pan and topped it carefully with the creamy macadamia sauce. She spent the remaining few minutes heaping the salad onto the plate, the placement of each item carefully considered.

  She stood back to survey her handiwork. Not bad.

  ‘Time,’ Gabe called across the room.

  An older man at the front of the set threw down a pot and stormed from the studio.

  ‘Well, everyone’s chances have just improved by a few percent,’ Gabe said.

  Nervous laughter rippled across the room, but the tension hung heavily around the room.

  Jasper forked some of Charlie’s fish into his mouth. With his low murmur of pleasure, Charlie knew she had a potential winner. But was it good enough?

  For the next few minutes, the judges and production staff milled among the contestants, tasting dishes, asking questions, filming segments.

  Gabe headed her way.

  ‘Nice work, First-Class Chef,’ he said, patting her on the shoulder.

  Her skin quivered under his touch. ‘Thanks.’

  He popped a slice of fish into his mouth.

  ‘Good,’ he said simply and moved on.

  After the judges had tasted each dish, they disappeared and Gabe took up his position at the front of the set.

  ‘Fantastic job everyone. All of you clearly possess incredible talent. But of course only two people from this region can move up to the next level.’

  The room stayed silent and still. Gabe paced between the workstations.

  ‘The judges will make their decision later today. We’ll be releasing a ten-minute promotional clip later this afternoon and the winners will be announced live on our YouTube channel at eight tonight. Tune in then.’

  He walked back to the front of the set. ‘Thanks again, everyone, and good luck.’

  ‘This way, everyone.’ Abigail escorted the contestants back to reception. Charlie felt a little faint. Other contestants chatted excitedly, swapping experiences and anecdotes.

  One contestant with bright braces and a round, friendly face approached her.

  ‘You’re from Australia?’ he asked.

  ‘Yup,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Nice work with that barramundi.’

  ‘Thanks. What did you do?’

  ‘Ocean trout with zucchini flower and parsley sauce.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Sounds amazing.’

  ‘It is.’ He turned to leave. ‘See you in the finals.’

  Charlie frowned. ‘You know something I don’t?’

  The man threw his opinion over his shoulder. ‘No. I just know good cooking. Bye.’

  Charlie could have floated back to the tube station – no taxi required.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gabe said, looking up, ‘what was that?’

  He’d lost his train of thought as Charlie’s interview played on the monitor. The camera loved her. It was as though she’d been presenting on television all her life. Fortunately the lights in the meeting room were dimmed or everyone in the room would have witnessed the desire illuminating his face.

  ‘She’s magic,’ Abigail repeated.

  Gabe nodded and returned to the monitor. He had a star on his hands, but would the judges think so?

  ‘The male audience is going to love her,’ Jasper added.

  Gabe tore his eyes from the screen to look at him sharply. He shifted in his seat. The idea of men ogling Charlie didn’t sit comfortably at all.

  ‘She’s certainly our ticket to the male demographic,’ Abigail concurred. The others in the room murmured their agreement.

  Gabe wasn’t so sure he wanted Charlie to shine quite so much, but dismissed the notion immediately. The monitor screened a close-up of Charlie’s face. She was beautiful in person, but on screen she was an absolute knockout.

  He forced his eyes away. ‘How’s her cooking?’

  ‘There’s an immaturity about her choices and her presentation certainly needs improving, but she has creativity and natural flair,’ Jasper said. ‘You can learn about presentation and other techniques but you can’t teach flair.’

  ‘I think she’s a definite. She has my vote,’ Abigail said.

  ‘What does everyone else think?’ Gabe studied his team.

  The rest of the group quickly determined Charlie had a spot in the finals.

  Looking back at the screen, he couldn’t help thinking he was watching Britain’s first winner of First-Class Chef. Charlie had edged her way into his heart and he knew she would capture the nation’s.

  The question was, did he want to share?

  Charlie looked out the window again.

  Gabe’s black sports car was nowhere to be seen.

  She wandered down to his home office and clicked on the First-Class Chef’s highlights package again. It had been live since five that afternoon and she’d already viewed it three times.

  Only eight of the twenty South-East England contestants had featured, but it gave no clue as to which two had made it into the finals. Her interview with Jasper was the last clip and the longest. That had to be a good sign.

  Right?

  The video finished with a close-up of her face. She couldn’t quite believe it was her on the screen. First, because it didn’t even look like her, thank goodness. And second, who would’ve believed she could’ve been so successful so far?

  ‘To have people say they love your food is an incredible feeling.’ She spoke with such passion on screen, she barely recognised herself.

  She glanced at her watch again. Five to eight. She wanted to watch the online announcement with him. Win or lose, she had to share the moment.

  She heard the front door click and Gabe’s footsteps coming fast down the hall. She jumped from the office chair as he strode into the room.

  ‘Well?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘How did I go?’

  ‘Now, now, Charlie.’ He turned her around, placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to her seat at the computer
.

  ‘You’ll find out with the rest of the nation.’

  Gabe kept his hand on her shoulder as he bent down to join her in staring at the screen. The warmth of his touch proved distracting but wonderful.

  ‘Good day?’ she asked. Conversation might make the minutes pass more quickly.

  ‘Fantastic. We’ve already had a million hits on the website and the highlights package has been downloaded over a quarter of a million times.’

  Charlie eyes flared with surprise. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Like watching yourself?’ he teased.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m nervous as hell. I can’t focus on anything else.’

  The computer clock counted down the final seconds to eight o’clock. She hit refresh and a new video icon popped onto the screen.

  South-East England’s finalists announced.

  She couldn’t move, too afraid to know the decision.

  Gabe reached across and grabbed the mouse.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Well, shut your eyes then.’ And he clicked the link.

  Jasper’s image flashed up.

  ‘Good evening and welcome to the announcement of the first round of regional finalists of First-Class Chef. Starting with South-East England, let me introduce to you our first finalist, suave and good with sauces – Christopher Robertson.’

  Charlie slumped back in her seat as the clip rolled featuring Christopher, the man she’d chatted to in the foyer. He looked so professional and confident. She released a long, slow breath.

  Gabe patted her shoulder. ‘Remember, there are two finalists.’

  ‘Hmm.’ But her spirits sank just watching Christopher. His incredible skill shone brightly.

  The clip ended and Jasper returned to the screen.

  ‘Now for our second finalist. She’s a catering assistant with a flair for unusual ingredients. Introducing the talented Australian – cheeky and cheerful Charlie—’

  Charlie screamed and leaped from the chair. Jumping up and down, she flung her arms around Gabe’s neck. She couldn’t stop the tears as they streamed down her face. Gabe’s arms enveloped her.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said, pulling her in tight. ‘You deserve to be in the finals. The decision was unanimous.’

  Charlie pulled away. ‘You voted for me?’

  ‘I don’t vote, remember? But everyone agreed you were brilliant.’

  Charlie couldn’t keep still. She paced, skipped and danced around the room. ‘I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘The nation’s going to love you.’

  Her happiness evaporated. She went still and rubbed her brow.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Nothing, only that I’m about to misrepresent myself to a whole country.

  ‘Nervous?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah, yeah.’ This had gone far enough. She had to confess and now, before she went nationwide. She glanced at the computer. A close-up of her face still filled the screen. The face of a liar.

  ‘Gabe—’

  Gabe swung his arm around her shoulders and led her from the room.

  ‘You have nothing to worry about. You’re an amazing cook and after the first episode, the whole country’s going to fall for you.’

  She looked up at his handsome face, his eyes filled with warm reassurance.

  ‘I have complete confidence in you,’ he said.

  She couldn’t do it. Not now.

  Gabe had put his faith in her and she couldn’t let him down. The time wasn’t right. She kept quiet.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  She pulled from his hold. ‘Yes. It takes a bit of getting used to, that’s all.’ She walked into the kitchen. ‘I’ll get dinner started.’

  ‘Not tonight, you won’t.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘We’re going out to celebrate.’ He pulled her into the living room. ‘And I’ve got something for you.’

  He picked up a huge white box from the coffee table and held it out.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, her hands flying to her mouth to cover her surprise.

  ‘I was at the designers’ this afternoon, signing off on the final apron design.’

  ‘You had a designer do the aprons?’

  ‘Charlie, once this show goes live, the aprons you’ll be wearing on set will become collector’s items. They need to be special. Anyway, she had this hanging on the front of a rack and I thought of you.’ He put the box in her arms.

  A thrill tingled down her arms. She put the box on the table and slid off the lid. There, lying in a ruffle of white tissue, was a black dress. She lifted it out carefully. It was black satin, strapless and slim-fitting, with a corset-style bodice, and featured a line of covered buttons running seductively from the plunging neckline to the hem. It was almost identical to a dress she’d seen Kate Moss wearing in the gossip magazine she’d read on the way home on the tube.

  ‘Oh Gabe, it’s fantastic,’ she stammered, holding the stunning garment against her body.

  ‘For a beautiful girl,’ he said. ‘Thought it went with your new image.’

  She lifted her gaze to find him watching her. His deep pools of cobalt blue held her captive.

  ‘We’d better get going,’ he said. ‘The table’s booked for nine.’

  She shook her head as if waking from a dream and glanced at her watch.

  ‘So that gives me, what, just twenty minutes to get ready?’

  He flashed her a devastatingly irresistible grin. ‘You forget,’ he said. ‘I have complete faith in you.’

  Guilt raised its ugly head, but she ignored it. Hugging the dress to her breast, she ran up the stairs to change.

  This was fast becoming the best day of her life.

  Chapter Eight

  Less than an hour later, Charlie took Gabe’s proffered hand as he helped her from the taxi. After months of living simply, it felt weird wearing designer clothes. Gabe looked the essence of understated cool in a pair of fitted black trousers, simple white T-shirt and black leather jacket.

  They walked down Soho Street before Gabe led her into a small dark alley. When he turned into a nondescript doorway, she looked around uneasily.

  ‘What is this place?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It’s a private club. Mostly TV types, actors, screenwriters, producers, that sort of thing. London’s full of them.’ He pulled open the door. ‘We’re English, we like to feel exclusive.’

  She knew all about that. In Australia she was always ushered into the VIP sections of airports, restaurants and concerts.

  They descended a steep flight of stairs then stepped into a vast, dimly lit room. She knew instantly this was no ordinary club. Well, not like the ones she was used to, anyway. No chandeliers, crisp linen or attentive staff, just deliciously dark – urban chic. The vaulted ceiling featured curved brick archways. The enormous bar was all copper and glass. Large mirrors adorned the walls and reflected the unique space.

  ‘Do you come here a lot?’ she said in a low voice. The atmosphere seemed to warrant hushed tones.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her across the room. She was hyper aware of his touch, and an excited tingle raced up her arm. ‘This used to be a barrel cellar. It’s owned by a consortium of actors and directors who wanted a space that encouraged creativity. Lots of great ideas have been developed down here.’

  He waved at a table across the room. Charlie peered through the muted light. Stars from a British soap chatted animatedly in a booth. A couple of the cast waved back.

  ‘Mr Grenville.’ A young, gorgeous waiter appeared from nowhere. ‘Your favourite table’s available.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. Turning to Charlie, he whispered, ‘Most of the staff are aspiring actors.’

  ‘Did he try out for First-Class Chef?’ Charlie joked.

  ‘Yes. Brilliant in the interview, but macaroni
cheese just didn’t cut it.’

  The waiter led them to a dark corner. Charlie sat across a small table from Gabe in a huge red leather wing chair.

  ‘So, excited?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, but very nervous. I still can’t believe it.’

  She fidgeted under the intensity of his blue eyes. She played with the candle in the middle of the table. It went out.

  ‘Oops.’ She snatched her hand away. ‘Sorry.’

  Gabe reached across and took her hand. ‘I know it’s been a big day, but relax. You’ve made the top ten from over a thousand contenders. That’s an amazing achievement. Enjoy the moment.’

  Charlie relaxed back into the soft leather chair. ‘I’ll try.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It is amazing, isn’t it?’

  She’d accomplished something on her own. No money, no name, no millions involved.

  ‘This is the best day of my life.’ She cringed as her voice wobbled slightly at the end.

  Gabe laughed and patted her hand.

  ‘Easy, tiger. It’s only a TV show. A great one, obviously—’ a cheeky grin lit his face, ‘—but still . . .’

  It might just be a TV show to Gabe, but for her it was a major milestone. She was on her way to building a life that had nothing to do with her family. She wanted to celebrate.

  The waiter arrived.

  ‘A bottle of Salon 1995, thanks.’ Gabe said.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be nuts. That’s two hundred dollars a bottle – nearly one hundred pounds!’

  Gabe’s eyebrows arched. ‘You know your champagne?’

  Her heart thumped in her chest. She guessed most people didn’t usually know obscure, expensive champagnes. ‘Not really,’ she said, fiddling with her napkin.

  ‘Anyway, I feel like celebrating,’ he said.

  Who was she to argue?

  Gabe held his champagne flute aloft.

  ‘Here’s to you, Charlie Brown.’ He clinked her glass. She smiled and her eyes shone. He thought he could take some credit for erasing some of the sadness that had haunted her gorgeous face.

  ‘Here’s to me not making a complete fool of myself on national television.’

  ‘No chance.’ He sipped his champagne. ‘From what I’ve seen so far, you’re a force to contend with.’