She stepped back, her heart beating so hard she was surprised it wasn’t visible through her jacket. The erratic pumping clogged her ears, making the presentation of Lance’s rack of lamb a distant echo.
Finally, Sally said, “Chefs, go back into the Wreck Room while the judges do the tasting. We’ll bring you back shortly.”
They walked down the hallway to a room in the back. The Wreck Room wasn’t much to look at—just a bunch of folding chairs and a cooler filled with water, beer, wine, and champagne. On the shelf sat bags of chips and pretzels and a few bottles of hard liquor. Having watched previous seasons, Ashton knew they began calling this the Wreck Room after an eliminated chef in season one had trashed it.
The whole experience of being a contestant was so different than watching the show on TV. She had always assumed judging was done quickly, but after just a few days on set, she knew that when it came to filming, everything was a long process. She grabbed a bottle of water and fell into a chair.
The sound of a sob made her turn her head. Elena was slumped in a corner, her face buried in her hands and her body shaking.
Surprisingly, Duffy was the first one beside her. “What’s wrong, sugar?” He put a large, tattooed arm around her slight body. “Tell Papa Duffy.”
“I totally scr…screwed up,” Elena sobbed. “I blew it.”
Ashton knelt next to her. “Your dish looked fine. You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s great.”
“Mine came out perfectly,” Morgan bragged. She had a glass of wine in one hand and lounged in the chair as if it were her throne. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I won the challenge.”
Lance snorted.
Morgan shot him a look that would have leveled a building. “What do you know, Mr. Executive Chef? You made lamb. How pedestrian.”
Duffy grabbed Lance when Lance took a step toward Morgan. “Chill, man. She’s just trying to psych you out. Don’t let her get to you.”
“This is going to be a long afternoon,” Anthony commented.
Ashton nodded in agreement. “And the best part is, when the wait is finally over, we get to have our food picked apart like we’re fry cooks at a fast-food chain.”
“Come on, people,” Lance said. “Let’s get our minds off our food. Who knows a drinking game?”
“I don’t think so,” Ashton said. “We have to go back on camera.”
Lance looked unfazed. “Have you ever seen this show? The judges take hours to critique. We’ll be sober by then. Besides”—he pointed to the shelf of hard liquor—“why do you think they put that in here? Makes for better TV than sitting around sipping lemonade.”
“I’m in,” Duffy said. He turned to Ashton. “Come on, Blondie, you look like a girl who can hold her liquor.”
An hour—and two bottles of tequila—later, Ty entered the room.
Ashton sat on the floor, propped against the wall. The room had grown fuzzy, but she was still in complete control of her senses. Somehow, she’d ended up taking more shots than any other chef, but she was fine. Sure, she usually limited her alcohol to wine, and the last time she’d done tequila shots had been her first year of culinary school. And okay, there had been nothing in her stomach to absorb the alcohol.
But she was so fine.
She looked up at an oddly blurry Ty, who cast a rueful shake of the head. “We’ll see everyone back in the kitchen,” he said.
The chefs stumbled to their feet and began to pile out the door. Ashton made it to her knees, wishing she hadn’t taken that last shot. At the time, she hadn’t felt much impact from the alcohol, and they’d been told it would be hours before they were called in front of the judges. Why had they come to a decision so quickly? What did it mean for her?
All of a sudden, she was being lifted to her feet. Strong, warm arms kept her from falling. She looked up at the face of her savior.
Ty.
“What are you doing, Ashton?” His face hovered over hers, his breath warm on her cheek.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what you have to say,” she slurred. The room began to spin, like the teacups at an amusement park. She leaned closer to him, needing his support. “What did you think of my dish?”
“You know I can’t tell you yet.”
She thought she felt his lips against the top of her head, but it could have just been a drunken hallucination.
“Ashton, we have to go. Everyone’s waiting. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can.” Embarrassed, she pushed away from him. The world went into a full tilt and her stomach roiled. Unable to stop herself, she bent in half.
And threw up on Ty Cates’s shoes.
In an instant, she felt a combination of better and wishing she could drop dead. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I did that.”
Ty shook his foot. “Neither can I. Frankly, I expected you to be able to hold your liquor better. Just do me a favor, next time you want to throw a knife at someone, make sure you’re sober. I’d hate to see you end up in jail.”
Ashton let out a laugh that bordered on a sob. “You watched the tape.”
“Yup,” Ty confirmed. “I have a copy in my safety-deposit box with instructions that it be sent to the police in the event of my death by mysterious knife wound.”
Now she really was laughing. “I’m so sorry about your shoes.”
He shrugged. “Prada is overrated.”
Prada? Oh, God, now she really would need that prize money if she ever wanted to pay him back.
“How would you feel about a nice pair of Dockers? I hear you can’t tell the two apart.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Ty slipped off the ruined pair. “Who knows, I may start a fashion trend.”
“There you are.” Sally burst into the Wreck Room, clipboard in hand. “Everyone is waiting for you two. What ha…?” She looked down at the shoes. “Is that puke?” She didn’t let anyone respond before continuing. “We need to get you another pair. I’ll get wardrobe down here.”
“Don’t bother,” Ty said. “Everyone is anxious to get going. No one even sees my feet. I’ll film in my socks.”
Sally frowned. “We’ll have to see how it affects your height. It’ll look bad if you’re taller than Claude in one shot and shorter than him in the next.”
Ty rolled his eyes. “I seriously hope no one is watching closely enough to notice.”
Sally rushed out of the room, mumbling about annoying celebrities.
Ty turned back to her. “Are you going to throw up again? Or are you okay?”
She opened her mouth to tell him she was fine, but different words fell from her lips. “I don’t know.”
He pulled her to him so quickly, she stumbled. Then he dipped his head near her ear. “You have nothing to worry about,” he whispered before, just as abruptly, letting her go and walking away.
A grin rose to her lips.
Chapter Six
Ashton floated into the kitchen, her nerves diminished in a puff of reassurance. Statistically, the chef who won the first challenge went on to win the title. She couldn’t wait to see her father’s face when she became a celebrity chef.
“Dude, what happened to your shoes?” Duffy snickered to Ty.
Ashton froze.
Ty paused before answering. “They gave me blisters.”
“Blisters?” Duffy muttered, his forehead creased.
Thank you, Ashton mouthed to Ty. He nodded slightly in return.
“People!” Sally clapped her hands against her clipboard. “We are behind schedule. Chefs, line up on the markers.”
Ashton moved over the black tape set between a row of chairs and a table. The contestants who were safe got to move to the chairs, while the bottom chefs had to stand behind the table to see who would be eliminated.
“You look confident,” Jolene whispered to her as they waited for filming to start. “I’ve got more butterflies in my stomach than a garden in July. I wish I knew your secret.”
“
No secret,” Ashton lied. “I just believe in my dish.”
“Quiet,” Sally growled before she called action.
Ashton straightened her back, her arms behind her in a military pose. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see different poses among the chefs, most of them choosing the defensive—arms crossed over the chest—stance.
“Chefs,” Ty said. “We had some wonderful meals tonight and some disappointments. I know this was your first challenge and nerves may have played a role, but unfortunately, one of you will be eliminated.”
Ashton expected Sally to call out, “Cut,” but she didn’t. She guessed even Sally couldn’t leave the chefs to agonize while they reshot the same scene over and over.
“First,” Ty continued, “the good news. Our top three chefs are…”
Despite herself, Ashton’s chest tightened into a knot so thick a sailor couldn’t undo it.
“Jolene, Duffy, and Ashton.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Duffy exclaimed as Jolene hugged Ashton. He moved between the women and put an arm around each of their shoulders.
“Ashton,” Ty started. “Your lobster mac and cheese was delicious. The lobster was perfectly cooked, and I loved the balance of sweet and spicy.”
“This was not a beginner’s dish,” said Claude. “But many of our readers at Gastronomy magazine are advanced cooks and I think they would enjoy this very much.”
“Thank you,” she said, her grin at full force.
Andrea added her two cents. “Ashton, you were completely at ease in front of the camera today. I could tell this was a dish you really knew and how relaxed you were making it. It was as if you forgot the camera was even present. Nicely done.”
High atop cloud nine, Ashton barely heard the comments on Jolene’s and Duffy’s dishes. They loved her dish. Loved it. And when people watched this episode, how could they not want to run to the restaurant the very next day and try it for themselves? It would be torture keeping this secret from Jenna and Chloe until the episode aired.
Ashton shook out of her reverie as Ty got ready to announce the winner. Time for the fake surprise look, she thought.
“All three dishes were wonderful,” Ty said. “But this dish was not only delicious and beautifully presented, it was something we could feel good about eating. Tonight’s winner is…” He paused for effect. “Jolene.”
Ashton’s shock was genuine. Her eyes widened like saucers, and her mouth fell open and then closed as if it were a flytrap. How could Jolene have won? And with fish! Who really cared about so-called healthful eating? Everyone claimed they did until they opened the menu. Then, suddenly, they wanted whatever was battered, deep-fried, and smothered in cheese. Ashton had learned at the first restaurant she’d worked in that healthful didn’t sell.
But apparently it won contests.
“Jolene, as the winner, your dish will be featured on the cover of next month’s Gastronomy magazine. Congratulations. You three chefs can take a seat in the safe zone,” Ty said.
Ashton hated the prick of envy that ate at her. As if she wanted to be in that pretentious magazine anyway! She could just imagine the call from her father if he opened his mailbox to see her name front and center on the cover. Her eyes began to burn. Damn! She would not let them see her cry.
She took a seat between Jolene and Duffy. An instant later, she felt Jolene grab her hand.
“I can’t believe it,” Jolene whispered. Her face was flushed and she was grinning.
Ashton felt like a monster. Just because she was disappointed didn’t mean she needed to act like a wounded bear. “Congratulations,” she whispered back, squeezing Jolene’s hand. “We are going to celebrate big-time when we get back to the house.” Her stomach sent her a rumble of warning. “But no alcohol, please.”
Sally had stopped the cameras at some point and was now placing the other chefs in a row at the elimination table. They were each standing in front of an elaborate candle with a tall flame burning as filming resumed.
“Elena,” Ty said, “let’s start with you. Why do you think you’re on the bottom?”
Elena’s lower lip trembled. “The meat was undercooked.”
“You looked extremely uncomfortable on camera,” Andrea added. “As a James Beard Award nominee, you should have more confidence. It was as if you were trying to hide. I think the problem with the food was that you were concentrating on staying out of sight of the camera, rather than cooking.”
Tears streamed down Elena’s face as she nodded. Ashton ached for the woman, who looked as if she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
Lance had the opposite critique. His meal, the judges pronounced, had been overcooked because Lance had spent more time playing to the camera than checking the temperature of the meat. Anthony’s pasta was praised, but his sauce was declared too strong. Then, it was Morgan’s turn.
“Morgan, why did you pair the scallops with sweet potato?” Ty asked.
“This was a sophisticated version of fish and chips,” Morgan said. Her ever-present frown now included an eye squint. “Instead of greasy cod, you have scallops. And instead of a low-class French fry, I used a versatile, yet underused, sweet potato.”
“Low class,” Duffy muttered beside Ashton. “She’s never tasted my fries.”
“Unfortunately,” Ty said, “one of you is going home tonight. The judges have made their decision.”
Ashton’s breath caught, which was ridiculous. She was safe, so what did it matter who went home? But she couldn’t help but wish someone nice like Elena or Anthony got a second chance and Morgan was sent packing.
Ty paced dramatically in front of the table, a small metal cover in his hand. Suddenly, he stepped forward and stopped. Raising his hand, he placed the cover over Elena’s candle, extinguishing the flame.
“Elena,” he said. “You can’t take the heat. Get out of the kitchen.”
Elena burst into gut-wrenching tears as the cameras cut.
Ashton moved to comfort her, but to her surprise, Ty beat her to it. She watched as he put his arms around Elena and whispered to the sobbing woman. After a few minutes, Elena’s tears dried, and Ty stepped back. “Good luck,” he said to her.
“Come on.” Sally grabbed Elena’s arm. “We need to get shots of you leaving the building.”
As she yanked Elena across the set, Sally yelled over her shoulder. “No one leave. We have individual interviews next.”
There was a collective moan throughout the kitchen.
As the others gathered around Jolene to congratulate her, Ashton noticed Ty heading toward his office.
Her feet carried her in his direction, even as her head screamed to stay away.
…
Ty flopped in his chair, dropped his head back, and closed his eyes. He’d hoped to wrap up early today, but Sally had already dashed that dream when she told him they’d be filming promo shots after the interviews. He had to call Scott and let him know he wouldn’t be making bowling tonight.
Just as he closed his eyes for a catnap, his office door swung open. He lifted an eyelid to see Ashton standing in the doorway. Considering the glare combined with a hands-on-hips stance, she wasn’t happy. At least she wasn’t carrying a knife.
“You told me I won,” she accused. “Was that just to humiliate me? To get a good shot for the camera?”
He rose to his feet and walked to her. “I never said you won. I said you had nothing to worry about. And you didn’t. You made it to the next round.”
Her shoulders dropped, as if the bravado that had brought her to his office had deflated. “The way you said it, I thought…”
“I’m sorry you misunderstood. I thought I was helping. I shouldn’t have even said anything, but you looked like you were going to throw up again. I didn’t want to end up without socks, either.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I didn’t throw up because of nerves. And I said I was sorry about your shoes. I’ll buy you another pair.”
�
�I don’t care about the shoes. You need to learn how to handle criticism. You’re a chef. Having your food critiqued is part of it.”
“I know.” She sagged against the wall of his office. “My father taught me all about being judged.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
“Was Jolene’s dish really better than mine?”
“You won’t let this go, will you?” he growled.
“I need to know why I lost.”
Ty threw up his hands. “Jolene’s dish was better, and I can’t pick you as the winner just because I like you!”
His chest pounded brutally at the unexpected words that had flown out of his mouth.
Ashton’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened as if to speak, and then shut again. She licked her lips. “Ty…”
“Ashton.” Her name came out as a whisper. He stepped closer, his libido overriding his brain. He knew this was wrong, knew he couldn’t be involved with her. Nothing could happen. It could screw up both their careers and probably send him to court. But he couldn’t stop his hands from reaching for her.
Before he could sweep her into his arms, footsteps pounded down the hall. They jumped apart moments before Sally stormed in, looking as harried and fierce as ever.
“There you are,” she said to Ashton. “We’re waiting on you to film the interview. Don’t disappear like that again.”
Ashton looked from Sally to Ty, her gaze unfocused. “Sorry.”
He didn’t know who she was apologizing to. He cleared his throat. “If you have any more questions on your dish, Chef, I’d be glad to answer them.”
“Thanks.” She turned to Sally. “I’m ready.”
As soon as they left, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and ordered his libido to slow down. But blood continued to pump furiously south of the equator. His traitorous body hadn’t gotten the memo that contestants were off-limits.
Obviously, if he was going to work with Ashton for the next six weeks, he needed to find some release.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hey, it’s Ty. How about dinner tomorrow?”
If the best idea in Ty’s life had been to deep-fry croissants, then the worst was settling for a vegetable plate when he’d really been craving lobster.
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