Romancing the Chef

by Robyn Amos

  She washed her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Sometimes it still shocked her to see that her face was no longer perfectly round. It had narrowed, revealing high cheekbones and a defined chin. The transformation moved her on the beauty spectrum, further away from cute and closer to beautiful.

  Before, she would embrace her heavier stature and had defied anyone to tell her she wasn’t amazing in every way.

  Strangely enough, now that she was thin, she’d lost her wall of defense. She constantly felt vulnerable and exposed. She missed sassy, confident Ronnie. But today was a new day. It was time to own the changes she’d made in her life and to stop hiding.

  And she couldn’t ask for better timing. Today she had a press junket that would take most of the day. What better chance to show the world that she knew what she wanted and planned to take it.

  LQ would be arriving in the evening to help her plot out a strategy for whatever GTV would spring on them tomorrow. Maybe she’d be able to convince her sous chef to hit the town with her. She had big plans for her last free night in Vegas.

  But before that, she was going to be trapped in a room with reporters. There was also a photo shoot, during which they’d take promotion shots of each chef in their jackets. That meant Ronnie had to take special care with her appearance that morning. Her chef’s jacket was tinged pink because Ronnie thought typical white chefs’ coats were boring, and she was anything but.

  Setting her hair in hot rollers, she took a steamy hot shower, then carefully applied her makeup. A little raspberry lipstick for her full lips and just a hint of sparkling charcoal-gray at her eyes to make them pop. Finally she smoothed her dark curls into gentle waves that framed her face. It was a bit more glamour than she usually wore in the kitchen, but she had to look her best for the photos.

  The extra effort wasn’t for Ace, she told herself. But if he happened to notice, it couldn’t hurt. Unfortunately, as she slipped on her chef’s jacket and hustled toward the elevator, Ronnie realized that all that extra attention to her appearance had made her slightly late.

  She showed up at the hotel ballroom at the tail end ofthe buffet breakfast that GTV had provided. Of course, Ace was the first person she saw as she entered the room.

  “There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it,” he said, refilling his coffee cup.

  It didn’t help matters that he looked delicious. His sleeveless chef’s jacket might have been a bit self-indulgent, but as Ronnie took in those giant biceps, she couldn’t help wondering what sleeves could contain them.

  “Better late than never,” Ronnie said, filling a small bowl with fruit and pouring herself a cup of black coffee. The cheese Danish was whispering, Ronnie, Ronnie, in her ear, but she made it through another breakfast without giving in.

  Nodding good-bye to Ace, Ronnie took her food and crossed the room to take a seat. She couldn’t risk standing there making awkward conversation. It wouldn’t have been long before he’d brought up yesterday’s embarrassingly hasty exit. Yes, she had literally run away from him, she thought with a private wince.

  Taking a long sip of her coffee, she sat down next to Stewart Compton. Rail thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and a long hooked nose, Stewart was the most flamboyant of the bunch.

  Even though they’d never competed against each other, Ronnie had seen him backstage at several studio tapings. He always made bold choices with his food, so it would be interesting to see what he came up with tomorrow.

  He looked her up and down before a wide smile broke out on his face. “Check you out, Ms. Thang. You look fabulous.”

  “Thank you, darling. You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, admiring his crisp white chef’s jacket with navy-and-gold piping on the collar and sleeves. His restaurant logolooked like a family crest with the words Compton Arms stitched below it.

  He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You don’t know how glad I am to see your friendly face, sweetie. Everyone in here has their game face on. Especially her,” Stewart said, glaring in Ann Le Marche’s direction.

  In the kitchen, Ann was all business, so it wasn’t surprising that she had no appreciation for Stewart’s fun-loving, gossipy nature. Whereas Stewart’s food was whimsical and bright, hers was sparse and symmetrical.

  Ronnie picked up a handful of berries. “I know, I could feel the tension the second I walked in here. I guess the promise of such a huge check has everyone on edge.”

  “Honey, if Ann was any edgier, she wouldn’t need a stone to sharpen her knives.”

  Ronnie laughed, realizing that Stewart was referring to Ann’s style as well as her demeanor. She wore heavy black-rimmed glasses and blood-red lipstick, and her spiky hair was bleached to a shocking platinum blond. Her elaborate tattoos peeked out along the neck and wrists of her black Nehru jacket.

  “Ann’s tough competition,” Ronnie whispered back to Stewart. “But I’m most worried about her,” she said, nodding toward Etta Foster, who was quietly nibbling the corners of a homemade muffin while crocheting an afghan.

  “Ahh, the grand dame herself.” Stewart nodded. “She’s a veritable culinary mogul. We should be honored just to breathe the same air she does.”

  Etta had always reminded Ronnie of Betty White with her blonde/white hair curling around her ears and the broad, wholesome smile that puffed out her cheeks. She wore the whitest chef’s jacket of everyone, fitted perfectlyat the waist with matching pants. Even her logo stitched on the breast of her jacket was white.

  Just then, the director came in to give them an overview of how the following weeks would go, and Ronnie had just enough time to gobble down a handful of berries and drain her coffee cup.

  After the orientation, all of the chefs were led into a connecting room with tables set up around the perimeter. Ronnie tried not to feel self-conscious as she took in the displays of promotional items filling the tables of the other chefs. Most of them, like Ace, had a line of cookbooks to show off. And Etta Foster’s table was so full her tiny face could barely be seen among the stacks of cookbooks, cookware and other merchandise.

  Ronnie took a seat at her table. She didn’t have a publicist, so she’d had to produce her own promotional item. It was a cardboard foldout of her standing in front of Crave on the right, and her restaurant menu on the left.

  It didn’t take up as much space as a tower of cookbooks, but she was proud of the glossy piece that showed off her dream-come-true. As she looked out over the room, Ronnie was smacked with the reality of just how big this competition was going to be.

  Normally these press gatherings were small, with just a few reporters from the local area looking for human interest pieces. This time, though, the press had more than tripled in number, and they represented all the major news outlets and food publications across the country.

  As the press began circulating, Ronnie warmed to it quickly. Sometimes it could get tedious answering the same questions over and over, but Ronnie didn’t mind this time. She had fun joking with the reporters and finding new ways to respond to similar questions.

  “You’ve got some heavy-hitting competition in this

  All-Star Food Fight. Does that intimidate you at all?” a journalist from Food and Wine magazine asked.

  “You said it yourself, it’s all-star. That makes me a star, too, and I plan to blind them with my shine.”

  Bon Appétit magazine asked, “Would you consider yourself an underdog going into the first round tomorrow?”

  “I’m undefeated, just like the other chefs in this competition. All being an underdog means is that no one will be disappointed if I lose. I think that’s a great starting position.”

  Ronnie was having such a good time, she was caught completely off guard when a food critic from her past sat down in front of her.

  “Veronica Howard. If I didn’t have your name written right in front of me, I wouldn’t have believed it was you.”

  Her temper spiked, bringing a full flush of angry heat t
o her cheeks. “Andre Roberts. If I hadn’t gotten you fired for that libelous review you wrote about me, I wouldn’t be so shocked to see you here.”

  He was her ex-boyfriend, and Ronnie couldn’t believe how quickly her day had turned from sweet cream to sour milk.

  “Oh, no hard feelings about that, Ronnie. I know we’re both adult enough to put all that unpleasantness behind us. Obviously, we’ve both landed on our feet. Leaving the newspaper turned out to be a good move for me.”

  Ronnie’s eye twitched at his gall. He always found a way to sell his crap as fertilizer.

  “Now I’ve got this sweet gig at Food Trends magazine,” he continued. “The only downside is that I have to cover cheesy contests like this. But the travel makes it worth it.”

  Ronnie stared, unblinking, wondering what she’d everseen in this jerk. Sure, he was pretty-boy handsome with light skin and gold eyes. He’d chemically processed his hair so it waved against his scalp, and he wore two obnoxious diamond earrings that flaunted money he didn’t have.

  His looks, like his personality, no longer appealed to her. He was supposed to be interviewing her, but of course all he’d done was talk about himself. And now she could see how he’d used backhanded compliments to keep her down. When they’d dated, he’d had her convinced no other man could want her.

  What a fool she’d been.

  “I’m sure Food Trends isn’t paying you to talk about yourself, Andre. So let me help you earn that sweet paycheck. Those gaudy diamonds can’t pay for themselves, after all.” Before he could respond, she continued. “Yes, I’m an underdog, but I think that works in my favor. No, I’m not intimidated by my competitors. I, too, am undefeated, and I still have a few tricks no one has seen.”

  As Ronnie talked, Andre grinned at her, making no move to turn on his tape recorder or jot a note down on his pad. “Come on, do you really think you have a shot at winning this thing? I mean, Etta Foster is a legend all by herself.”

  Ronnie swallowed hard, urging her inner self to remain calm. “Of course I think I have a shot, that’s the only reason I’m here—to win. I wouldn’t have been invited to compete if I wasn’t one of the best.”

  Andre’s brows rose. Clearly he was surprised by the change in her attitude. At that point, he went ahead and asked her a couple of real questions for his magazine.

  Relieved that it was almost over, Ronnie answered confidently, pleased to be able to brag a little about her recent success.

  “And how does your weight loss factor into your new-found success? Do you think you’re a better chef now that you’re thin?”

  Ronnie felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She opened her lips to speak, but no words came out. If she could have found anything heavy enough within reach, she would have clobbered him over the head. Instead, all she did was seethe in silence, shooting flames from her eyes.

  Laughing, Andre held up a hand. “You don’t have to answer that last one.”

  Hearing his laughter, Ronnie realized she’d given him exactly what he’d wanted. He’d thrown her off her game and made her lose her confidence. That had been his goal all along.

  “I’ve got to move on, but maybe we can catch up later. I’ll be in town until tomorrow evening.”

  Before Ronnie could protest, he walked away, leaving her angry and flustered as the next reporter sat down in his place.

  That evening, Ronnie stood in front of her closet. She didn’t want to think about seeing her ex-boyfriend or the press conference she’d stumbled through afterward. Tonight she just wanted to get a taste of Vegas and have fun.

  She’d promised Cara that she’d give Ace a chance, but she hadn’t seen much of him that day. And since he’d always been smooth with the ladies, there was a chance he’d already found company for the evening. But that didn’t mean she had to spend another night in her room.

  Instead, she pulled out a vibrant green party dress she hadn’t yet dared to wear. It was simple in design with spaghetti straps and an A-line silhouette. It fell smoothly over her curves, and the hemline was a lot shorter than anything she normally wore. Yet, it was modest comparedto some of the outfits she’d seen the girls in this town wearing.

  After slipping into her dress, Ronnie turned her attention to her hair. Outside of work, she loved to be more daring with her styles. She’d become slightly more conservative in the last few years, opting out of the big showy hairdos she’d sported in the past. But she still thought hair was the best way to express her mood.

  For tonight, she flat-ironed it straight and sleek, then pulled it back from her face. She added a little extra hair for a long ponytail that would hang to the middle of her back. Ronnie usually went with her own naturally long hair, but this was a special occasion. And sometimes a girl deserved a little extra body.

  As soon as Ronnie stepped outside her room, it hit her that she’d be on her own for the night. It seemed a tad sad to be all alone in a party town. Resisting the urge to go back and hide in her room, she headed down to the casino. Despite feeling nervous, she registered for a seat at one of the poker tables. After playing Texas Hold ‘Em a few times with her busboys after hours, she felt she might have a chance at holding her own. But several losing rounds quickly sent her back to the familiarity of the slot machines.

  Ace found her there twenty minutes later, playing down the last of the twenty-dollar bill she’d fed the machine.

  “Hey, big spender,” he joked when he saw her playing a nickel machine.

  Feeling her heart start to race, Ronnie spun around on her stool. “Hey, Ace.”

  He grinned at her. “Look at you. You look fantastic.”

  “Thank you,” she said, trying to play off her blush. “I can’t help it. It comes naturally.”

  He nodded in agreement, and Ronnie basked in the pleasure of the genuine attraction in his eyes.

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  Ronnie’s heartbeat thundered. Here it is. He was going to ask her out.

  “Nothing much. I was just sitting here killing time—”

  Ace opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t utter a sound before a slick gentleman in an expensive suit clapped him on the back. “Ready for dinner, buddy?”

  “Yeah, in a minute. Ronnie, this is my publicist, Garett Fontaine. Garett, this is my old friend from culinary school, Veronica Howard.”

  They shook hands and exchanged greetings, then Ace said, “We’re going to have dinner at the hotel’s steakhouse. If you don’t have plans, why don’t you join us?”

  As her mouth began to water, Ronnie felt a moment of panic. Steak. She’d like nothing better than to indulge in a thick, juicy prime rib. It was her favorite cut of beef. But she’d already eaten a bland little salad in her room. The salad hadn’t done much to fill her stomach, so there was plenty of room left for steak. But if she wanted to keep wearing dresses like the one she had on, she couldn’t eat whatever she wanted anymore.

  But she didn’t want to tell these two handsome men that she couldn’t join them because she didn’t want to get fat again.

  “No, thanks. I’m meeting friends in the V Bar in a few minutes.”

  Ace frowned. “I didn’t know you had friends in town.”

  “Oh, they’re just some people I met earlier. They asked me to hang out with them tonight.”

  Ace shook his head. “You don’t want to spend the evening with strangers. Let two friendly gentlemen treat you to a great meal.”

  Garett nodded eagerly. “You should definitely join us. It’ll give the two of you a chance to catch up. Once the competition starts you become the enemy,” he joked.

  “That settles it, then, right?”

  Ronnie almost gave in. She did promise Cara that she’d go out with Ace if he asked. And lo and behold, he was asking.

  Then she pictured herself at the table eating a carrot with a knife and fork while they cut into tender hunks of meat. No, if she went to dinner, she’d get a steak. That meant only one thing.

 
“Thanks for the invitation. But it really is time for me to get going. Besides, two handsome bachelors like yourselves will have a much better time this evening without me tagging along.”

  Ronnie cashed out the $2.45 left in the machine, stuffed the claim ticket in her purse and stood. “Maybe I’ll run into you guys later.”

  Ace stared after Ronnie, not believing for a minute that she really had plans for the evening. She was definitely running scared, and he didn’t know how he was going to get past her brick walls.

  “Sorry, man, I tried to help your cause. Better luck next time.” Garett took his arm, dragging him forward. “Let’s eat. I’m in the mood for a porterhouse.”

  Ace walked beside him, ignoring Garett’s chatter about the female “talent” he’d spotted during the day. He was still trying to figure out a way through Ronnie’s defenses. He’d wanted to make his move tonight. Garett had been right about one thing, though. Once the competition started, she became the opposition.

  And as much as he liked her, he still planned to win.

  After dinner, Garett wanted to hit the casino, but Ace was tempted to stop by Ronnie’s room instead. If her plans were as phony as he suspected, he’d find her there.

  “Come on, Ace. You can’t leave me hanging like this,” Garett said as they left the restaurant.

  “You seem to be forgetting that we’re here for work, not to party. I have to compete tomorrow, as you keep reminding me.”

  “Fine, let’s compromise. Let me buy you a drink at V Bar. That’ll give me some time to find a new companion for the evening. And you won’t have to feel guilty about abandoning your best friend.”

  “You’re right. How would I ever have gotten to sleep tonight,” Ace said, sarcastically.

  They entered the bar and Garett punched him in the arm. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. That’s why I’m here. To save you from yourself.” Then he broke his stride, pausing to stare at a table in the back of the room.

  Ace didn’t even turn his head. No matter what his friend said, when Garett was on the prowl, he didn’t need any help from Ace.