Some Like It Spicy

by Robbie Terman

  “As the winner,” Andrea told her, “you win a week-long getaway to La Maison de Rêves. Congratulations.”

  As she took her seat in the safe zone, she couldn’t help but wish she could spend the week at the Inn with Ty. But she wouldn’t be able to get away until after the competition, and their relationship would be over by then. As she looked at the remaining chefs, she realized how few weeks she had left with Ty. The happiness she’d radiated only seconds earlier deflated within her.

  She would give the package to Jenna and Hal, she decided. Going back by herself was too depressing and going with another man was unthinkable.

  She turned her attention to the elimination, praying Jolene would make it through the round.

  “Jolene,” Ty said, “technically nothing was wrong with your dish, but I found the egg-white omelet boring and uninspired.”

  Jolene nodded, her eyes rimmed with moisture.

  “Your brand is about making healthy food interesting, and today you failed,” Claude said.

  Andrea added her two cents. “You’ve been a natural in front of the camera since day one, but today you looked uncomfortable. I think you knew your dish wasn’t quite right for the challenge.”

  They moved on to Jin, whose fried matzo pancake had been too dry, and then Duffy, whose grits were too mushy. Then, it was Morgan’s turn.

  “Morgan, your dish exuded decadence,” Claude said. Morgan’s lips lifted in a smile until Claude continued. “If you’re a twelve-year-old. This was pure sugar on a plate with a cup of sugar on the side. If I can sleep in the next three days, it will be a miracle.”

  Her face fell, and she wrapped her hands around herself. “I thought the point of this was to make a gourmet experience.”

  “What you made was a day spent with my head in the toilet,” Andrea told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt as sick as I did after eating your pancakes.”

  Morgan was finally speechless.

  Ty walked the length of the table, pausing in front of each chef for dramatic pause. But ultimately, he stopped at Morgan. “Morgan, you can’t take the heat. Get out of the kitchen.”

  And he extinguished her flame.

  Morgan stood frozen, even as the cameras stopped rolling. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Ashton wanted to feel sorry for her, but Morgan had made it too difficult. Still, she felt like she should say something. She searched her brain for words that wouldn’t sound phony, considering their mutual dislike. All she could come up with was, “Good luck, Morgan.”

  Morgan shot her a look of hatred as she wiped away the tears. “This is your fault. You and your stupid boyfriend. You couldn’t stand the competition so you made him get rid of me.”

  Typical Morgan, blaming others for her mistakes. Any sympathy fled from Ashton’s heart. “Have a safe trip home, Morgan.”

  “I’m not going to let you get away with cheating,” Morgan yelled after her. Ashton ignored her.

  Duffy wasn’t so polite. “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

  The crew left with Morgan to film her exit, and Ashton grabbed her bags, intent on stopping by the brownstone for a change of clothes and then finishing off the evening at Ty’s. They had a week free before the next day of filming, and tomorrow Ashton headed back to Chicago. She wanted to spend as much time with Ty as she could before she left. Just the thought of not seeing him for an entire seven days made her whole body ache. She didn’t want to think about the day they’d say good-bye permanently.

  Jolene joined her as she reached the front door.

  “That was pretty intense,” Jolene commented, her voice catching. “It was almost me going home. If Morgan’s screwup hadn’t been bigger than mine…” Jolene swallowed hard.

  Ashton knew she should say something, do something, to make Jolene feel better. But her mind was blank; all she could think of was Ty waiting for her, a glass of wine in one hand and in the other…

  But then a tear escaped Jolene’s eye and she knew her plans had just changed. “I think we need to blow off some steam,” she told Jolene.

  A wobbly smiled curved Jolene’s lips. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s grab Duffy and Jin and hit the town. We’re in New York City, and we never go farther than this studio. We don’t have to be up early tomorrow, so let’s take advantage.”

  Jolene nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll tell the guys.”

  While Jolene searched for Duffy and Jin, Ashton reached into her pocket for her cell phone. She slipped outside so she wouldn’t be overheard as she dialed.

  Ty picked up on the first ring. “Hi, baby. I’ve got a bottle of champagne on ice. Now all I need is you.”

  She groaned, wishing she were already with him. But Jolene had been a great friend to her in the short time they’d known each other and now was her chance to return the favor. “Sorry, change of plans.”

  Now it was his turn to groan. “You’re not having second thoughts about us again, are you? Because I thought we’d already settled that.”

  “It’s not about us. Jolene is feeling pretty low about what happened today. We’re going to take her out and cheer her up.”

  “We?”

  “Duffy, Jin, and me.” She heard the sound of the door opening and looked behind her. The trio was headed her way. She lowered her voice. “If it isn’t too late, I’ll stop by after.”

  “Whatever the time, it isn’t too late. Come by tonight.” His voice held the promise of what he’d do if she agreed and her skin tingled with anticipation.

  “Later,” she said and then snapped her phone closed.

  Duffy danced up to her, grabbed her by the hand, and twirled her around. “Get on your dancing shoes, girl. We’re going to close this city down.”

  They stopped at the brownstone briefly to change. Ashton stood in front of her closet in her undergarments and stared at the contents. She hadn’t planned on clubbing, and other than the black wraparound dress she’d worn to a few of the dinners (and hadn’t had time to wash), she hadn’t brought anything other than work clothes. If Jenna knew Ashton was about to hit New York City hotspots in khakis and a T-shirt, she’d have a stroke.

  “Nothing to wear?” Jolene asked, returning from the bathroom.

  Ashton whistled at her roommate. “Next to you, there isn’t even a point in dressing.” Jolene had changed into a red halter dress that fit her like a glove. She looked every inch the beauty queen, from her supervolume coif to a stance that exuded confidence.

  “Hope you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me in my chef’s jacket,” Ashton kidded lightly, although it was hardly a joke.

  Jolene shook her head. “I have just the thing.” She walked across the room, reached into her closet, and pulled out a dress the color of eggplant. It was strapless and formfitting through the bust, waist, and hips.

  Ashton gasped. “I can’t wear that.”

  Jolene rolled her eyes upward as she let out an air of exasperation. “Of course you can. Just try it on.” She practically forced Ashton to step into it.

  “There’s no way I’m going to fit in one of your dresses,” Ashton grumbled. “You’re at least two cup sizes bigger.”

  “Hush,” Jolene commanded. “You have a padded bra.” She stepped behind Ashton and tugged the zipper until it closed perfectly. “See?”

  Slowly, Ashton turned to face the full-length mirror. And, yeah, she had to admit—wow! The design created curves and cleavage she didn’t have. She looked at Jolene. “It could work,” she said casually, which made Jolene laugh.

  “By the way,” Ashton said, “where were you planning on wearing this?”

  To her surprise, Jolene blushed. “Last season they took the contestants to Le Bernardin.” She shrugged. “I love Eric Ripert.”

  Now that was a reason Ashton could get behind.

  …

  “We are never going to get in.” Jin didn’t whine, just stated a fact.

  Ashton agreed. The line for Heat hugged the leng
th of the warehouse in which the club was housed.

  If Ashton had felt naked before, she felt overdressed now. Most of the significantly younger women in line barely had enough covered to be legal. The men, on the other hand, were very covered—in every high-end label Ashton had ever heard of. With a clientele like this, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if the four of them were barred from entering.

  “Go up to the bouncer.” Duffy nudged Jolene. “Show him a little skin.”

  Jolene glared at him. “I don’t have much covered as it is. What else am I supposed to show him?”

  Duffy flashed his gold tooth.

  The more they talked, the longer the line was getting. Jolene sighed deeply. “Fine, I’ll talk to him.” She glanced at Ashton. “Will you come with me?”

  She’d probably hurt rather than help the situation, but she wasn’t going to send Jolene in there alone. She grabbed Jolene’s hand. “Let’s go for it.”

  They slinked up to the bouncer, Jolene flashing her over-the-top beauty queen smile at him. The bouncer, a six-foot, two-hundred-fifty-pound brute with tattoos covering his forearms and neck, didn’t turn his gaze in their direction.

  “Sir,” Jolene said sweetly, “could I speak with you for a moment?”

  Ashton could feel his eyes roll in annoyance.

  “Look, sweetheart,” he said as he finally turned his head to look at them. “You need to…” Whatever else he’d intended to say died in his mouth as his eyes lit up like a schoolboy feasting on candy.

  Jolene’s magic works again, Ashton thought. And to think, she’d just been runner-up.

  But to her shock, the bouncer squealed, “Oh, my God! You’re Ashton Grey! I love you on The Next Celebrity Chef! You and Ty Cates are so cute together.” He leaned closer to her. “Is he as hot in person as he is on TV?”

  Before she could answer, they were surrounded by a mob of people. Questions and requests for autographs were being thrown at her from every direction. She whirled around, not sure who was talking to her. The wall of people closed in, and the air caught in her lungs was suffocating.

  “I-I need to get out,” she choked, pushing on the person in front of her, trying to break free from the crowd. The lights from the club dimmed as the world continued to converge around her. “Please.” She felt like she was suffocating. “Let me out.” With more strength than she knew she had, she rammed her way between two adoring fans. She was free.

  Hunching forward, she braced her hands on her knees as she took a deep breath in and let it out. Deep breath and exhale. Deep breath and exhale.

  Suddenly, a bright light blinded her. And then another. And then another. She threw her arm over her eyes to protect them from the intensity. What the hell was going on?

  When the world seemed dark again, she lowered her arm. A half dozen cameras were inches from her face. She stared at them wide-eyed, feeling like a deer in headlights.

  A Ryan Seacrest wannabe stuck a microphone in her face. “How does it feel to be a celebrity?”

  …

  “You’re shaking!” Ty pulled Ashton into his arms as the elevator door closed behind her. It was after three in the morning, and he’d given up hope that she was going to show tonight. Then, just as he’d drifted off to sleep, his doorman had buzzed him to say that Ashton was waiting in the lobby.

  His libido went from zero to sixty in a flash and the exhaustion that had plagued him all day vanished. He didn’t bother throwing on pants over his boxers before he met her at the elevator, since they’d just be coming right back off.

  But when the doors opened and Ashton stepped out, pale-faced and trembling, his body temperature dropped.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as she huddled in his arms.

  “It was awful,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “What was?”

  “We went to this club, Heat—”

  “I’m familiar with it,” Ty bit out.

  “The bouncer recognized Jolene and me and suddenly there was a crowd of people around us. When I finally managed to break free, a bunch of people starting taking pictures of us.”

  Ty swore. “Fucking paparazzi. Are you okay?”

  Ashton shook her head. “Not really.”

  “Let’s sit down. Can I get you some water? A drink?”

  Again, she shook her head. She moved to the couch without letting go of him and sat. Her soft cheek nestled against his hard chest, and he stroked her hair, placing an occasional kiss on the crown, until the shaking subsided.

  “I wanted to leave right away,” she said, “but the others wanted to stay. They liked the attention. People kept buying us drinks and taking our picture. I was afraid if I left, they’d follow me here. I ended up going back to the brownstone and then sneaking out.”

  Ty’s chest tightened. “That’s the life of a celebrity.”

  “How do you stand it?” she asked in a small voice. “They wouldn’t leave me alone. A couple even followed me to the bathroom.”

  Should he tell her the truth? That if she won the competition, what she experienced tonight would be the norm, rather than the phenomenon. She wouldn’t be able to go to the movies or out to dinner or even to the grocery store without being followed. If she gained a pound or had a bad hair day or got angry, it would make the cover of a tabloid. Would she listen?

  If someone had told Ty the same thing four years earlier, would he have listened? Probably not, but he had to try. “If you win, you’ll lose your right to privacy. You’ll be followed, your picture will be taken, people will mock you on television, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “That’s not fair.” She sat up. “I didn’t sign on for this. All I want is to cook.”

  “When you’re a celebrity, no one cares what you want.” He meant his words to be gentle, but he knew they came out harsh.

  “Then what am I supposed to do?” she said, her voice rising.

  He stared into her eyes. “You could quit.”

  He saw the swift intake of breath and knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing. The burning-red cheeks confirmed she was pissed. “Quit! You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you wouldn’t have to worry about breaking your precious contract and getting into trouble. You could sleep with me without the guilt. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Now he was on his feet. “No, you’re not. I’m telling you this because I care about you. It has nothing to do with me. If you don’t want the life that comes with being a celebrity, then get out now. Because once you’re in, you’re in. There’s no getting out.”

  “What is this, the mob?” she huffed.

  A chuckle popped in his throat. “Actually, it’s worse. I’d rather face a mobster than the paparazzi.”

  She didn’t seem to find that funny.

  She began to pace the room. After two lengths, she stopped to face him. “I can’t quit.”

  “Yes, you can,” he countered. “If you can’t bring yourself to tell Andrea, wait until the next challenge. It’s a dessert battle. It’s usually the hardest challenge we have because most of the chefs on the show aren’t pastry chefs. You could easily lose and save face.”

  Dammit, he realized with a start. He shouldn’t be telling her this. The upcoming challenges were one of the best-kept secrets on the show. But she looked so shaken, so lost. She needed to know she had an out; then, maybe she wouldn’t make the same mistakes he had.

  Closing the gap between them, he cupped her cheeks in his palms. “No one will think any less of you, especially not me.”

  “I will.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears he wanted to kiss away. “And I can’t even imagine what my father will say if I lose.” She paused. “Actually, I can. He’ll tell me what a disappointment I am and that he’s embarrassed I’m his daughter.”

  “To hell with what he thinks! Who cares?”

  The tears that moments ago had teetered at the edge of her eyes burned away. “I care! Besides, it isn’t just him. How will my friend
s forgive me if I quit?”

  “Your friends?”

  She nodded. “Chloe and Jenna. The restaurant is this close to closing.” She held her index finger and thumb an inch apart. “The only reason I came on the show was to drum up publicity. And now with the prize money…” She shook her head violently, as if forcing out any lingering thoughts of quitting.

  He knew immediately she would never willingly give up. If it had been just about her, she might have seen reason, but like any chef, her restaurant was her life. She would suffer any consequence in order to save it. In her place, he would have done the same thing.

  “Can we go to bed now?” she asked suddenly. “I need you to make me forget this night, okay?”

  Okay? He’d been itching to have her in his bed since about ten that morning. And with her leaving for Chicago in the morning, this was their last chance to burn up the sheets for a week. But as he looked at her, the way she wrapped her arms around herself, the bags that had appeared under her eyes in the last few minutes, he knew the last thing she needed tonight was a romp. She needed tenderness, gentleness, and safety.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand. He led her down the hall and into his bedroom. Beside the bed, he unzipped her purple dress and watched it pool around her feet. She stood, statuesque, as he removed her black sandals and then unclasped her bra, letting it fall alongside her dress. After pushing back the covers, he guided her between the quilt and the sheets. After flicking off the light, he climbed in beside her.

  She immediately turned to him, her lips finding his in a kiss so hot his bed nearly caught on fire. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, in the way she held her body.

  As gently as he could, he ended the kiss and put a hand against her head to guide it to his chest.

  “Go to sleep,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and let her use him as a body pillow. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She sagged against him, suddenly as pliable as putty. And within a few minutes, her deep, even breaths told him she slept.