Can't Stand the Heat (Corporate Chaos Series Book 2)

by Leighann Dobbs

  The only problem was that his cooking skills weren’t yet finely honed. That and the fact that the contest required quick thinking. Raffe wasn’t so good at thinking on his feet. That’s why he’d crammed in all that research ahead of time.

  The research had paid off too. He knew those Cortland apples would add a unique twist to the salads, and they originated in New York.

  He’d figured Sarah had thought he had grabbed the wrong ones by the way she’d been shooting daggers at him. He shot a smirk in her direction. Maybe this would show her he wasn’t some rich loser wanting to take advantage of her culinary expertise for his own gain. True, he needed her expertise to help win the contest, but he wanted to do it on his own merits too. He wanted them to be a team.

  Raffe snuck a look at Sarah out of the corner of his eye as the judges made their way down the line critiquing the other teams’ dishes. Her body had lost that rigid stance, and a wisp of blond hair had worked loose from the tight bun. The brilliant overhead lights gave her amber eyes a golden glow. Standing there beside him she was almost… pretty.

  Sarah turned to look at him, and Raffe jerked his head away. The last thing he needed was to become involved with Sarah. A fake engagement was involvement enough.

  The judges had made their rounds and were now standing at the judging station. Beside him, Sarah stiffened. Raffe’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, reminding him of how important this contest was to him.

  Landon Barkley clapped his hands. “Chefs! You’ve all done a wonderful job, but as you know, only six teams will earn a place in the challenge.”

  Landon paused dramatically. The crowd murmured. Raffe shifted on his feet.

  “For this elimination challenge, the contestants were tasked with creating a dish that epitomizes New York cuisine.” Landon stopped for another annoying pause, then his gaze slowly swept over the teams as he said, “And while some did an excellent job, others fell far from the mark.”

  Raffe’s heart leapt. Had Landon’s gaze lingered on Raffe when he said “far from the mark?” Why doesn’t he just get on with it and announce the winners?

  “And now… I will announce the winners…”

  The room fell silent. Sarah and Raffe stood still as statues, the hot lights beating down on them. Sarah’s hand brushed against his, soft and warm. Raffe held his breath.

  “Congratulations, Teams One, Three, Six, Seven, Ten, and Twelve! You will move on to the next round!”

  Relief flooded through Raffe. He exhaled in a loud whoosh. He raised his palm for a high five and turned toward Sarah.

  Sarah could hardly believe her ears. They were in!

  Raffe was already holding his palm up for a high five, and she slapped it enthusiastically with her own. Their eyes locked for a second before she was blinded as the stadium lighting sparked off her fake engagement ring—a gargantuan princess cut diamond replica.

  She ripped her hand away and shoved it into her pocket. Not only was the ring’s ostentatious presentation embarrassing, it was a reminder of how she was cheating to win this contest. Normally a painfully honest person, Sarah let the fact that her entry into the Chef Masters Challenge wasn’t exactly on the up and up cut her to the core. But this wasn’t about her. She’d have to set aside her code of ethics if she wanted to help the one person who mattered to her the most.

  Guilt washed over her. What would her parents think? She could never tell them she’d faked being engaged to get into a contest. The only saving grace was that the television show wouldn’t be aired until a few months after the contest. Yes, her folks would be mad about this engagement they’d never heard of, but she’d already concocted a way to explain it; she was waiting to tell them as a surprise, but in the end things didn’t work out. If they knew the real reason she had agreed to do this, they might understand, but she’d deal with that later. After they won.

  Did they have a real chance of winning? Sarah had to admit she’d been beginning to worry about that, but then Raffe made that brilliant move with the apples, something she herself would never have considered.

  “How did you know about the apples?” she asked, wiping a cloth over the stainless steel blades of their chef’s knives as Raffe cleaned the countertop.

  Raffe shrugged. “I did a lot of research on different types of dishes before we came here. I mean, I’ve eaten a lot of different foods all over the world, but I wanted to learn more about what foods draw what flavors, where they originated from, that kind of thing.”

  Impressive. Obviously this contest meant more to him than she had initially thought. Why would a guy like Raffe, who already had more money than he needed and the prestige of several five-star restaurants, even care about a contest like this? She had feared that it was just a lark for him and that he wouldn’t take his role seriously. She was relieved to think she might have been wrong.

  “Well, you did great research then. But I would still like to know where the walnuts went!”

  Raffe stopped cleaning and glanced toward the pantry. “I thought I saw walnuts in the pantry too, but maybe we were both wrong. Things moved pretty fast.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m positive I saw them. It just makes no sense. And what happened to the eggs?”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, so don’t worry. They restock the pantries after every contest, so we should be fine.”

  Sarah put her knives carefully into the case, suddenly feeling drained. The anxiety of the day had taken its toll, and now she was exhausted.

  Going back to her dumpy little hotel with the gold shag carpeting and crawling between the sheets suddenly seemed like heaven. She’d had to scramble to get the money together to fly out to Namara, the tropical island hosting the competition, and find accommodations. Raffe had offered to pay, but she’d refused. She didn’t need anyone taking care of her. The one-story motel near the airport, with its neon sign missing half the letters, was the best she could afford.

  Raffe was probably staying at the Ritz Carlton on the beach. She’d been worried about someone catching on that they weren’t staying at the same hotel, but everything had been a whirlwind, and no one had had time to dig into living arrangements so far.

  “So umm… I guess we should walk out together.” Raffe stood at her side, his black canvas knife case in hand.

  Sarah glanced around at the other teams, most of whom were finishing with the cleaning and starting to gather their things. Worry gnawed at her gut. What if people wanted to get friendly? Would she be able to pretend she was Raffe’s fianceé? What if someone was staying at her hotel and noticed Raffe wasn’t there?

  “Yeah, I think we need to come up with some sort of plan to make it look as if we are staying together or—”

  “Attention!” Landon’s voice boomed across the room. “We have a surprise for those of you moving on in the competition.”

  Everyone turned toward Landon, who stood in front of the bank of cooking stations looking quite pleased with himself.

  A surprise? Maybe a cash bonus? Or a car? Sarah glanced at Raffe, who shrugged.

  “We know all of you have had to lay out a significant sum to travel here and are scattered in hotels all around the island.”

  The other contestants nodded and murmured. Sarah’s gut tightened. What was Landon getting at?

  Landon continued, “And because we want you all to focus on food and not finances, our wonderful producers have arranged accommodations for you.”

  Sarah’s brows shot up, and she glanced at Raffe again. Whatever they’d arranged would probably be an upgrade from where she was staying but possibly a downgrade for Raffe.

  Sarah’s spirits lifted as Landon clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He was clearly eager to let them in on the location, so it must be some place good. “You’ll all now be staying at the Casa Del Mara Resort. We have rented half of the resort, and you will all be staying in your own romantic bungalow!”

  Sarah’s heart crashed.

  Romantic bungalow? This had d
isaster written all over it.

  Veronica St. James’ face soured at Landon’s announcement about the bungalows. It may have been a surprise to the contestants, but it was old news to her.

  Everyone gets a romantic bungalow, blah blah blah. Romance. Who needs that? She had never had a boyfriend. Ever. And she didn’t care! She stuffed the jar of walnuts into her desk drawer and reached for her cell phone to call Tanner and tell him the bad news.

  “Things didn’t go as planned. They made the cut to the main contest,” she said as soon as he answered, cutting right to the point. Veronica liked to avoid pleasantries at all costs.

  “What? Well you messed that up, didn’t you? You made it sound like a sure thing, that you had taken care of it and they wouldn’t make it.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Raffe knows how to cook as well as he does,” she replied dryly, gripping a package of M&M’s in her hand. She’d been certain that paying the staff member to take the eggs from their kitchen when no one was looking and stealing the walnuts from their pantry would have been enough to screw up their meal. She wouldn’t underestimate them again.

  “Well, make sure you stop them. I pulled in a favor to get you that job. You’d better not make me regret it.”

  Veronica popped a yellow M&M into her mouth, chewing it slowly. The M&M package crinkled as her grip on the bag tightened with every word Tanner said.

  She didn’t need him to prod her to make sure Sarah and Raffe didn’t win this contest. She wanted them to lose more than anyone. She wanted revenge.

  That nosey, plain Jane Sarah had to have been involved in her getting fired from her last job. And Raffe, well, if he preferred to be with mousey Sarah, then so be it. When did they get engaged anyway? Must have been a whirlwind romance. And why would someone like Raffe want to be in this contest? Everyone knew he had plenty of money. Neither of them deserved to win.

  “How’s business?” she interrupted, sick of listening to Tanner whine about her failed attempt.

  “It’s good. Better every day. I am counting on you to ensure it stays that way. Make sure these two don’t advance again.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. She had a bit of a history with Tanner Durcotte. Not in a romantic way. It was more of a shared vendetta kind of way. Sarah had had a role in screwing them both, and they both wanted to see her fail.

  But Tanner also had a business reason. He owned a few restaurants in New York City that competed with Raffe’s. Those restaurants were now his sole source of income thanks to Sarah and her fat friend Marly West ruining his fashion design business. He simply could not afford for Raffe to win this contest. The prestige could give Raffe’s restaurants an edge.

  “I think we both know I want them to fail as badly as you do, Tanner. I’ll be in touch.” Veronica ended the call, grabbed a few more M&M’s, and started to work on her plan to bring down Team Raffe and Sarah.

  3

  There were worse gigs than working cleanup for the big TV show that had come to Namara Island for filming, TJ thought as he sprayed down the pots and pans before placing them on the rack that would feed them automatically into the giant dishwasher.

  The cleanup room, as he called it, was quiet. No one ever came here. It was usually just him and the hum of machinery. He liked it that way. No pressure. Nobody bugging him. The job was simple. Maybe years ago he would have been disgusted with it, but now he was grateful.

  “Are you almost done? Those need to be back to the set. Why does it take so long to wash this stuff? This isn’t rocket science, for crying out loud!”

  He cringed as soon as he heard the screeching voice. Almost no one bugging him. Turning around, he saw Veronica, the always-stressed blond show organizer.

  The irony was amusing. He had left New York City for several reasons, the main one being to escape stress. He had needed to be someplace where there wasn’t a lot of pressure. Where he could recover without people constantly pulling at him. Not to mention that he’d had to disappear for a while until he’d made good on a debt. What better place than Namara Island?

  Several months ago he’d managed to scrape together the money for a cheap summer flight, and he’d never looked back. He didn’t have anything or anyone keeping him in New York, and this island was the perfect place for him to pull his life back together. Except now this woman was driving him nuts every ten minutes.

  “I thought the next taping wasn’t until tomorrow?” he asked her, knowing that would send her into yet another tizzy.

  “You listen to me!” she screeched at him. “Get all that cookware clean and back to the set in fifteen minutes, or I will make sure it’s the last thing you do. The whole reason you have this oh-so-illustrious job is because of this production team. So move it!”

  TJ smirked as he watched her turn and stalk away, her ample hips swaying. Veronica St. James bugged the crap out of him, and she was wound way too tight for his liking, but still there was something about her that he kind of liked.

  Maybe it was just his natural instinct of wanting to save those he could see heading for disaster. Or maybe not. Either way, he had enough of his own problems to deal with to spend any time worrying about Veronica St. James.

  Sarah fidgeted in the back seat of the cab as it pulled through the tall scrolling black wrought iron gates of the Casa Del Mara Resort. She wondered if Raffe was already here and how they would manage to pull off living together in a romantic bungalow.

  The thought of mingling with the other contestants at the resort made her nervous. Surely someone would notice they weren’t a real couple? Maybe if they kept their heads down and stayed to themselves they could pull it off.

  The cab drove slowly past lush tropical plants. Vibrant greens, pinks, purples and reds. Up ahead she saw the coral-colored stucco of the main hotel. Beyond that, the pristine white sand beach stretched out to meet the aqua-blue sea.

  They stopped under a covered portico, and Sarah recognized two of the other contestant couples piling out of cabs in front of hers. They walked toward a path on the side of the resort. Sarah took her time collecting her luggage and paying the cab fare before following them at a distance safe enough to discourage conversation.

  The humid air clung to her as she dragged her suitcase down the stone path. She paused every so often to wrench her suitcase back on course. The clack-clackity-clack of the lopsided wheels mixed with the buzz of insects. The path was lined with colorful flowers and shaded by tall palm trees, and the floral scent of hibiscus and jasmine mingled with the salty tang of the ocean.

  As she neared the beach, the path opened up to reveal a vast courtyard with scattered seating areas. Stone benches and huge cushioned sectionals were grouped together in conversation areas. Rope hammocks swung lazily between palm trunks. Further into the trees, love seats were hidden away in intimate settings. The entire area was punctuated with five-foot-tall terra-cotta pots massed with colorful flowers exploding from the top and lush vines trailing down the sides.

  Set back from the courtyard, and located on the sugar-white sands of the beach, were ten tropical-style bungalows. They were scattered so that each one was offset from the other for privacy. Each featured a small deck at the front.

  Discreet arrow-shaped, knee-high signposts made of teak provided directions toward each bungalow. The one she would share with Raffe was bungalow eight, and a flurry of nerves beat against her rib cage as she realized she was almost there. Her whole body tensed, the edge of the plastic key card she’d been given by one of the contest staff members dug into her sweaty palm. What in the world was she getting herself into?

  Walking onto the small wooden deck, she fumbled with the card, jostling her purse, the contents almost spilling onto the deck. She lunged to retrieve it as Raffe opened the door.

  “Come on in,” he said cheerfully, gesturing with his hand like a maitre’d inviting her into a fine restaurant. Or was it like a spider inviting a fly into his web? Marly had claimed Raffe was a gentleman, but Sarah couldn’t be entirely su
re what he was thinking now that they had to live together.

  The bungalow was light and airy. An open concept with a large living room featuring double sliding glass doors revealed an expanse of frothy sea-green water beyond the private beach. On the far right, a row of cobalt blue cabanas dotted the beach in front of the main resort.

  Raffe had opened the sliding doors, and a breeze wafted in, bringing with it a tinge of briny sea air. The cry of gulls punctuated the crashing of surf pounding the beach.

  The living room sported a comfy-looking rattan-and-white-linen sofa and two matching chairs. Pillows in bright shades of coral, yellow, and lime green added a splash of color. In front of the couch, a funky, modern coffee table sat low to the floor, and matching side tables held tall lime-green vases, each with a beautiful purple orchid.

  To the immediate right was a small kitchen with a granite breakfast bar and two stools. It was decent sized, maybe even bigger than the one in her dinky apartment back in New York.

  “Wow, this place is great!” Sarah dragged her suitcase past the kitchen to a short hallway with a door on either side. The one on the right led to a lavishly appointed bathroom with a walk-in shower and modern aqua-glass bowl sinks. The entire room was done in soothing sand-colored matte tile. Accents and towels in aqua and blue added a tropical vibe.

  Opposite the bathroom was the bedroom, at the heart of which sat a king-sized four-poster bed, strewn with rose petals in the shape of a heart.

  Jeez, this was something out of a cheesy romance novel.

  Marly will love this.

  She laughed as she stood at the foot of the bed to snap a few photos for her friend.