Some Like It Spicy (15 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The ringing woke Ashton. Groaning, she smacked the snooze on the alarm and cursed Jolene, who had no doubt set it for too freaking early, especially given the fact that they had a later start time today. But incessant buzzing continued. Three smacks later, the last sending the alarm crashing to the floor, she realized it wasn’t the clock, but her phone.

She crawled across the floor until she reached the pants she’d worn yesterday, dug her cell from the pocket, and then fell back against the frame of the bed. “Hello?”

“Oh, my God!” Chloe exclaimed on the other end. “Yesterday’s episode was so funny!”

Her brain was still snoring. “Huh?”

“Yesterday’s episode. The vegetarian dinner. I can’t believe that old lady beat up Lance. And somebody must actually like Morgan. She got a ton of screen time.”

“Right,” Ashton murmured. “I forgot the show was on last night.”

“You didn’t watch? I called you, like, five times, but you never answered.”

Not over the noise in the bowling alley. She couldn’t tell Chloe that, though. Ashton glanced at the clock, still upside down on the floor. “It’s only seven o’clock!”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “I just got to work. Oh, no! Were you asleep? I thought you had an early call every morning.”

“Usually. Today we’re being picked up at ten.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you go back to bed.”

Ashton rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’m awake.”

Chloe paused. “That was another hot episode between you and Ty Cates. When you fell on top of him during the food fight? You were about to kiss him, right?”

“No!” Ashton proclaimed. Figures that had made it through editing. “Someone bumped into me and I lost my balance.”

“After chasing him around the room.”

“He started it,” she argued. A headache began to form at the bridge of her nose. What if the rest of the show’s viewers noticed what had almost happened between her and Ty? Innuendos were sure to pop up on Internet sites and trashy magazines. This was exactly what they’d wanted to avoid.

And, dammit, the vegetarian episode had been before they’d become lovers. If they’d heated up the screen then, they were sure to put it ablaze now.

No, this whole thing was too risky. She needed to put a stop to it now, before either of them was ruined.

“Ash, you still there?”

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked.

Another pause. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ashton said, because she couldn’t say anything else. “I’ll talk to you soon. ’Bye.” She hung up the phone before her tears started falling.

She allowed herself five minutes of pity before wiping her eyes dry. Her relationship with Ty had always had an expiration date; it just went sour a little earlier than she’d expected. But she’d survive, like always.

The door swung open and Jolene walked in, her face covered in a mask the color of a ripe avocado. “You’re up early.”

“Phone call,” Ashton said, holding up her cell. “I’m going back to sleep for an hour.”

“No,” Jolene stopped her. “You’re awake now, and if you go back to sleep, you’ll be even groggier. Why don’t you try one of my masks? I promise, even if you feel exhausted, your skin will look like you just woke up from a hundred-year nap.”

Knowing she didn’t want Ty to see her with bags under her eyes, she capitulated. “Just this once.”

Cracks appeared in Jolene’s mask around her lips. “You won’t be sorry.”

No, she had plenty else to be sorry about.

When the mask came off a half hour later, Ashton had to admit Jolene was right. Her skin glowed light pink and was soft as doeskin to the touch. Even the bags that had been ever present the last few days had faded to near nothing. Her skin was ready for facing Ty. If only there was such an easy solution for the pitch in her stomach.

The next challenge added to her distress. She was as comfortable cooking breakfast as she was walking a tightrope. If she didn’t come up with a great dish, she’d be the next one going home. At least that would clear up any problems with Ty.

But she didn’t want to go home. She knew she could make it all the way, as long as she focused on her food.

At ten, the chefs waited outside as the vans pulled to a stop at the curb. Sally stepped out before they could step in. “We’ll be stopping for groceries on the way to the bed and breakfast. You’ll have one hour of prep today and one hour to cook tomorrow.”

They climbed in the vans and drove for about an hour before they pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Ashton peered out the window into a field where dozens of colorful booths were set up.

“What is this?” Duffy asked over Ashton’s shoulder.

From the front passenger seat, Sally turned. “Open-air market. This is where you will be doing your shopping.”

“You’re shitting me.” Duffy let out a few more curses.

Ashton had a few choice words herself floating around her brain. The selection here would be considerably less than at a grocery store. On the other hand, the ingredients would be at their freshest.

Sally handed them each fifty dollars in cash and then held out a stopwatch. “You have thirty minutes starting now.”

Ashton took off running, even though she had no idea where she was going. She didn’t even have a clue what she wanted to make.

The first tent she arrived at had a gorgeous selection of fruit. She picked up a mango and sniffed. It was at its perfect ripeness. The bananas and strawberries looked nice, too. But she couldn’t think of anything to do with them other than a fruit bowl. As if that would show off her culinary skills.
Here’s some cut-up fruit. Hope you’re not too hungry in an hour!

The mangos were two for a dollar, though, and they were too beautiful to pass up. She could use them as a garnish if nothing else.

Each tent had a different theme. One had all produce; one held dairy products, including eggs, cheese, and milk. There was even a tent that had every conceivable type of potato.

Inspiration hit her in the potato tent. She bought a bag of russet potatoes and then raced for the egg and produce tent. She had just made her purchase at the meat counter (or cooler, as was more accurate) when Sally yelled time.

Chest heaving, Ashton made her way back to the vans, hefting the bags that had already made bright red indentations on her arms.

Suddenly, she was bumped from behind. She started to fall forward but was able to balance herself before falling on her face—and her ingredients.

“Sorry,” Clint called over one shoulder. “I didn’t see you standing there.” His back was to her, his camera aimed at Morgan as she approached the vans. He continued pacing backward, passing Ashton without a further glance.

Interesting
. Had Clint developed a crush on Morgan? She couldn’t imagine why the quiet cameraman would fall for a woman who had a permanent scowl on her face. Maybe he liked to walk on the wild side.

They got back in the vans and continued their drive until they stopped in front of a house that reminded Ashton of a Southern plantation. The large two-story white house with green trim sprawled across a perfectly landscaped yard. Two large columns framed the veranda, which wrapped around the entire house.

While murmurs of pleasure emanated from the other occupants of the van, Ashton’s thoughts immediately went to Ty. This place was going to make him homesick. And while he was down, she was going to dump him.

She stepped out of the van, hoping that Ty wouldn’t show up until late this evening, after she went to bed. Then she could save the painful conversation until they were back in New York.

“Here are your room keys,” Sally said, handing each of them an old-fashioned gold key. “The Inn has fifteen bedrooms, so everyone gets their own. Enjoy the solitude.”

Funny, but she had a feeling she’d miss Jolene and her gunky face masks.

“You’ll each have one hour prep today between interviews,” Sally continued. “The order doesn’t matter, so whomever volunteers will go first.”

Ashton didn’t immediately raise her hand; she wouldn’t mind an hour nap before prepping. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ty’s car pull up the driveway. He stepped out before the driver had a chance to open the door. He was casual today, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with some rocker-band decal on the front. Sunglasses hid his eyes as he looked up at the magnificent house before him. She waited for a reaction, but he just stared.

And when, finally, he did turn, it was to look straight at her.

“I’ll prep first,” she hurried, lifting her hand in the air and jumping around like an excited child.

“Okay, Ashton,” Sally said. “You’re up first. Follow me.” She led Ashton through the front door, and straight into the pages of
Victorian Homes
magazine.

Ashton was pleasantly surprised to see the kitchen had been updated with all new appliances. She was less thrilled that the room was slightly smaller than an average coat closet.

With a sigh, Ashton dropped her bags on the nearly nonexistent counter. “You need to stay back,” she warned Clint. “I don’t want you to get burned or cut.”

When she said
cut
he actually blanched. She rolled her eyes upward. No doubt he was picturing her audition tape. “Just be careful. There isn’t much room in here for two people and a camera.”

The hour flew by as Ashton finished all the components needed for tomorrow’s breakfast. Her spirits were high when she left the kitchen. For a meal she didn’t enjoy, she felt confident her dish would be fabulous.

“Ashton.”

She stopped at the sound of her name, whispered urgently. She knew who it was, but she didn’t move.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and leaned back against Ty’s solid frame.

“You smell like mangoes,” he said softly. He pressed his nose against her neck and took another deep breath. “I like the scent on you.”

She pushed, with difficulty, out of his embrace. “It’s sweat. The kitchen is barely big enough to hold food, let alone a chef and crew. I feel like I spent the last hour in a sauna wrapped in a wool blanket.”

She didn’t want to turn and look at him, knew it would only make it that much harder to do what she needed to do.

He dropped his hands on her shoulders, kneading. “You’re tense. Why don’t you come to my room and relax? The hotel left a bottle of wine and a cheese-and-fruit plate. And my room has a hot tub.”

She forced a laugh that came out more strangled than amused. “Hot tub? I was thinking about jumping into a cold lake. Seriously, I can’t take any more heat.”

Shrugging until his hands dropped from her shoulders, she turned and forced herself to face him. She could see confusion in his eyes, his lips in a straight line as if he didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Clearly, he knew something was up and now was as good a time as any to tell him.

She squeezed her hands into balls and took a deep breath. “Ty—”

“Hey, Ashton.”

Ashton and Ty jumped apart as Duffy passed them on the way to the kitchen to prep.

“Sally wants you on the back deck for an interview,” Duffy called over his shoulder.

“Thanks.” She smiled apologetically to Ty, whose expression hadn’t shifted. “We’ll talk later.”

He grabbed her hand as she started to walk away and tugged her against him. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but instead pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was possessive, not soft and gentle as usual. He was staking his claim. Ty knew what she was going to do and was letting her know without words he wasn’t giving up without a fight.

But if there was one thing Ashton Grey was good at, it was a fight.

“If I died now, I’d be happy.”

The rest of the table nodded in agreement with Duffy’s assessment. They’d just finished a six-course meal in a restaurant a mile from the Inn. A former winner of
The Next Celebrity Chef
owned the place
.
Normally, there was a three-month waiting list to get a table, but Sally had called ahead and gotten an entire room for the cast and crew.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the meal,” said the owner and executive chef Emile Cahill, who had come out of the kitchen to say hello. “It is always a pleasure to cook for other chefs.”

“Wait a minute,” Ty said, holding up a hand. He sat on the opposite end of the table from Ashton, something she’d achieved by practically grabbing a chair out from under Jin. “I distinctly remember you saying after a challenge where culinary students judged, that other chefs were pretentious asses when it came to critiquing food.”

Chef Cahill waved him down and shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about all chefs.” He paused. “I was talking about you.”

The table roared with laughter.

“That’s because we didn’t have Claude as a judge during season three,” Ty sparred back, slapping a hand on Claude’s shoulder. Claude winced as if the tiny smack had hurt him.

“Claude’s not a pretentious ass,” Sally defended and then giggled. “He’s a food snob.”

More laughter filled the room. Chef Cahill had a renowned wine cellar and he’d sent over bottle after bottle. They’d all imbibed a little too freely.

Although she’d sworn to lay off the alcohol after her vomit incident, her glass had been magically refilled every time she took so much as a sip. She wasn’t exactly drunk now, but her limbs felt boneless and the tension that had radiated in her neck all afternoon melted away, leaving tingles down her spine.

They headed out to the parking lot where the vans waited, along with Ty’s car.

“Good night, chefs,” Ty said. “I’m looking forward to a great breakfast tomorrow.”

He shook each of their hands. When he got to Ashton, she felt something cool and hard in her palm. She squeezed over the object, tracing it with her thumb. His room key.

She wouldn’t use it, she decided as they drove back to the Inn. His bedroom—or anywhere near a bed, for that matter—was not the place to have this discussion. She’d wait until after the challenge, before they left for the city. There was a seven-day filming hiatus scheduled after this challenge and she intended to go home. Telling him she couldn’t see him anymore would be much easier if she actually didn’t have to see him.