Challenged by You: A Fusion Universe Novel

by Tracey Jerald

“I should have made you give me the secrets for your honey-and-cinnamon caramel-popcorn cheesecake before agreeing to keep that place quiet. Dear Lord, did I make a bad deal,” I grumble, and I rub my hand over my aching stomach. Because, of course, I ate every single bite of food on my plate.

  “A deal’s a deal,” Trina singsongs before she hauls Chris into her arms. He places his head down on her shoulder. I fleetingly think I wouldn’t mind trading places as his eyes drift shut.

  “García’s,” Trina blurts out, as Annie wraps herself around her leg.

  “What’s that?”

  “Quite possibly the best New Mexican food you’ll find here in all five boroughs. It’s a four-seater restaurant located off of Virginia.”

  “Four tables?” I’m intrigued.

  She laughs that throaty laugh that reminds me of smoky barbecue at my favorite joint near Harlem. “No, four seats, Jonas. The line to actually eat there is hours long. I hope you have patience.” She reaches down for her daughter’s hand. “Let me know how you like it,” she says, before she turns and starts walking away.

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I call out. Her body stops at the crosswalk. She twists slightly and smiles. I watch as the light changes and the Paxtons cross the street safely into their apartment complex before I turn and head toward the subway.

  “I wonder what she meant by ‘Even live in New York again’? It’s a great place to live.”

  “Best place in the world. Now move the hell out of my way before I miss my train.” Someone shoves past me on the subway stairs, almost taking me out as they leap down them two at a time.

  An unsettled feeling having nothing to do with the food I just consumed churns my stomach. Trina wouldn’t let me pay for her breakfast, reminding me, “You’re on a real budget now, Jonas. The meal you just ate might be big enough to last you most of the day, but for someone in this neck of the woods, it might be all you can afford.”

  “What about you?” I countered. “You just paid for a meal for three of you.”

  She simply smiled before stating, “I’ll grab a snack at work if I have the time.”

  Now, watching the young man dash for the train, I have to wonder, will she?

  I’d do anything for them.

  And as I wait for the next train to arrive to carry me back to Manhattan so I can do research about García’s, I begin to form a profile for the questions I want to ask Chef Trina Paxton.

  And the questions I want to ask the woman.

  Chapter 10

  Trina

  “Chef!” Baptiste calls into the kitchen two days later. “There’s someone here to see you.” A sense of déjà vu washes over me as Chef Sterling strolls by my station.

  “This time I can assure you, I know who it is.” There’s a wealth of laughter in her voice. “Chef Palazzo called a few moments ago to let me know Jonas Rice would be stopping by for a few moments of your time. I’ll continue your prep while you’re being interviewed, Chef.”

  My lip curls as I let my knife clatter on my station.

  Chef Sterling chuckles. “Not a fan of the press?”

  “We’re a team. I don’t get why I’m being singled out.” I lift my hands helplessly before they drop, smearing flour all over my jeans.

  She sobers. “Probably because you’re the one who took on Chef Spencer with a great deal to lose. You stood in that office dealing with the abuse everyone back here sustained. Since you’ve come back, you haven’t given a thought—not once—to personal gain. I can see it. Chef Palazzo and the other owners recognize it. Loyalty of that kind is rare in this industry, Trina.” She startles me by using my first name. “The owners and I read the original review. Had it not been marred the way it was, you would have been recognized by them through some other means. Now, because of the cloud cast by Chef Spencer, we’re being forced to prove ourselves a second time. We all appreciate your cooperation.”

  “I understand, Chef.” She nods and begins to pick up my discarded knife. “But one question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Is Chef Spencer still causing problems?”

  “None at all,” she reassures me. I let out a breath too soon when she reminds me, “Right now, your job is to go answer the questions Mr. Rice has for you.”

  “Right.” Untying my dirty apron, I wait until I’m just about to exit the kitchen before pulling off my toque and hairnet.

  Like the first time I saw him, Jonas is dressed in slacks and a jacket, leaning against the bar chatting with Baptiste. But when he catches sight of me, his smile just grows. “I should write an article on Shecan just to spite you,” he jokes, which is not the greeting I’m expecting.

  “Oh?” I say, with only a touch of apprehension.

  “I waited outside the line at García’s for two hours before giving up the ghost. You said it was popular. You didn’t say it was an institution. Baptiste was telling me the best way to get the food was to get takeout.” He jerks his thumb in the grinning man’s direction. “So, I went home and called for a delivery. They rudely informed me they don’t deliver to Manhattan and hung up.”

  “Sorry about that.” I try to prevent my lips from twitching, but I’m not sure how successful I am.

  “I think you led me with false information, Chef.” But there’s no anger in Jonas’s voice, only humor when he says, “So, tell me water you going to do about it.”

  I can’t help it; I start giggling.

  Baptiste coughs before saying, “I need to go get a few things to restock for tonight. Feel free to use any of the tables, Mr. Rice.”

  “Thank you, Baptiste.” Placing a hand under my elbow, Jonas guides me to a table. “Hi. How are you doing?”

  “What are you doing here, Jonas?” I fiddle with the perfectly polished silverware Baptiste was wrapping in teal linens. Then I stop before it all ends up having to be rewashed before the dinner shift.

  His face falls. “They didn’t tell you today was the first part of the interview?”

  I shake my head. “Not until about three minutes ago when Baptiste poked his head in. I don’t even know why I’m being interviewed. There’s nothing special about what I do versus any of the other people in that kitchen.” I gesture with my arm toward the back.

  Jonas taps his notebook with his finger before explaining. “How much do you know about the Seduction Restaurant Group, Trina?”

  Glancing around, I take in the pure, classy sex of the restaurant. The sea of black tables with plush gray chairs topped with teal-blue table linens that has become the Seduction stamp in any of the restaurants worldwide. There are privacy curtains hanging in between some of the larger booths, giving off the ambiance of privacy and alluding to more intimacy. I imagine the owners have these feelings with their significant others, but all I say is, “I was briefed by Chef Spencer when I was hired about the importance about the financials of business, the importance about cohesion in the kitchen, not wasting food—just like I saw him brief the rest of the other employees he hired. Why?”

  “Spencer was a damn idiot.” Relaxing back, Jonas educates me. “Seduction started out as a single restaurant in the Pearl District of Portland, Oregon. It was started by five best friends—Chef Mia Palazzo is one of them. They’ve known each other since they were in high school and college respectively. And what they are—each of them—are strong, powerful women in their own right. Together, they’re an unstoppable force who are turning the restaurant industry on their head around the globe.”

  My eyes widen hearing this. “This certainly wasn’t what was shared when I was brought on.” I wonder if Elle knows anything about this? I make a mental note to ask her later, but my focus changes as Jonas words penetrate.

  “It damn well should have been. Having reviewed the each of the Seduction restaurants, I can tell you each of them is unique because each of people who work for them are. I can also assure you these are very hands-on owners. Mia Palazzo was waiting for my review and was seconds behind me ready to chew Uncl
e Karlson—who happens to be the editor-in-chief of City Lights—out due to the mistake in the paper. Although it was my idea after I met you, Mia agreed to spotlight you as one of the many talents she has working behind the scenes in her New York kitchen. She believes in strong women—all of the owners do.”

  Finally, the pieces click together. “You’re the reason she called me,” I breathe.

  He blinks in rapid succession. “She called you? Personally?”

  “Yes. The night I was…well, the night everything happened.”

  “That’s huge, Trina. What did she say?”

  Wary, I ask, “Are we on or off the record?”

  Gleaming brown eyes narrow. “You tell me.” A tick begins as he clenches his jaw.

  “Jonas, I don’t know you. Not really,” I state warily. And something inside me relaxes as his jaw softens.

  “You’re starting to.”

  “Perhaps.” I shrug, not giving credence to the way my heart’s hammering inside my chest.

  “Jonas Rice. Thirty-five. Fraternal twin. Grew up in New York. Food critic. Developing an affection for a borough I didn’t know much about and for dessert.” He holds out his hand.

  I take it. Despite having cooked for this man—once in my own apartment, for Christ’s sake—there’s a bolt of lightning that shoots through me. “Trina Paxton. Thirty. Grew up in New York. Executive pastry chef for Seduction New York.”

  “And you’re the mother of twins,” he tacks on.

  I jerk my hand back before answering, “Yes. Although I’d prefer if their names aren’t mentioned in print.”

  Hurt descends on his handsome face. “Do you think I send my reviews to just anyone, Trina?”

  Heart hammering, I stammer, “Well, no.”

  “Then trust me the way I’m beginning to trust you.” Before I can reply, Jonas flips open the notebook. “Let’s begin. If you could sit down with one chef—living or dead—who would it be?”

  Taken aback, because I expected him to ask me about how I became a chef, I blurt out, “Charles Joughin.”

  Jonas demands, “Who the hell’s that?”

  “He was the chief baker on the Titanic. He survived the ship sinking. I’d love to sit down with him and find out what his expertise was. They talk about him serving on all these ships—especially the Titanic—but never what his specialty was. I’d love to know and then to be tutored in the old ways of baking. As chefs today, we’re spoiled by convenience.”

  “I notice you don’t mention speaking with him about his time on the Titanic,” Jonas notes, as he scribbles on his pad.

  “All of us live with pain of one kind or another from our past. Why pry it out of someone? If they’re willing to tell you, they will,” I state simply.

  Our eyes clash over the aqua tablecloth. We’re not the critic and the chef; we’re just a man and a woman. “Can I come over for dinner on your next day off?” he asks.

  “Is that an official interview question?”

  “Not in any way imaginable. I want the chance to get to know you. Not the list of questions I have here”—he taps the pad again—“but the woman who slices pancakes in triangles.”

  “Because it’s more fun than squares,” I answer automatically.

  A devastating smile crosses Jonas’s face. “How about it, Chef? I’ll even order García’s.”

  “That’s not fair,” I groan.

  He scoots forward until our arms are brushing. Even through my chef’s jacket, through his blazer, I can still feel the warmth exuding from his body. “I like you,” he tells me bluntly. “There’s something about you that makes me want to get to know you better.”

  “It’s not just me who’d be there,” I remind him.

  Much to my surprise, he asks, “Is there a specific time to get there so I don’t interrupt any nighttime routine you have with Chris and Annie?”

  “Dated a woman with children before?”

  “Remember, Chelsea has three kids, and she’s meticulous about things like bath and bedtime. When Julian and I come to visit, we wreak havoc on that,” he announces proudly.

  “She must be ready to stab you,” I deadpan.

  “Frequently, but I still enjoy watching the munchkins whenever I get the chance.”

  I bite my lip. “Just dinner?”

  “Just dinner. I do have a review to write for García’s since you made it impossible for the last one,” he reminds me.

  “Okay, fine.” I’m not gracious about it, but that’s because I’m terrified. Between this interview and Jonas invading me on the home front, this could blow up in my face much like the first cheesecake I tried to bake. And that was a bitch to clean up, despite Elle’s help. Somehow, I know even with having my best friend at the ready, if this explodes, it’s going to be impossible to scrub away.

  Taking a deep breath, I redirect us to the matter at hand so I can get back to work. “Shall we continue?” I reach out and touch the edge of his notebook.

  “I’m berry excited.”

  “Your food puns are killing me.”

  “You like them. Just like you’re starting to like me,” he retorts. “But tell me, what’s your favorite dessert?”

  “Chocolate and peanut butter ice cream from Baskin Robbins.” And I’m reminded why I don’t often indulge in it with the way Jonas looks at me.

  “I can’t believe a chef just admitted that.”

  “There’s probably quite a bit about me that will come as a surprise.”

  “Like what?”

  I fling up my hands. “I love mustard on my eggs when there’s no cheese in them. Since I’ve had the kids, I managed a bakery, which was lovely. I think that’s where I got to indulge the most in my creativity. But ever since I came back to New York, I’ve made a lot of tough choices. Preferring mids to nights so I have a fighting chance of being coherent in the morning for my children is practically career suicide anywhere but here at Seduction.”

  “What do you mean by that?” His head tips to the side. There’s an adorable crinkle that appears between his brows.

  I explain. “When you work mids, you’re doing a lot of prep work. When you work nights, you’re in the thick of cooking—the heart of the rush. Fortunately, here at Seduction, we’re open for both lunch and dinner, so we have rushes for both. I’m able to straddle both shifts with the hours I work and still be at home with my family.”

  He frowns while making notes. “Other restaurants aren’t as accommodating?”

  “That’s not their job to be, Jonas. Their job is to put out a quality product that brings customers back time and again and to earn a profit. Maybe to garner a good enough review to do the same,” I remind him.

  His head snaps up. “So, balancing work and home life isn’t easy?”

  “I have help. I can’t name a single person who works full-time in modern society who could function without it.” I don’t mention my mother by name. “The other thing to note is the restaurant community—for all that it’s widespread—is actually fairly small. I share my duties with my best friend.”

  “Does that make it easier or harder for you both?”

  I chew on my lip before letting it pop free. “We went through pastry school together. We once lived together. Hell, she’s godmother to my children. I honestly can’t imagine a world without her in it. So, adding the work dynamic isn’t anything but another layer to another excellent cake.” Thinking about the story Jonas told me about the owners of Seduction earlier, I say, “Too often women have a reputation for doing anything to get to the top—undercutting one another. Demeaning each other. What they should be doing is boosting each other up. We’d all succeed beyond our wildest dreams. If you need an example, well, you said it yourself. I guess all you have to do is look at the Seduction Restaurant Group.”

  Jonas scribbles in his notebook without saying anything for a few moments. He puts his pen aside before asking me, “Would tomorrow be too soon to come over?”

  While I’m gaping at him over
the switch in conversation, he reaches over and brushes a finger along my clenched fist. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just see if you can help me explain this.” He spins the notebook around so I can see what Jonas had scribbled. But clearly at the bottom is,

  Why am I suddenly so hungry to know more about her?

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I’m just me. In the grand scheme of things, I’m no different from anyone else.”

  Closing the notepad without a word, Jonas stands. I follow suit, assuming our interview is over. He holds out a hand, which I take even knowing I’ll feel those sparks again. Leaning forward, Jonas whispers, “I guess we’ll figure it out together. I’ll text you about tomorrow,” before he lets go of my hand. “Thank you for your time today, Chef,” he concludes formally.

  “Thank you,” I manage to get out. Turning, I flee back into the safety of the kitchen where I smack right into Chef Sterling.

  “Everything all right, Paxton?” she asks, concerned.

  I open my mouth and blurt out the first thing that comes to me. “One way to prove yourself to the staff? Tell them the story behind Seduction. It was a shock to hear it from a food critic.”

  Her inky-black eyes narrow at me. “You mean how the original Seduction was formed? You didn’t know…”

  “I can guarantee you anyone hired around the time I was or after hasn’t heard it. Chef Spencer didn’t take the time to tell that to us. For what it’s worth, it’s moving, it’s inspiring. And while you’ve done a great job of bringing unity back, the story of five women who had their kind of strength and determination will go a long way to finishing the job.”

  I start to wander off, before stopping. “Would you mind calling the mother restaurant for me?”

  “Why?” A look of suspicion comes into her eyes.

  “I want tonight’s dessert of the day to be an homage to those women. Without them…never mind.” I start to walk away, frustrated.

  “I overheard Chef Palazzo mention to her partners her fondness for strawberry cheesecake when I was working one night. Her husband would bring it to her throughout her pregnancy.” I whirl around in shock. “Yes, Chef, I started out many years ago at Seduction Portland. Chef Palazzo used to lecture me constantly about being on time. It was a lesson I learned quickly,” she informs me before heading over to another station. “Remember, the asparagus needs to be cut thinner and at an angle, Marcel,” she reminds him again.