by Robyn Amos
While his friends debated the strengths and weaknesses of each competitor, Ace went back into the kitchen to check on his braised beef. As he stirred the hearts-of-palm risotto, his mind wandered back to Ronnie.
He wondered what she’d been up to. They’d been close in school, but hadn’t spent much time together in the years since then. His career had taken off quickly, sending themin opposite directions. But now Ronnie’s career was starting to pick up momentum, setting them back on converging paths.
It would be really good to see her again, he thought, turning off the heat beneath his copper saucepan. Her sassy wit always made him laugh. Hanging out with Ronnie in a great city like Las Vegas or Paris was a good time just waiting to happen.
She was the only woman he’d gotten close to without being romantically involved. Of course, if he’d had his way, they would have hooked up long ago. But Ronnie wasn’t having it. She’d always blown off his flirtations with the taunt that she was too much woman for him.
Even though she was full figured, he’d never taken her words literally. Tall, short, thick or thin—he valued variety in women the way he valued variety in fine wine. And Ronnie had voluptuous curves and a pretty face that had always reeled him in.
But she’d also had a jerky boyfriend back then who’d made his skin crawl. In fact, for as long as he’d known her, she’d been in one relationship or another. Last time they’d spoken, she was dating a food critic whom Ace had always despised.
Taking out seven square serving dishes, he began plating his beef and risotto. For all he knew, Ronnie could be married by now, he thought with a grimace.
But, he thought, carrying the first two plates to the dining table, there was always the chance that she was free. If that was the case, anything could happen.
With that flicker of hope, Ace realized he was looking forward to this competition more than ever.
Chapter 2
After a busy night’s service at Crave in trendy Georgetown, Ronnie looked over her staff, who’d gathered to see her off.
“Now, you all know the rules. Even though I won’t be here in person for a while, you’d better maintain my standards. My spies are everywhere.”
Though she pretended to scold them, Ronnie felt deeply grateful for the predominantly female talent she’d been able to assemble for her first restaurant. It was a man’s world, and she’d taken a gamble scouring culinary schools for female chefs.
Fortunately, she’d hit the jackpot. Even though they’d been untried, she’d been able to train the eager staff to her satisfaction. Ronnie had confidence in them, even though this would be the longest she’d ever left them on their own.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” her restaurant manager,
Callie, assured her. The petite blonde was a business dynamo. “All you have to think about is bringing back that hundred-thousand-dollar check.”
“We’ve got it in the bag,” said La Quanique Collin-Silverberg, her top sous chef, who would be at her side throughout the competition.
Despite her unconventional name, La Quanique, or LQ as Ronnie liked to call her, was the only person Ronnie trusted in a high-pressure situation because she was genuinely invested in Ronnie’s success. Second-generation African and newly converted to Judaism for her husband, she had skin the color of dark espresso, was Amazon tall and wore her hair in a tightly braided updo that sprouted out of her crown like the spikes of a sea urchin.
Her staff took turns cheering the team on with words of encouragement, until one finally interrupted the love fest for an announcement. “We got you a little something for good luck.”
Ronnie felt her skin heating. “You didn’t have to do anything special for us,” she said, in a rare shy moment as Callie gave her and LQ gold lapel pins embossed with Crave’s art deco logo.
Ronnie thanked her staff profusely. “These will come in handy. With the competition we’ll be facing, we’re going to need all the luck we can get.”
LQ shook her head, pushing up her square black frame glasses. “We don’t need luck. We have everything we need right here,” she said, tapping Ronnie’s temple.
Ronnie felt her eyes welling up as she took in the confident smiles of her staff. She just hoped she’d be able to live up to their expectations.
On the day of her flight, Ronnie arrived at the airport early. Check, she thought, ticking off an item on her mentallist. She’d eased one fear in the barrage that made up her flight anxiety—would she miss her plane? Would her baggage arrive on time? Would the plane land safely?
Even though she hated to fly, it was a necessary evil, and she refused to let it get the best of her. But it was a process, and she was still working through it. After clearing security without getting stripped naked or carried off in handcuffs, Ronnie crossed another worry off her list. Now her stomach was making an audible plea for breakfast.
Heading to a coffee shop, she was immediately assaulted by the smell of her favorite treat, a tall whipped-cream-laden mocha latte. The barista put it in the waiting hand of yet another temptation, a tall chocolate-skinned man in an expensive suit.
He saw her looking and nodded. “You should try one. It’s delicious.”
In a moment of whimsy, she imagined asking the barista for a dark sexy gentleman with a good job and no emotional baggage.
In the real world, Ronnie smiled and shook her head no. In the past she would have ordered that mocha latte, filled it with extra sugar and then drank it alongside a warm, buttery Danish. Today she told the barista, “I’ll just have a small black coffee and the fruit cup.”
After she received her breakfast, Ronnie perched herself on a stool at a long counter that faced the airport traffic. Seconds later, the sexy guy in the suit parked himself next to her with his latte and Danish.
“Where’s your flight headed?” he asked, flashing a flirtatious smile.
Ronnie had to resist the urge to give her answering smile its full wattage. “Las Vegas,” she said in a neutral tone.
“What a coincidence. I’m going to Las Vegas for business, too.”
Ronnie wanted to bat her eyelashes and sweet-talk him. Handsome and well dressed was just her type. But sweets weren’t the only things restricted from her diet these days.
So she just nodded politely, not encouraging further conversation.
“Since we’re both going to be in town, maybe we could—”
Ronnie was already shaking her head. “Sorry. I’m going strictly for business, and there just won’t be any time to socialize.”
Picking up her coffee and fruit cup, she slid off her stool with her heart hammering in her chest. She felt awful, but she had to believe she was doing the right thing. No sweets because they were bad for her health. No men because they were bad for her heart.
Once in a while, she allowed herself to eat something sinful, but Ronnie didn’t know when she could trust herself with a man again. Like food, she loved men, and when left to her own devices, she always picked the ones that were bad for her.
Ronnie stumbled off the plane in Las Vegas, feeling rumpled and irritable. It had been a miserable flight, and now all she wanted to do was get her luggage and go.
She made her way to baggage claim, then watched the carousel circle, trying to stay back from the fray of elbowing passengers hauling their bags away.
After several minutes, she spotted her navy-blue bag. Timing her approach carefully, she made a grab for it. But, at that same time, a large man who’d been talking on his cell phone with his back to the carousel spotted the bag and went for it.
The bag slipped from her fingers as he pulled it out of her grasp.
Temper spiking, Ronnie said, “Watch it, man! That’s mine. See, I wrote my name on the label in neon-green ink.”
“Oh, sorry, ma’am,” he said, immediately setting the bag down in front of her.
Ronnie shot a glaring look upward and froze in place. She was staring at none other than The Sexy Chef himself.
Pressing
her fingers to her lips in surprise, she said, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. Ace Brown.”
He flashed his perfect white teeth. “Well, yes. It’s always a pleasure to be recognized by a fan.”
The smile died from Ronnie’s lips. She searched his face to see if this was some sort of joke. Instead she saw a friendly distance in his eyes.
Ronnie had been looking forward to seeing Ace’s reaction to her new, slimmer figure, but she doubted she looked that different from her former self.
Instead of being flattered, Ronnie found herself getting ticked off. She’d finally come face-to-face with her old friend Ace Brown, and he didn’t have a clue who she was.
Chapter 3
Preoccupied, Ace had given the woman before him only a cursory glance. He’d been trying to reach Garett because he couldn’t remember if GTV was sending a car, or if he was supposed to take a cab.
Even in that brief look, he’d noted that the woman was attractive, and he was always happy to meet a fan of his show.
Not having any luck reaching his publicist, he tucked his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Ace looked up in time to see the woman’s face go from pleasantly surprised to angry.
His brows knit. Why on earth would a perfect stranger be mad—
Then it hit him. She wasn’t a perfect stranger. He might not have recognized her right away, but after really looking at her face for a few seconds, he began to see those familiar espresso-colored eyes, her juicy plum lips and her pert little nose.
“Oh my God. Ronnie? Is that you?”
Her features were just about the only things that hadn’t changed. Somehow his friend had gone from cuddly cutie to buxom bombshell. Her round face was more narrow and her waist more slim, but, thankfully, she still had those voluptuous curves where it counted.
She’d always been attractive, but facts were facts. Now she was hot. He had to force himself to look away before his ogling became cartoonish.
Her lips twitched, but not into the smile he was hoping for. “Oh, so now you recognize me.”
He sighed sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I was distracted. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, and I wasn’t expecting to run into you just now. But, you look fantastic and … I’m rambling, aren’t I,” he said, when her expression remained impassive.
She simply nodded.
Her rumpled clothing and slightly mussed topknot suggested that she’d had a rough flight. But Ace still couldn’t stop staring at her. The new Ronnie was a slice of perfection.
Dressed in hip-hugging caramel slacks, a scooped cherry-red tank and a butter-soft leather blazer the color of roasted peanuts, she looked good enough to top a hot fudge sundae. Her form-fitting clothes showed off her feminine curves.
She cleared her throat, and Ace pulled himself together. “I guess we were on the same flight. I should have realized when I made my connection at Dulles, but I didn’t see you on the plane.”
Ronnie rolled her eyes. “That’s because I was in coach.”
He frowned, confused. “Didn’t the show fly you—”
“Yes, but it’s a long story.” She picked up the handle onher rolling luggage and searched for the exit. “I guess I’ll see you at the hotel.”
Surprised by her dismal mood, Ace stared after her. Was she so upset just because he hadn’t recognized her right away? No, it had to be something else. Even though they’d been out of touch for a while, they’d been too close for something so petty to come between them.
Grabbing his luggage off the carousel, Ace headed toward the exit. To his relief, there was a driver outside holding a sign with his name on it. The man led him to a black sedan waiting at the curb and opened the door for him.
He slid across the seat and found a pleasant surprise. Ronnie was already in the car. “And we meet again.”
She nodded without her usual enthusiasm, and Ace knew he had to get to the bottom of this once and for all.
“It’s a short drive to the hotel. So you’d better talk fast.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Your long story. What happened on the plane? I can tell it’s put you in a bad mood. And Vegas is a party town. I can’t let you show up with the wrong attitude.”
With a heavy sigh, Ronnie said, “I’ve always been a nervous flyer, but I was actually looking forward to this trip. But when I boarded the plane and tried to claim my seat in first class, some guy was already sitting there. We called the flight attendant to sort it out. Apparently the flight was overbooked, and we were both given the same seat assignment.”
Ace shook his head. “So why didn’t the guy move?”
“Because of the age-old rule that applies in these situations.”
“What’s that?”
“Finders, keepers.” From there she described an uncomfortable ride in coach, wedged between a snoring businessman and a mother cradling a cranky newborn. “It might not have been so bad if the guy next to me hadn’t passed gas in his sleep during the entire fight.”
Ace reached for the complimentary bottle of champagne in the minibar in front of them. “Sounds like we need to put this trip back on the right track, starting with a glass of bubbly.”
He popped the cork, filled two flutes halfway and clinked glasses with her. “Here’s to a fantastic journey. And to winning.”
Ronnie clinked his glass, flashing her eyes at him mischievously. “It’s so kind of you to drink to my victory.”
Ace grinned, happy to see the sassy girl he knew returning. “Oh? You think you can beat me?”
“I know I can. I’ve changed a lot more than my dress size since I saw you last.”
Not sure if he should broach the subject, Ace couldn’t resist asking, “So what did make you decide to … get so fit? You always used to say that if you lost weight people would think your food wasn’t any good.”
“That’s another long story. One we don’t have time for now. Suffice it to say it was time. Besides, I’ve finally gotten to the point where my food speaks for itself.”
Ace saluted her with his glass. “I heard you opened a restaurant in Georgetown.”
“Crave. You should come by next time you’re in D.C. I might even give you a professional discount.”
“You don’t need to give me a discount,” he said, teasing. “I’ll just pay for my meal out of the prize money when I win.”
She cut her eyes to him. “Honey, I don’t know if you’re aware … but, there is no prize for second place.”
Ace threw his head back and laughed. He’d forgotten just how fiercely competitive they’d been in culinary school. Hearing her talk smack the way she used to was arousing his drive to win, among other things.
Winning hadn’t been his strongest motivation when he’d agreed to do the competition. He’d been more interested in trying out the new techniques he’d picked up on his European travels. But after five minutes in Ronnie’s presence, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to win just for the bragging rights.
“You’re so confident now,” he taunted, “but you may have gotten in over your head. It’s not just me you have to beat. You have the culinary queen, Etta Foster, to compete with. Not to mention Ann Le Marche and Stewart Compton. Are a fledgling restaurant and a couple of Food Fight wins enough to back up all your big talk?”
Ronnie drained her champagne glass. “Don’t you worry about me, Ace. My biggest advantage is that I’m the underdog. Underestimating me will be your downfall.”
Ace knew first hand not to underestimate Veronica Howard. She’d always been tenacious and eager to learn. He had no doubt that she would be good competition. But his reputation spoke for itself.
“I just want to make sure you haven’t forgotten just how things went down in culinary school. Soufflés, marinades, knife skill—I got better grades in all those areas. Plus, I’ve been honing my craft with some of the masters around Europe.” He popped the collar on his polo shirt. “You don’t want none of this.”
“And? I got better grades in pastry and desserts,” Ronnie said, waving him off. “Plus, I’ve got a lot of new tricks up my sleeves. And your chef’s jacket doesn’t even have sleeves.”
Caught off guard, Ace laughed. When he’d started doinghis show, The Sexy Chef, it had been Garett’s idea to take the sleeves off his jacket.
“Europe or no Europe,” Ronnie continued. “I’ve seen what you do, and I’m ready to take you and the others on. We’ll prove ourselves in the kitchen soon enough. But for now I just want to salvage what’s left of this day and enjoy being in Las Vegas.”
With their obligatory trash talk out of the way, Ace swiveled in his seat, letting his knee touch hers. Damn she looked good, he thought, resisting the urge to say it out loud.
Was she single? No ring on her finger. He hoped she wasn’t still dating that jerky food critic.
Unable to ask what he really wanted to know, he asked instead, “Is this your first time in Las Vegas?”
“Yes, I was supposed to come for a bachelorette party once, but I got the flu and had to stay home. The girls told me all about the fun I’d missed. Gambling, Chippendale dancers, staying up all night—”
“So much for What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
She sighed. “I know. I’m still mad that I couldn’t go.”
“Then you’ll just have to make up for it this time. I don’t know how much you’ll be able to squeeze in, but there’s the rest of today and part of tomorrow.”
“There are three things I want to accomplish before I leave Vegas. First, I want to gamble in the casino—not just slot machines like I’ve played in Atlantic City—but some real table gambling. Then I want to see a show. I love Cirque du Soleil.”
“And the last thing?”
“I just want to perform well enough to make it to round two,” she said, showing vulnerability for the first time as she rested her forehead in her palm. “Ugh, I don’t want to be the first to go home.”
“That doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.”