Seducing the Secret Heiress (7 page)

‘Um . . . it says here we need a Facebook page and Twitter account.'

Being Charlie Brown within the confines of this exhibition hall was one thing. Broadcasting to the world via the world's biggest social networking sites took things to a whole new level.

‘Is that a problem?' Gabe asked. ‘All our pre-publicity is online and we need to create a buzz before the show airs.'

‘I don't have a Facebook page.'

‘Don't worry,' Gabe said dismissively. ‘Just create one this afternoon and ensure you load a picture. Then just email the link as directed.'

‘Gabe.' Abigail waved to him as the next lot of contestants took to the cooking stations.

‘Got to go,' he said and strode away.

Charlie walked slowly towards the exit. Now she'd had a taste of achievement she wanted more. But things were getting out of hand. Originally, Charlie Brown should only have existed for a couple of days. Now she'd taken on a life of her own.

Charlie walked from the exhibition building into a beautiful sunny September day.

But she liked Charlie Brown better than Charlotte Wentworth. Charlie Brown achieved things. Charlie Brown cooked amazing meals. Charlie Brown knew a great guy who was interested in her opinions. Charlie Brown didn't have parents to dictate her every move, and most importantly, she didn't have a cheating fiancé.

No-one cared what Charlie Brown wore or drove or where she ate her lunch. She had anonymity for the first time in her life and she loved it.

Anyway, it didn't matter – she wouldn't make the finals. Then she'd find the right moment and confess to Gabe who she really was. He would understand, wouldn't he?

She ambled to the tube station, peering into shop windows. A hair salon caught her attention. She stood watching as a middle-aged client had colour pasted onto her grey roots. A young woman was having her hair straightened.

A small sign in the window caught her attention.
Hairdresser in training, cheap cut and colour.
Charlie pulled a long strand of her hair in front of her eyes and stared at it, then pulled open the salon door.

That evening, Charlie typed the Facebook URL into the web browser of Gabe's computer.

Facebook helps you connect and share with the people in your life.

The polar opposite of what she wanted, but she had to do it. She drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. And people did this all the time. Everyone embellished the truth. Told white lies. Emphasised their strong points. People who used dating sites lied about all sorts of things: their age; their net worth; their marital status.

She typed her name into the sign-up form. After entering the necessary information, she attached Gabe's camera to the computer. The new shots she'd just staged in the living room popped up on the screen one by one. She selected the one of her cupping her chin in her hands. Her fingers obscured almost half her face and her sunglasses masked her eyes. Perfect.

She loaded it.

Anyway, who would really care if she told a few lies? Her parents were already furious with her. She didn't care what her bastard fiancé thought. And Gabe, well . . . she'd deal with that when the time was right.

She focused on setting up her profile. She'd once heard the expression ‘if you're not on Facebook you don't exist.'

She hit the submit key – Charlie Brown sprang into existence in cyberspace.

The spicy aroma attracted Gabe the moment he walked through his front door. Charlie must have stayed after using his computer. He smiled as he walked down the hall. He enjoyed having someone in the house when he came home. Well, perhaps he enjoyed having Charlie in the house when he arrived home.

In the kitchen, a dark-haired stranger stood stirring a pot.

‘Hey. Who—'

The woman turned.

He stared for a moment. ‘Charlie?'

She bit her lip and stifled a grin. ‘Do you like it?'

He stepped into the room. ‘What the hell happened?'

The long blonde hair was all gone, replaced with a cropped style – black and shiny. The new look emphasised her mocha-coloured eyes – mascara and kohl enhancing their brilliance.

‘Well?' she said, giving a twirl to show the full effect.

The clothes were different too. Black skinny jeans revealed every luscious curve of her hips and bottom and hugged her long legs. A short black T-shirt revealed a tantalising ribbon of her flat, tanned stomach. She was hardly recognisable and even more damned gorgeous than before.

‘Are you channelling Mad Max?'

Hurt crept into her eyes. ‘You don't like it?' she asked softly.

‘Are you kidding?' He recovered quickly. ‘It's brilliant. It's just very different. This morning you were a beach babe and this afternoon you're all . . . urban chic.'

‘I was a bit over the beach look.

His mind strayed back to a bikini-clad Charlie during their days on Nervi beach. He'd certainly never get over it.

I picked these up at a charity shop,' she said, pulling at her new trousers. ‘Two pounds. Cool huh?'

He knew he was staring, but it was difficult to take his eyes from Charlie's face. Without all that distracting hair, her eyes were mesmerising. But a certain part of his body started making its presence felt. He broke eye contact, thought of the queen and sang the national anthem in his head.

‘Ah, what are you making?' he managed to ask.

‘I'm practising a new dish for the finals. Line-caught wild Queensland barramundi topped with spicy Australian prawns on a bed of fragrant rice with an avocado and Bowen mango salsa.'

‘Wow.'

As she wiped a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand, avocado smeared across her cheek.

He laughed.

‘What?' she asked.

‘You're tinged green.'

She looked at her hand. ‘Oh.'

She reached for a paper towel and wiped her face, missing a chunk near her eye.

‘Here, let me.' He took the towel and gently wiped the goo from her cheek. She smelled of sweet mango. Her nearness ignited all his senses.

‘Wait. I haven't got it all.'

He curled his hand around the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her hip caressed his thigh as he wiped her cheek clean. His body began to ignore rational thought. He stood so close he could smell the citrus shampoo in her hair.

Never mix business and pleasure. Business. Business. Business!

His hand dropped and he took a step towards the stove.

‘This looks amazing,' he said, trying to put his errant thoughts from his mind.

Never mix business with pleasure.

But with every passing hour it was proving more difficult.

Charlie knocked at Emma's back door. She'd settled into Emma's garden cottage a few weeks ago, but still couldn't bring herself to walk into the house without announcing her arrival.

‘Come in Charlie,' Emma called. She and Emma had become great friends, and of course she loved seeing Amelia and Rupert every day. She spent hours in the park with them each afternoon.

Charlie stepped into Emma's cosy kitchen. Emma stood at the sink peeling potatoes. Amelia and Rupert sat at the table drinking milk and munching on cookies. They both grinned when she walked in.

‘Let me do that,' Charlie said taking the vegetable from Emma's small hands.

Emma didn't protest and sunk into a chair at the kitchen table. ‘Thanks.' She still looked pale and weak even though her chemo had finished months ago.

‘I wonder when I'll get my energy back,' she said.

‘Give it time,' Charlie said. ‘Remember, it's not just the chemo, you run around after these two little rascals too.' She ruffled Rupert's hair. He giggled. ‘Why don't you two run out into the garden and play until dinner?'

The kids took their cookies and disappeared into the afternoon light.

‘Before I had kids, I never considered how much hard work they'd be, or that I'd be doing it alone,' Emma said. Emma's husband had upped and left a few years back.

‘It's tough being a single parent.' Charlie said picking up another potato.

‘Sure, but we get by,' Emma said, resting her feet up on a chair. ‘I reckon all kids really need is lots of love and encouragement.'

‘You should give my parents some lessons.' Then Charlie kicked herself for bringing her life in Australia into the conversation.

‘Your parents aren't . . .'

‘No, they're fine really.' Charlie said quickly. ‘Yours?'

Emma's eyebrows pulled together in a troubled expression. ‘Gabe hasn't mentioned our parents?'

Charlie dropped the potato into the sink and turned her full attention on Emma. ‘No.'

Emma stood, walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘Both our parents come from a long line of professionals. In our family, the only career options are doctor, lawyer or politician.'

‘Sounds broadminded,' Charlie sarcastically.

‘Hmm,' Emma said pouring them both a glass. ‘When Gabe announced he wanted to go to film school, all hell broke lose. Father wouldn't hear of it. He forced Gabe into law school. He didn't last a term.'

‘Oh dear.'

‘Anyway, when Gabe's first show,
Celebrity Shipwreck
, was broadcast, Dad went ballistic. He screamed for hours about how Gabe had demeaned the family with gutter muck and other choice expressions.'

Charlie winced. ‘Ouch.'

‘Gabe walked out and they haven't spoken since. That was six years ago. Mum begs them to reconcile. Gabe wants Dad to respect his career and Dad can't, or won't, do that. Damn childish and stubborn if you ask me'

Emma sipped her wine.

‘I think that's why Gabe drives himself so hard. He's always said he doesn't give a damn about what his father thinks, but deep down, I know he's hurt beyond belief. Gabe idolised Dad as a kid.'

Charlie sipped her wine. Maybe that's why she and Gabe had connected. They'd both been a huge disappointment to their fathers.

‘So,' Emma said, obviously wanting to change the subject. ‘Big day tomorrow.'

Apprehension crawled through Charlie's belly. She ran her hand through her cropped hair. ‘Yup. I've got a two in ten chance of ending up on national television.'

‘Are you ready?'

‘As I'll ever be.'

Gabe scanned the set one more time. It looked fresh and functional, an amalgamation of the top London restaurants and the type of kitchen you'd find in a luxury home, but with ten moveable workstations. The benches were a brilliant fusion of oiled natural timber and stainless steel, complete with sinks, cook tops, ovens and every kitchen utensil that could ever be required. A few weeks ago, he'd never heard of a mortar and pestle. Now every second contestant seemed to be using them to grind an assortment of pastes and marinades.

Only one more regional final to go and he'd have the final twelve. Today was Charlie's shot at a spot.

He stepped back and admired the brilliant blue and gold
First-Class Chef
logo hanging like a badge of honour over the set. A bold statement but also warm and inviting. Soon, he hoped, it would be one of the most recognisable brands in Britain, if not the world.

But he was getting ahead of himself. It was still early days. Today they would present the last two specially designed aprons to be worn by the last regional finalists.

He checked his watch again. Time to start the contestant briefing. He scanned the room again.

No Charlie.

He spoke into his head mike. ‘Has Charlie Brown arrived yet?'

‘No, still no sign of her,' Abigail informed him. ‘But we should probably get going.'

‘Sure.' Suddenly he couldn't focus on work. ‘Just give me a minute.'

He walked to a quiet corner and dialled Charlie's mobile. Straight to message bank. He left another message.

Something might have happened to her. A cold knot gathered in his stomach He paced back and forth. A range of scenarios rushed through his brain. None of them good.

He shook his head. Charlie had probably just had difficulty getting a cab from the station. He'd occasionally had the same trouble himself.

He looked at the time again. They were really late now. He could see Abigail watching him from the front of the set. She tapped her watch when he caught her eye.

He couldn't stall any longer. He knew he shouldn't have such a vested interest in Charlie's success in the show, but if he were honest, he wouldn't mind her being on set all day especially as she wasn't living with him anymore.

He walked over to Abigail.

‘Okay, call out the contestants. Let's get this show on the road.'

He glanced at the studio door.

Come on, Charlie. Where are you?

Charlie emerged from the tube station at Uxbridge.

She was so late! She'd searched three different stores to find raw macadamia nuts. In Australia they were sold everywhere – raw, salted, honey-roasted, chocolate coated . . . Obviously in England the nut was a delicacy and finding raw macadamias had been virtually impossible – and that Bowen mango! But they were essential to the success of her next effort. Each contestant was allowed to bring two special ingredients – mango and macadamias were hers.

Then the tube had been delayed between stations by a bomb scare further down the line. The minutes had ticked past with astonishing speed.

Now she had only five minutes to reach the studio and she knew the taxi ride took at least ten. She ran to the rank. Empty. She appealed to the heavens.

Heaven took its time, but finally a cab appeared around the corner. She leaped into the vehicle and asked for Pinewoods Studios. Clipping on her seatbelt, she hugged her shopping bag to her chest.

Pinewood.

She couldn't believe she'd be cooking in a studio that had been involved in the production of film franchises such as James Bond and Harry Potter. The cab pulled to a sudden halt. Charlie peered out the windscreen. Traffic jam.

She sat forward in her seat. ‘Is there a different way?'

‘Sorry, love. This is the short cut.' He pointed down the road. ‘But I have to get to the next roundabout before we can cut through.'

The next fifteen minutes seemed the longest of her life, but at last the taxi pulled up in front of the studio. She quickly paid the driver and rushed through the doors to the reception desk.

‘Hi, I'm Charlie Brown for
First-Class Chefs
.'

The receptionist seemed to take an age scanning her visitors list.

‘Yes, here you are. Studio two,' the receptionist said, providing her with a security tag and directions. She pointed to a clock on the wall. ‘You'd better run, you're late.'

Charlie raced through the maze of corridors and pulled open the heavy studio door. She gasped. A whole new world appeared before her. Lit by a battery of lights, the massive set featured a series of magnificent cooking stations. Everything looked shiny, fresh and new.

A contestant was working at each station. The three judges she'd met the day before wandered around the set. The cameras captured all the action. And there, directing in the middle, stood Gabe. He sported a head mike and a clipboard and managed the sea of people with efficiency and authority.

Her stomach lurched and she slumped against the wall. She was too late. She blinked hard as her eyes burned with tears of disappointment.

The biggest opportunity of her life and she'd blown it.

Gabe noticed her for the first time. She turned quickly away, unable to face him.

What must he think of her? Not even able to arrive on time for something so important. He'd put his faith in her and she'd tossed it back in his face.

He strode over. ‘Charlie.'

She took a deep breath and nervously clutched her bag of food to her chest. ‘Gabe—'

Before she could speak again, Gabe's arm reached around her waist, drawing her towards the action. ‘Thank goodness you're okay. I was worried.'

‘I'm so sorry—'

‘Look, there's no time to talk. We're already fifteen minutes in, do you think you can still make your dish in time?'

‘Can I still compete?'

‘You bet. Just get out there and work that pretty little arse off.'

She'd never heard him speak like this. His words acted like a swig of relaxing tonic.

‘Okay,' she said, as she rushed to the only empty station. She pulled the fish, sauces and vegetables from the fridge, reworking the dish in her head. She could manage this but she had no margin for error.

She didn't know if it was the pressure of time or the fact that Gabe was watching her every move, but each cut, stir and blend was perfect.

Just as she flipped the fish, Jasper arrived, followed by a cameraman.

‘Morning, Charlie, and what are you cooking for us today?' Jasper asked. The camera zoomed in close.

Jasper nodded and looked impressed as Charlie described her recipe.

‘Where on earth did you get a Bowen mango, in London, at this time of year?'

‘It was tricky, Jasper, but you have to find the best ingredients to make this dish work properly.'

Her hand trembled as Gabe sent her a sizzling smile. She mashed the macadamias and some pine nuts together with the mortar and pestle so no-one would notice the effect he had on her.

‘Why aren't you using a blender for that?' Jasper asked.

‘I want the sauce to have a crunch – it's too uniform if you use a blender. And a variety in nut size makes the sauce more appealing visually. Creates more interest.'

The camera moved in again for a close-up.

Jasper continued with his questions and Charlie found discussing food came as naturally as breathing. She actually tingled with pleasure. Gabe's nods and smiles didn't hurt either.

‘That's great, Charlie, I'll be back to taste it when time's up,' Jasper concluded before walking to the next station.

Gabe leaned over the bench as if to smell the sauce. Instead he looked up, gave her a wink and left without a word. She couldn't keep the smile from her face after that.

‘Come on, everyone, five minutes to go,' Jasper announced. ‘A place in the finals hangs in the balance.'

Someone dropped a pan and cursed. The man next to Charlie cried out and held his fingers. An assistant rushed over with a first aid kit.

Charlie slid the fish from the grill pan and topped it carefully with the creamy macadamia sauce. She spent the remaining few minutes heaping the salad onto the plate, the placement of each item carefully considered.

She stood back to survey her handiwork. Not bad.

‘Time,' Gabe called across the room.

An older man at the front of the set threw down a pot and stormed from the studio.

‘Well, everyone's chances have just improved by a few percent,' Gabe said.

Nervous laughter rippled across the room, but the tension hung heavily around the room.

Jasper forked some of Charlie's fish into his mouth. With his low murmur of pleasure, Charlie knew she had a potential winner. But was it good enough?

For the next few minutes, the judges and production staff milled among the contestants, tasting dishes, asking questions, filming segments.

Gabe headed her way.

‘Nice work, First-Class Chef,' he said, patting her on the shoulder.

Her skin quivered under his touch. ‘Thanks.'

He popped a slice of fish into his mouth.

‘Good,' he said simply and moved on.

After the judges had tasted each dish, they disappeared and Gabe took up his position at the front of the set.

‘Fantastic job everyone. All of you clearly possess incredible talent. But of course only two people from this region can move up to the next level.'

The room stayed silent and still. Gabe paced between the workstations.

‘The judges will make their decision later today. We'll be releasing a ten-minute promotional clip later this afternoon and the winners will be announced live on our YouTube channel at eight tonight. Tune in then.'

He walked back to the front of the set. ‘Thanks again, everyone, and good luck.'

‘This way, everyone.' Abigail escorted the contestants back to reception. Charlie felt a little faint. Other contestants chatted excitedly, swapping experiences and anecdotes.

One contestant with bright braces and a round, friendly face approached her.

‘You're from Australia?' he asked.

‘Yup,' she said, smiling.

‘Nice work with that barramundi.'

‘Thanks. What did you do?'

‘Ocean trout with zucchini flower and parsley sauce.'

Charlie nodded. ‘Sounds amazing.'

‘It is.' He turned to leave. ‘See you in the finals.'

Charlie frowned. ‘You know something I don't?'

The man threw his opinion over his shoulder. ‘No. I just know good cooking. Bye.'

Charlie could have floated back to the tube station – no taxi required.

‘Sorry,' Gabe said, looking up, ‘what was that?'

He'd lost his train of thought as Charlie's interview played on the monitor. The camera loved her. It was as though she'd been presenting on television all her life. Fortunately the lights in the meeting room were dimmed or everyone in the room would have witnessed the desire illuminating his face.

‘She's magic,' Abigail repeated.

Gabe nodded and returned to the monitor. He had a star on his hands, but would the judges think so?

‘The male audience is going to love her,' Jasper added.

Gabe tore his eyes from the screen to look at him sharply. He shifted in his seat. The idea of men ogling Charlie didn't sit comfortably at all.

‘She's certainly our ticket to the male demographic,' Abigail concurred. The others in the room murmured their agreement.

Gabe wasn't so sure he wanted Charlie to shine quite so much, but dismissed the notion immediately. The monitor screened a close-up of Charlie's face. She was beautiful in person, but on screen she was an absolute knockout.

He forced his eyes away. ‘How's her cooking?'

‘There's an immaturity about her choices and her presentation certainly needs improving, but she has creativity and natural flair,' Jasper said. ‘You can learn about presentation and other techniques but you can't teach flair.'

‘I think she's a definite. She has my vote,' Abigail said.

‘What does everyone else think?' Gabe studied his team.

The rest of the group quickly determined Charlie had a spot in the finals.

Looking back at the screen, he couldn't help thinking he was watching Britain's first winner of
First-Class Chef
. Charlie had edged her way into his heart and he knew she would capture the nation's.

The question was, did he want to share?

Charlie looked out the window again.

Gabe's black sports car was nowhere to be seen.

She wandered down to his home office and clicked on the
First-Class Chef's
highlights package again. It had been live since five that afternoon and she'd already viewed it three times.

Only eight of the twenty South-East England contestants had featured, but it gave no clue as to which two had made it into the finals. Her interview with Jasper was the last clip and the longest. That had to be a good sign.

Right?

The video finished with a close-up of her face. She couldn't quite believe it was her on the screen. First, because it didn't even look like her, thank goodness. And second, who would've believed she could've been so successful so far?

‘To have people say they love your food is an incredible feeling.' She spoke with such passion on screen, she barely recognised herself.

She glanced at her watch again. Five to eight. She wanted to watch the online announcement with him. Win or lose, she had to share the moment.

She heard the front door click and Gabe's footsteps coming fast down the hall. She jumped from the office chair as he strode into the room.

‘Well?' she asked breathlessly. ‘How did I go?'

‘Now, now, Charlie.' He turned her around, placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her back to her seat at the computer.