Jenna shrugged, unimpressed. “She’s okay.”
“I’ll bet she didn’t get eliminated,” Chloe added.
Ashton threw her a scowl.
“And,” the voice-over continued, “we have a chef give in to the pressure—all over celebrity chef Ty Cates’s feet.”
“Oh, crap!” Ashton covered her eyes with her hands. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”
“You mean you puking on Ty Cates?” Chloe asked. “Sorry, but it kind of is.”
Ashton spread her fingers and peeked through the index and middle. Sure enough, there she was, bent in half over Ty.
“I guess when you said you’d barely talked to Ty, this just slipped your mind,” Jenna commented. She bit into a chocolate-covered strawberry, looking way too smug.
“I was drunk,” Ashton snapped. “We weren’t exactly having stimulating conversation. Oh, God. Are they going to show me drunk?”
“Probably.” Chloe laughed.
“I can’t watch.” Ashton grabbed the remote and hit off.
“Hey!” Jenna and Chloe yelped.
Jenna snatched the remote and turned the television back on. “If you do that again, we’ll be forced to tie your hands together.”
Ashton fell back against the cushions and closed her eyes. “And to think I was worried they were going to cast me as the crazy one who throws around knives. That would be better than the lush of the group.”
“Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” Chloe said. “We’re two minutes in. Let’s wait at least five before you start complaining.”
Ty’s face filled the screen, and her mouth went dry.
“Hello everyone, and welcome to the new season of The Next Celebrity Chef. I’m your host and head judge, Ty Cates. This year, we’ve got our most talented contestants yet.”
They cut to her face, and Jenna and Chloe started cheering again.
“I’m Ashton Grey, the executive chef and owner of Sweet Home in Chicago.”
“You look beautiful,” Chloe said, putting an arm around her. “Eat your heart out, Miss Texas.”
A laugh escaped. “Thanks. But Jolene is even prettier in person, if you can believe it.”
“That bitch.”
“I wish. She’s as nice as she is pretty.”
They watched the profiles of the rest of the cast, with her friends commenting along the way. Jenna thought Lance was obnoxious, but Chloe said he was kinda cute. They both agreed Duffy looked way too good in diamonds and that Morgan’s smile was as sincere as a snake’s.
Ashton glanced at her watch. “Fifteen minutes down and forty-five to go.”
“With commercials, only about thirty-five of the show,” said Chloe.
Finally, the challenge started.
As soon as Ty announced it, Jenna turned to her. “You made the lobster mac, right? I’ll kill you if you didn’t.”
Ashton just smiled.
As they cooked, slices of their post-challenge interviews were edited in.
“My signature dish at my restaurant is lobster macaroni and cheese,” Ashton said in her interview. “It is the most ordered item on the menu, and I think my partners would kill me if I didn’t make it.”
“Damn straight,” Chloe confirmed.
For the first time, Ashton realized Ty had been in the kitchen the whole time they’d cooked. She’d been so intent on her dish, she hadn’t even noticed.
“Ty’s staying awfully close to you,” Chloe commented. “He’s walked by your station, like, a half-dozen times.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “He’s walking up and down a row. He’s not at my station any more than any of the other chefs’.”
“Yeah, actually he is.” Jenna looked at her sideways. “He keeps coming back.”
“Because he’s interested in our technique. I would do the same thing if I got the chance to observe a room full of chefs.”
After they’d presented to the judges, there was a commercial break.
“You weren’t in the room when they ate your dishes, were you?” Jenna asked.
Ashton shook her head. “We were in the Wreck Room getting drunk. I hope they don’t show that again.”
But, of course, when the show came back, the cameras were on the chefs, not the judges. The first shot was Ashton and Duffy comforting Elena.
“She’s not going to make it,” Chloe said. “Too sensitive.”
“Oh, please,” Jenna argued. “Have you seen anyone more sensitive to critique than Ashton?”
“Hey!”
“True,” Chloe said, ignoring Ashton. “But Ashton gets mad when she’s critiqued; she doesn’t cry about it. It’s like her relationships. The first time she gets into a real argument with the guy she’s dating, Ashton doesn’t cry. She gets mad and dumps him.”
“Hey!” Ashton said again, louder this time, adding a pissed-off edge to her voice. “That’s not true. I mean, about my relationships.”
She got a pair of hard stares. “It’s not,” she insisted. “Could we just watch the show without commentary? They’re starting the judging.”
They turned their attention back to the show.
“This fish is perfectly cooked,” Ty said, speaking about Jolene’s dish. “The seasoning is well-blended.”
“I agree,” Andrea said. “And Jolene is an absolute natural in front of the camera.”
“She’s had a lot of experience,” Claude put in.
They threw around a few more adjectives, like amazing, charming, and beautiful.
Chloe turned to Ashton. “Can we hate her? Please, I want to hate her.”
“You can try,” Ashton told her. “But she makes it really difficult.”
“They’re tasting your dish.” Jenna grabbed her hand.
“This is another fantastic dish,” Ty put in. “The lobster is perfect, and the blend of cheeses meshes wonderfully.”
“This is a sophisticated dish,” Claude said. “Yet very accessible.”
Ashton beamed.
“It’s very good,” Andrea said. “But I find the dish heavy.”
“I wouldn’t call it heavy,” Ty protested.
But Claude was nodding. “I enjoyed a few bites, but I’m not sure how I’d feel about a whole plate of this. When I’m eating a meal this rich for dinner, I usually end up spending the night in the bathroom instead of the bed.”
Ashton turned red, and this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. “That little weasel. When I get back—”
“Ashton, didn’t you already hear this?” Jenna asked. “Calm down.”
“No,” she said. Jenna was right, though. Ashton knew she had done well, so what did it matter what comments were made? Claude was probably just trying too hard to be entertaining on television. Her father would have applauded his effort.
“This dish represents comfort food,” Ty was saying. “That’s what Ashton is all about.”
“He’s really defending you,” Chloe said, her eyes on the television.
Embarrassment flowed through her as she thought of the way she’d pounced on Ty after the challenge. She’d made horrible accusations and all the while he’d been on her side.
“I’m not saying the dish isn’t superb,” Claude pointed out. “But could you see yourself eating more than one small helping?”
Ty remained silent.
They watched the rest of the critiques, which were followed by a commercial.
Jenna glanced at the clock. “There isn’t much time left. You may have gotten lucky. They probably edited out the whole puking thing and just put in that little bit for a promo.”
But when the commercials ended, the drinking game was beginning.
“Wonderful,” Ashton groaned.
The chefs were sitting in a circle. “If you’ve ever worked for a chef who threw a plate at your head, take a drink,” Duffy said.
Every single chef in the circle took a shot.
“Wow,” Jenna said. “I would say that’s sad, but at least a pla
te’s not pointy.”
“Morgan looks like she’s about to cry.” Chloe pointed.
Ashton leaned closer, and sure enough, Morgan’s eyes glistened with moisture. Temperamental chefs with bad tempers were common in this industry, yet Ashton had a feeling there was a bigger story behind Morgan’s unshed tears. Maybe that was why she was so volatile, why she felt she had something to prove.
“If you’ve ever thrown anything at an employee, take a drink,” Lance said, the game continuing.
Ashton, Duffy, and, surprisingly, Anthony took a shot.
“How many shots did you do?” Chloe asked.
“I lost count after five.” She gagged, remembering. Sure enough, the shot cut to the end of the drinking game, when she was sprawled on the floor.
“I’m going to kill myself now,” Ashton said with a moan. “Revive me when this is over.”
“It’s not that bad,” Chloe said. “Really, it’s kind of funny.”
Ashton glared at her. “This is my reputation on the line. I don’t want people to think I’m a drunk.”
“No one thinks that,” Jenna started, watching as Ty peeled her off the floor. She cringed when Ashton doubled in half and heaved on Ty’s shoes. “Think of it this way: if you were a drunk, you would be able to hold your liquor better.”
Chloe eyed the television, then turned to Ashton, her forehead creased. “He’s holding you awfully close for someone who’s just been thrown up on. And what’s he saying? I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear.”
“I can’t remember,” she lied. “And he’s not holding me as much as he’s holding me up.”
“I agree with Chloe. He looks like he’s holding you. And his face looks…tender.”
“No,” Ashton retorted. Please don’t let me blush. “You just want to see something that isn’t there.”
Her friends looked suspicious instead of appeased.
“Look, they’re going to announce the winner.”
When Jolene was announced, Chloe put her arm around Ashton and hugged her.
“It’s fine,” Ashton said, but even she realized her voice shook. “I was in the top three.”
“You were great,” Chloe declared. “And you’re going to kick the beauty queen’s ass.”
“Here, here,” Jenna cheered. “I’m going to get some champagne to celebrate.”
“No, thanks,” Ashton said quickly. “I still can’t look at alcohol.”
“Who gets eliminated?” Chloe asked.
“Watch,” Ashton said.
Minutes later, Elena was revealed as the first to go.
“No surprise there,” Chloe said. “She served them raw meat. Ew!”
Ashton thought the show was over, until she saw her face pop up on the screen. “What’s this?” she murmured.
“Do you see Jolene as your main competition?”
Ashton recognized Sally’s voice, but shook her head in confusion. Sally had never asked her this question during the interview.
“Not at all,” came Ashton’s reply. “This competition is about cooking skills, not about how you fill out a blouse.”
Jenna’s and Chloe’s mouths fell open.
Ashton’s stomach clenched like she’d been punched. “I never said that! Okay, I might have said that, but not in that context. Sally never asked me about Jolene specifically. They edited the question in later.”
Her friends were still agape.
“I swear!” Ashton took a deep breath. “I feel bad about Jolene. I hope she doesn’t really think I feel that way.”
“When you get back, you’ll explain.”
“And I bet you can’t wait to see Ty again,” Chloe said, giggling. “You are so hot for each other.”
Jenna joined in the laughter. “Really, Ashton. I half expected you two to start making out over your plate of pasta.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” God, had she really been that obvious? And if Jenna and Chloe had noticed, did that mean anyone else had?
The next day, Ashton headed to the airport to go back to New York. She’d slept restlessly the night before, unable to get Ty out of her mind. She’d replayed their every encounter in her head, her every reaction. Could it be possible that he’d felt the same things she had? The heat, the dizziness, the quaking inside just from being in the same room?
Could he want her as much as she wanted him?
It was wrong. She knew that. Wrong and impossible. And it was probably just her imagination that he’d been about to kiss her before Sally had interrupted them. But if it hadn’t been her imagination…
Then what?
The what was what she couldn’t get out of her mind.
She spotted a kiosk just before her gate, and decided she needed some caffeine to get through the flight.
She was standing in line with a bottle of cola when she spotted the headline of some weekly tabloid.
“Ty Cates Hits the Town with Girlfriend, Model Greta Von Hoff.”
And below the headline, Ty and Greta were wrapped in a passionate kiss.
Chapter Eight
By the time Ashton reached the brownstone, she was halfway between feeling like a colossal idiot and fuming mad.
The ninety-minute flight was the perfect amount of time to read and reread the article about how Ty and Greta were “so in love” and how Ty was planning to propose next month on Greta’s birthday.
What had she expected? She knew the kind of man Ty was, and yet she’d let herself fantasize, believe there was something between them. If Ty knew she’d thought he was going to kiss her the other night, he’d probably pass out from uncontrollable laughing.
As she hastily unpacked her suitcase, she heard noise in the doorway. She looked up and saw Jolene. She murmured hello and smiled at Ashton, but it was stiff and didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Pain squeezed Ashton’s chest like a vice. “I’m so sorry, Jolene,” she said. “They edited my interview. What I said was taken completely out of context.”
Jolene remained silent.
“I think you’re an amazing cook,” she continued. “I would never imply you were too pretty for your food to taste good.” Wow. Could this be coming out any worse?
She took a deep breath. “You have every chance of winning this competition because you’re talented.”
“Thanks.” Jolene’s lip lifted. “They edited my interview too. I think they wanted to cast me as the bimbo.”
Ashton shrugged. “I’m apparently cast as the bitch. And a drunk.”
“Amazingly, Morgan came off as normal!”
They laughed. When the laughter died down, she caught Jolene’s gaze. “America’s in for a surprise.”
“Yeah,” Jolene agreed. “They are.”
From downstairs, Lance called up to them. “Ladies, the vans are here.”
Ashton stood. “Shall we?”
Jolene nodded. “Let’s go kick some butt.”
Impulsively, she gave Jolene a hug. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“Careful,” Jolene warned. “Too much hugging, and you’ll ruin your bad-ass image.”
When they arrived on set, they discovered they wouldn’t be cooking that day. Sally had set up a cast interview with Entertainment Weekly for a cover story.
As they waited for the reporter to arrive, Ashton grew restless sitting in the Wreck Room, and decided to grab a cup of coffee from the catering cart. She walked into the kitchen and froze. Ty stood across the room. He looked fantastic in a black suit, the jacket open and the top three buttons of the shirt undone. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed after a very, very good night.
Bastard.
She tried to look away, but it was too late; he’d caught her eye. She turned her back to him, hoping he would stay away.
“Ashton.”
Her brain screamed at her to act casual, but she was too angry. She gritted her teeth and turned. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Forget the coffee. She turned
back to the Wreck Room, but Ty grabbed her arm.
“Careful,” she snapped. “There are cameras around. I wouldn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong idea.” The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.
“So that’s what this is about.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.
“You make a great couple, by the way.” She forced a smile to her lips.
“For your information, Greta isn’t my girlfriend. That’s the one—and only—time we’ve ever gone out. And why should you care, anyway?”
“I don’t,” she said with an indifferent shrug.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to believe everything you read?”
She stared at him, incredulous. “You mean it isn’t true that you’ve dated at least half the runway models in the city?”
Ty’s shoulder’s stiffened. “Maybe that was true a year ago, but not anymore. Stories about me bowling a two-eighty just don’t sell copies. That’s what I’ve been doing lately.”
Before she could respond, Sally called out to her from the doorway, “Ashton, we’re ready for you.”
When she made a move to leave, he stepped in front of her, blocking her escape.
“Watch it,” she muttered, casting her eyes down. “You don’t want to give people the wrong impression.”
“About what?”
“Our relationship.”
“We don’t have one.”
“Exactly.”
“Then why can’t you look at me?”
Inhaling a deep breath, she glanced up, straight into Ty’s hypnotizing eyes. She felt a quiver from head to toe, especially in all those places that screamed for his touch. Her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton; she licked her lips, trying to create any sort of moisture.
“You need to stop.” The words came out in barely a whisper, as if Ashton were trying to remind herself, rather than tell him.
But he heard, and his response was as quiet and desperate as hers. “You first.”
…
As soon as Sally had whisked Ashton away, Ty headed to his office to wait for his turn with the reporter. He went straight for the private bathroom and splashed cold, very cold, water on his face.
He still couldn’t figure out why he was so attracted to Ashton. Certainly he’d dated models more traditionally beautiful than her, and it wasn’t her sunny personality. As his mother would say, she was as prickly as a porcupine. It was as if her only goal for this show was to argue with him.
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