Some Like It Spicy (10 page)

Chapter Nine

Ashton didn’t stand a chance.

For one thing, she’d started farthest from the door. For another, Morgan had been closest to the door and was hell-bent on winning at any cost.

When Ashton cleared the front of the building, she saw Morgan stick her foot out as Lance made a beeline for the van. He flew forward, landing in a belly flop at the curb. Morgan dove into the van, just ahead of Duffy, who’d leaped over Lance.

Red-faced, Lance clamored to his feet. “You bitch,” he yelled at Morgan.

Morgan just smiled sweetly.

“If it makes you feel better,” Clint the cameraman said, laughing, “it looked great on film.” He threw a wink in Morgan’s direction.

Lance slammed his hand against the door of the van. “I’m riding in the other car. If I get in with her”—he pointed to Morgan—”I may just throw her into oncoming traffic.”

Ashton thought riding in the other van sounded like an excellent idea; unfortunately, so did everyone else. She was forced into the first van, along with Morgan and Anthony.

“Do you have any ideas?” Anthony asked as the van merged into traffic.

“Something with eggplant,” Ashton answered.

Anthony grimaced. “I was thinking fried eggplant, but I can do something else.”

Guilt pinged at her. “We can flip a coin. Or, we can both use eggplant. Whatever we do will be different.”

To Ashton’s relief—and slight unease—Morgan sat quietly throughout the ride.

When they arrived at the market, Sally stopped them before they could grab carts. “Morgan won the race, so she’ll get an advantage in this challenge.” There was a collective sound of barf noises.

“Morgan, pick one ingredient you are going to use in your dish. None of the other chefs can use that ingredient.”

A grin rose to Morgan’s lips. She looked over at Ashton and Anthony. “I pick eggplant.”

Rage boiled in Ashton’s chest. She fisted her hands at her sides, wishing she could take a swing at Morgan. Anthony put a brotherly arm around her. “Don’t let her get to you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’m fine,” she lied through her teeth. “If Morgan thinks this can trip me up, then she’s got another thing coming.”

“Chefs,” Sally said. “You have thirty minutes starting now.”

Ashton joined the melee and grabbed a cart, heading straight to the produce department. Her eggplant idea was out and she needed to come up with something new quick.

She didn’t know many vegetarians, but if she were someone who depended on fruits and vegetables for a large part of her diet, she’d want something superfresh and superhearty.

A salad didn’t seem very exciting. She picked up zucchini and yellow squash, sniffed, and then put them back down.

A wall near the back caught her eye. She pushed her cart to a display of mushrooms and scanned the offerings: shiitake, morel, chanterelle, portobello, cremini. A vision formed in her head as clear as if the dish were right in front of her. Mushroom ragout. She hadn’t made the thick stew since culinary school, but she knew she could recreate the recipe.

Going with her instincts, she grabbed some bags and started loading the different varieties.

Twenty minutes later, as she checked out, confidence swelled within her. She didn’t even let Morgan goad her as they drove back to the set.

In the kitchen, Sally explained they’d have two hours for prep, and then they’d pack up and head to the Carlisle Hotel where the dinner was being held. There, they’d have one hour to finish the meal.

Ashton didn’t have a lot of prep. Her main concern was cleaning the mushrooms so there was no grit. She grabbed a stool and a damp towel and took her time to ensure every mushroom was perfect.

About an hour into prep, Ty came into the kitchen. He stopped by each chef’s station and chatted about what he or she was cooking. The closer he came to her, the more her anticipation rose. By the time he reached her, she could barely hear over the pounding in her chest.

“Hello, Ashton.”

She looked up, her hands still brainlessly cleaning a mushroom. “Hello, Chef.”

“What are you making?”

“A mushroom ragout.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good choice. I… We’ll see you tonight.”

He moved on to Lance while she stared after him. That was it? That’s what she’d been waiting for? She squeezed her hand, ruining a beautiful chanterelle in the process.

If she was going to be successful, she needed to push Ty out of her mind. She concentrated on her dish, finished her prepping, and then packed her ingredients to take to the Carlisle.

In the hotel kitchen, they were assigned stations, and there was a flurry of activity as the chefs vied for burners and ovens. The appetizers were the first course to go out, so Ashton timed her meal to be ready about fifteen minutes later.

Near the end of the hour, Sally arrived in the kitchen. “We need appetizers,” she said.

Jin and Jolene were plating furiously, so the chefs stepped in to help. Jin used an oversize spoon for his service. The dip was filled with broth, a tiny matzo ball in the center. Jolene had gone with bite-size salad in a tiny bowl made of Parmesan cheese.

The two left to present their dishes, and Ashton returned to hers. She plated the mushroom ragout on a square white plate and garnished it with parsley.

Anthony, plating next to her, ladled an asparagus risotto.

The entrées were going out at the same time as the side dishes, and Morgan and Lance followed them to the dining room.

Twenty-five guests were seated on tubular steel chairs on each side of a long walnut table, with Janet Hayes at the head.

Morgan stepped forward first to present her eggplant Parmesan. Then, Lance introduced his individually sized tofu potpie. After Ashton and Anthony presented their sides, the four chefs headed back to the kitchen.

Jolene and Jin were relaxing with a bottle of wine, but Duffy stood impatiently at the oven.

“Do you need help?” Ashton asked.

Duffy shook his head, his necklaces clinking as he moved. “I made a rum-raisin bread pudding. I’m worried the custard won’t set before my course is up.”

Ashton peered inside the oven. The liquid bubbled, still a while away from absorbing fully into the bread. However, he had at least a half hour before the guests finished the meal. “I think you’ll be okay. There’s nothing you can do about it now. How about a drink?”

Ashton passed around glasses while Jin poured. After everyone was served, Ashton raised her glass. “To surviving one more challenge.”

They clinked their glasses and took a sip.

“I’m starving,” Duffy said. “You got any leftovers?”

“I do,” said Ashton.

“Me, too,” Jolene offered.

They lunged for plates and started tasting one another’s dishes.

Jolene’s salad was tasty and the Parmesan bowl innovative, but Ashton thought it was a bit on the boring side. Jin’s dish looked lovely, but the vegetable broth was tasteless. To her regret, she was forced to admit Morgan’s dish was quite good. She was definitely competition as tonight’s winner.

When she bit into Lance’s potpie, a burst of flavor hit her tongue that took her aback. No, it couldn’t be. She took another bite, and then another. Duffy was also eating the potpie, and she looked at him for a reaction.

His brow crinkled as he took another bite. He chomped his lips together as if trying to place the same mysterious ingredient she was.

All of a sudden it hit her.

“Lance, did you put chicken broth in your potpie?”

He swallowed a bite of eggplant before answering. “Yeah. Why?”

“Lance!” Jolene yelped. “The meal was supposed to be
vegetarian
.”

Lance shrugged, his eyes twitching with confusion. “It is. I used tofu instead of chicken.”

“But you used chicken broth.”

“So what? It isn’t like there are pieces of meat in it. It’s just broth.”

“We need to stop them from eating this,” Jolene said, standing. “If it gets out we fed meat to vegetarians…”

“It’s not meat,” Lance yelled, but he followed them out of the kitchen.

The chefs raced to the dining room. “Hold up,” Duffy called, raising his hands palm out.

The noisy room fell silent.

Ashton glanced at the table, hoping they hadn’t eaten Lance’s dish. But at least half the potpie dishes had been started.

Morgan stepped forward. “Lance has an announcement to make. Lance?”

He looked like he was about to turn
her
into tofu potpie. He shifted from side to side, swinging his hands. “There has been a little misunderstanding,” Lance started. He cleared his throat, coughed, and then cleared it again. “Apparently some people think using chicken broth makes a meal nonvegetarian.”

The crowds’ eyes went wide, voices of worry creating a dull roar.

A middle-aged woman stood. “Are you saying you served us meat?”

“Of course not,” Lance defended. “It’s just broth. No meat.”
Hands flew over mouths. Gags filled the air. People stood, some rushing to the bathroom looking green, others frozen in place as if they didn’t know what to do.

Across the table, the three judges held various expressions. Claude was shaking his head with disgust, Ty had an amused smile, and Andrea looked panicked. She rushed around the table to stand beside the chefs.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Andrea said, holding up a hand to quiet the gags. “I deeply apologize for this incident. We will have the potpie plates cleared immediately. If you’ll just bear with us—”

“You expect us to finish the meal?” a man screeched. “What other carcasses do you intend to feed us?”

“I can assure you this was an isolated incident,” Andrea said. She turned toward Sally and hissed, “Stop the cameras.”

Sally looked around as if she didn’t hear Andrea. She also didn’t give the order to cut.

“If you’d feel more comfortable,” Andrea tried again, “we can have each chef explain in detail the ingredients he or she used so we can be assured it’s strictly vegetarian.”

“I wouldn’t eat anything they put in front of me,” another woman yelled. Insults aimed at the chefs filled the room, echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

Lance’s face had turned red, but Ashton suspected anger was the culprit, not embarrassment. Her suspicions were confirmed when he exploded.

“Who the hell cares, you whiny granolas? Why don’t you munch on some weeds, and go tie-dye a T-shirt. Give our food to people who have taste buds more sophisticated than a fucking rabbit.”

The room fell silent.

Then Janet picked up her plate with Lance’s half-eaten potpie and walked across the room. When she reached a few feet of Lance, she pulled back her arm and propelled the plate forward like a catapult.

The plate fell away after a few inches, but the food continued flying—right into Lance’s face.

The floodgates opened. Food began flying across the table at the chefs.

Ashton lowered her head and covered it with her arms. She could feel herself being pelted with a roll, Jolene’s salad hanging from her hair, and something wet and squishy—Jin’s matzo ball?—hit her arm.

As she considered running for safety, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Carefully, she lifted her head and peeked with one eye.

Ty stood in front of her.

Relieved, she lowered her arms and straightened her back. “Can you believe—”

She didn’t have a chance to finish. A sly smile rose to his lips as Ty raised his hand. That’s when she noticed a serving spoon of risotto in his grip. She didn’t have time to defend herself before he dumped it over her head.

As the sticky rice ran down the side of her face, a laugh bubbled within her. She curled her lips into a grin as she darted to the table.

Ty must have sensed what was coming because he raced in the opposite direction.

She grabbed a handful of her mushroom ragout—now cooled to lukewarm—and took off after him.

As she chased him around the table, chaos surrounded them. Food was flying everywhere. The chefs had gone from covering themselves defensively to joining in. Lettuce, eggplant, matzo balls, and tofu whizzed around the room, aimed nowhere in particular.

No one was safe, not even the judges. Claude had dropped under the table and covered his salon-perfect hair with a napkin, but Andrea still stood, nearly frozen, dripping with sauce, broth, and vegetables from the top of her bleached hair to her Jimmy Choos.

Ashton’s attention remained focused on Ty, and as she caught up to him, he tripped over a chair that had been knocked to the ground. He fell on his side and then rolled over on his back. Gleefully, she dropped the mushroom ragout right on his face.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, clearing away mushroom. The thick stew covered his face like a mask, only the whites of his eyes visible. She stood over him, arms raised in victory.

Suddenly, a hard body bumped her from behind. She barely had time to brace herself before she fell forward—and landed on top of Ty.

He took her weight with only a grunt—although she swore she saw the whites of his eyes widen in panic.

They lay chest to chest, legs to legs. “Sorry,” she whispered. But for some reason, she couldn’t make herself get up. The noise, which moments ago had been as loud as a circus, seemed to disappear. She looked down at his face covered in her mushroom ragout, and the only thought that coursed through her head was that she’d come up with the ultimate taste combination—her food and Ty.

She had to know. She lowered her head, her eyelids fluttered shut, and then…

“Ashton!” Ty’s voice was sharp.

Her eyes flew open.

“Cameras.” His voice sounded strangled.

She turned her head, and sure enough, Clint stood over them, the camera on his shoulder.

Ashton jumped to her feet and backed away.

As the sound guy, Billy, gave Ty a hand up, four security guards rushed the room. Janet Hayes had to physically be pulled off Lance, but soon the chefs were back in the kitchen.

Fifteen subdued minutes later, Ty—with a freshly scrubbed face—entered the room with a grim expression.

“We’ve been asked to leave the Carlisle and never come back,” he told them. “We’re returning to the set.”