Some Like It Spicy (6 page)

“I’m sorry. That must be tough.”

Only because she occasionally wished someone would have the guts to follow through with their threats. Then, she’d be racked with guilt and hate herself for days for even thinking something so awful.

“How about you? Any crazy Cateses lurking in the basement?”

Ty shook his head. “We’re disgustingly normal. My mom and dad are still married. I have a younger sister, Ruby. She and her husband, Denny, have two kids. Ruby and Denny run the restaurant for me, since I’m never there.”

“That sounds like a nice family,” Ashton said, wistfulness in her voice. “I’m an only child.”

“I’m lucky. If not for Ruby and Denny, I don’t know how I’d keep the place open.”

“How did you end up in New York if your restaurant is in Atlanta?”

“I was born and raised in Atlanta. Except for attending the Culinary Institute and a tour of Europe, I’d never been anywhere else. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life there.”

“Then…” Ashton prompted.

“A producer from the
Today Show
was on vacation and ate at my restaurant. She invited me to do a segment and the rest is history. I had too many gigs to commute, so I got a place here. As time went on, I had less of an opportunity to get back to Atlanta. Now I’m only there a few times a year, and it’s usually a quick trip.”

“I don’t know how you stand it. I can’t wait to get back to my restaurant. When I’m away from it, even on my days off, I feel a little…”

“Lost,” Ty finished.

“Exactly.” She smiled. So few people understood her this way. Her insides started to go as gooey as Chloe’s molten-lava cake—which was so wrong! Why did the most fascinating, sexy man she’d met in…well, forever…have to be someone she couldn’t have? The fact that the show only lasted eight weeks didn’t matter. If—when—she won, she didn’t want anyone claiming she’d used anything but her cooking skills to get there. Her reputation was too important to risk for a few hot nights in bed. She pulled her hand away from his.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them before Ty said, “Do you understand what will happen if you win?”

“Fortune and fame?” she joked lightly. She didn’t want to spread around how much difficulty her restaurant was in and that winning the contest was virtually the only thing that would keep her in business.

“Fortune, fame, and a schedule that barely allows time to sleep. I’m not away from my restaurant by choice, Ashton.”

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Listen—”

Ashton pushed back her chair and stood so fast it tipped over. She bent to pick it up. “I should get back to the house. Everyone is probably wondering what happened to me.”

“Ashton.”

“You shouldn’t walk back with me. We don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Thanks for the capers, Chef Cates. See you at the next challenge.”

…

“Where have you been?”

Morgan stood in the doorway, hands on hips, as Ashton walked through the front door of the brownstone. The question was perfectly legitimate, but with the scowl on Morgan’s face and the accusatory tone in her voice, Ashton had no desire to be friendly. “Remind me where in my contract it says I have to report my whereabouts to you.”

“Fine.” Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess you have something to hide.”

Ashton was saved from continuing the conversation when Jolene walked into the living room, holding a bottle of wine. “Good! You’re back. We wanted to toast your victory, but we lost you somewhere between the studio and here.”

“Sorry,” Ashton said, grabbing a glass from the sideboard. “I needed some time to clear my head, so I went for a walk.”

“You’re here now. Come with me.”

Ashton followed Jolene, and as they stepped into the kitchen, the rest of the chefs applauded.

Her cheeks flamed as she accepted their praise. Usually, she basked in that sort of attention, but this was different. In order for her to win, other people had to lose. They were all talented chefs, and she dreaded the moment she was on their side of the table.

“Thanks, guys,” she said as the holler died down. She pulled out a chair and sat.

“You the man,” Duffy said, throwing her a high five.

“How does it feel to be the first winner?” Elena asked.

“In a challenge that doesn’t count,” Ashton reminded everyone.

“Still,” Lance said, “now we know who to gun for.” His tone was joking but seriousness lurked in his eyes.

Great, the competition hadn’t really started yet, and still lines were being drawn. She’d been feeling a high from her win, but now tension crept into her shoulders.

“Hey.” Jolene glanced around. “Where did Morgan go?”

“Who cares?” Lance said. “That girl hasn’t cracked a smile since she got here. I’m about ready to throw her in the oven.”

“Naw,” Duffy said. “She’d be one tough piece of meat.”

Their laughter bounced off the walls.

The party broke up around midnight, and Ashton was ready for bed within minutes. Jolene hadn’t made an appearance yet and wouldn’t for a while—last night, she’d spent at least twenty minutes in the bathroom putting on some kind of face mask.

Deciding not to wait for her roommate, she flipped off the lights, closed the door, and sank between the sheets with an exhausted moan.

Just as she was drifting off, she heard the creak of the door. Assuming it was Jolene, she ignored it, until she heard her name being whispered.

She opened her eyes, squinting at the lights from the hallway. When the brightness dimmed, she saw Morgan standing there, still carrying a sullen expression.

“What do you want, Morgan?”

“I know who you were with.”

Ashton sat up. “Excuse me?”

“If you think you’re going to screw a judge and win this competition, you’d better guess again. There are other judges, and they aren’t all trying to get in your pants.”

Ashton’s heart pounded in her ears. Morgan couldn’t have seen her with Ty. The studio had been empty when they’d left, and they hadn’t encountered anyone on the streets. She was just trying to trip Ashton up, and Ashton wasn’t going to let that happen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Morgan let out a sneering laugh. “Maybe you’ve already slept with him. Maybe that’s how your crappy little sandwich won.”

“That’s enough.” Ashton jumped out of bed. “You didn’t even taste my sandwich, so what gives you the right to pass judgment on it? Obviously it was good, because I won.”

“And that’s all your win was based on, right? Taste?”

Ashton narrowed her eyes. “That’s right. Maybe instead of worrying about everyone else, you should worry about yourself. Or at least learn how to cook chicken.”

Morgan let out a growl of fury. “Right, because I’m not good enough to be here. At least I don’t need to screw my way to the top.” She stomped off, knocking into Jolene as she exited the room.

“What was that about?” Jolene asked, her head tilting toward Morgan.

Ashton lifted her shoulders. “She just wanted to congratulate me.”

Chapter Five

Used to sleeping in, Ashton felt like the early morning call was as natural as putting gravy on her fries instead of chili. Her eyes blurry from sleepiness, she tried to focus on Sally, who had gathered the chefs around the prep tables.

“Your first challenge is today,” Sally announced. “For those of you who don’t know the challenge system, a High Heat challenge is an elimination. We also have Medium Heat—a nonelimination challenge in which the winner gets an advantage. And just to throw you off, we’ll sometimes call a Low Heat challenge, which may have nothing to do with cooking. Today is a High Heat challenge, so be prepared. One of you will be going home.”

Just hearing “elimination” made Ashton’s gut churn. What if she was eliminated today? How would she face Chloe and Jenna? How could she face her father? Suddenly, yesterday’s win meant nothing. If the judges didn’t like her food, she could very possibly be on her way back to Chicago.

Sally put a finger on her earpiece and spoke into the microphone brushing her lips. “Is Ty on set?”

Now Ashton’s stomach was churning for an entirely different reason. She craned her neck, searching the room for Ty. Last night, he’d visited her in her dreams. They had done things with capers that would make a health department agent gasp in horror.

“We start filming in an hour,” Sally continued. “So everyone needs to get camera ready.”

Ashton had just enough time to grab coffee and a granola bar before she was thrust into the makeup chair. As soon as she finished, she wandered back to the pantry to get herself refamiliarized with the location of all the ingredients.

“I think this is cheating.”

Her heart did a high jump as she whirled around, sloshing her coffee on the floor. “Someone should put a bell on you. You’re always sneaking up on me.”

Ty grinned and stepped further into the pantry. “Maybe you’re just always someplace you’re not supposed to be.”

“It isn’t cheating,” she insisted. “Sally didn’t say we couldn’t look through the pantry. Any of the chefs could be in here.”

“But you’re the only one who is. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were going to cause trouble.”

She flushed. “And that’s without even seeing Sally’s tape of me.”

Ty laughed. “I have to get my hands on this tape. You’ve got half the crew wearing jock straps.” He stepped closer.

Glass jars clanged as Ashton backed against a spice rack. The combination of earthy herbs and sweet and spicy filled her nostrils and made her dizzy. “Only half? I’m losing my touch.” The room seemed to close in on them, and she gasped for air.

Ty’s eyes smoldered as he closed the gap between them.

Boom.

A crash from the other room startled them both, and they jumped away from each other. Ashton’s breath came hard and heavy. “What was that?”

Ty walked to the door and glanced out. “A light fell.” He turned back and raked a hand through his hair. “I should go.” His voice was thick. “We’ll probably start filming soon. Good luck.”

Halfway out the door, he turned back. A smile touched his lips. “And Ashton, don’t forget the salt.”

“Oh!” Ashton grabbed the nearest object, a roll of paper towels, and threw it at the door, but Ty had already cleared the room, laughter echoing in his wake.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to the new season of
The Next Celebrity Chef
. I’m your host and head judge, Ty Cates. This year, we’ve got our most talented contestants yet.”

“Let’s do it again.” Sally moved toward Ty. “You stumbled over a few words.” She moved out of sight of the camera and called action. This time, Ty called a halt to the filming to sneeze.

The more takes they did, the more nervous Ashton became. She shifted from foot to foot, anxious to start cooking.

Finally, Ty got an introduction both he and Sally were happy with.

“Our first elimination challenge,” Ty continued, “will give our chefs the chance to show their individual styles. Chefs, you will make one of your signature dishes, something that will tell the judges who you are.”

“Cut,” Sally yelled. “We’re going to reposition the cameras. You must stay at your table. Do not take out any supplies or ingredients.”

The nerves in Ashton’s stomach quelled slightly. She knew exactly what she was going to make—her lobster mac and cheese. The dish was the most popular one in her restaurant.

She wrote down a few quick steps to follow; not because she needed them, but in case nerves got the better of her.

“We’re ready,” Sally shouted.

Ty stood on his marker, waited for the camera to roll. “You will have two hours. And the challenge starts…now!”

Time flew by as Ashton lost herself in cooking, and suddenly Ty was shouting out that they had five minutes remaining.

Ashton grabbed a platter to begin plating. To her horror, her hand shook like an addict in need of a fix. She dropped the serving spoon and put her hands behind her back, praying the camera hadn’t caught sight of the affliction.

A few long, deep breaths should have helped, but didn’t. With only two minutes left on the clock, she had no choice but to finish plating, shaking hands and all.

She had just added some freshly grated Parmesan as garnish when the buzzer hit zero. The chefs were instructed to stop what they were doing and step back. Ashton walked away from the table to catch her breath.

Duffy let out a loud
whoop
, and a few of the chefs clapped as the intensity of the last two hours died away.

“How does everyone feel?” Ty asked.

“Like I just ran a marathon,” Duffy responded.

Anthony had a hand on his chest. “Now I know how the warning signs of a heart attack feel.”

Ashton agreed with Anthony. Her own heart pounded painfully and even breathing seemed difficult. When she was finally able to turn back, she found Ty’s gaze on her. He quickly twisted his head side to side, and then he mouthed,
Are you okay?

She gave a slight nod, cheeks heating that he even had to ask.

“Claude and Andrea will be here in a moment to join Ty at the judges’ table,” Sally told them. “Then, you will each present your dish. When each chef has presented, you’ll all go back into the Wreck Room while the judges taste your dish. After, we bring you back out for critique. Any questions?”

Eight heads shook.

“We’re ready for Claude and Andrea,” Sally said into her headset. Moments later, they arrived with a wave and sat at an elegantly decorated table on the other end of the studio.

After a few whispers with the crew, Sally turned back to them. “Okay, chefs, grab your plates and get in line.”

Ashton’s hands still shook as she lifted her plate.
Get a grip
, she chastened herself. She held the plate tightly and took her place between Duffy and Lance.

When Sally yelled, “Action,” Morgan was the first chef to present.

“Hello,” Morgan said brightly.

Next to Ashton, Duffy let out a snort of disgust.

“Today I have some beautiful bay scallops for you. They are perfectly seared and layered over sweet potato chips with a light coconut-cream sauce. Bon appétit.”

The plate had a beautiful presentation, but scallops and sweet potatoes were not a combination Ashton enjoyed. Still, Morgan seemed quite confident of the dish.

Anthony went next, presenting handmade gnocchi in a Gorgonzola cream sauce. He told a heartwarming story about running the Italian restaurant his immigrant grandparents had opened more than fifty years earlier, leaving smiles on all three judges’ faces. Even though she found the smell of the sauce a little too pungent, she’d had Anthony’s handmade pasta the other night and thought he could win just based on that.

Elena stepped forward next, visibly shaking. Her voice was thick with emotion. “This…this…” She closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheeks.

Ashton turned her head toward Sally, expecting her to cut, but the producer made no move.

Elena paused for a few deep breaths and then explained her dish of
ropa vieja
in one long mouthful of air.

“Thank you, Elena,” Ty said.

The presentation continued with Jin’s sweet and sour corned beef. And then it was Jolene’s turn.

She stepped forward with her dynamic smile and perfect hips swaying. She placed the dish on the table, her cleavage on display.

“Hi, y’all.” Jolene’s smile was magnetic and immediately all three judges had joined her.

Ashton forced back the words that bubbled to her throat as Ty’s gaze made contact with Jolene’s chest.
Her face is six inches up
.

“Today I have sesame-encrusted salmon over a bed of spinach with a light vinaigrette dressing. This is a low-calorie and heart-healthy meal. The salmon is high in protein and rich with vitamins A and B and Omega-3 oils. And the spinach is full of iron. Please enjoy this delicious and healthful meal.”

Duffy presented his fried catfish next. Then, it was her turn.

She stepped forward, praying her voice wouldn’t break and her hands wouldn’t shake. “I have for you a lobster macaroni and cheese. I used gruyere, manchego, and white cheddar, a little bit of butternut squash puree, and a blend of spices. I finished the dish off with freshly grated Parmesan. Enjoy.”

She stepped back, her heart beating so hard she was surprised it wasn’t visible through her jacket. The erratic pumping clogged her ears, making the presentation of Lance’s rack of lamb a distant echo.

Finally, Sally said, “Chefs, go back into the Wreck Room while the judges do the tasting. We’ll bring you back shortly.”

They walked down the hallway to a room in the back. The Wreck Room wasn’t much to look at—just a bunch of folding chairs and a cooler filled with water, beer, wine, and champagne. On the shelf sat bags of chips and pretzels and a few bottles of hard liquor. Having watched previous seasons, Ashton knew they began calling this the Wreck Room after an eliminated chef in season one had trashed it.

The whole experience of being a contestant was so different than watching the show on TV. She had always assumed judging was done quickly, but after just a few days on set, she knew that when it came to filming, everything was a long process. She grabbed a bottle of water and fell into a chair.

The sound of a sob made her turn her head. Elena was slumped in a corner, her face buried in her hands and her body shaking.

Surprisingly, Duffy was the first one beside her. “What’s wrong, sugar?” He put a large, tattooed arm around her slight body. “Tell Papa Duffy.”

“I totally scr…screwed up,” Elena sobbed. “I blew it.”

Ashton knelt next to her. “Your dish looked fine. You’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’s great.”

“Mine came out perfectly,” Morgan bragged. She had a glass of wine in one hand and lounged in the chair as if it were her throne. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I won the challenge.”

Lance snorted.

Morgan shot him a look that would have leveled a building. “What do you know, Mr. Executive Chef? You made lamb. How pedestrian.”

Duffy grabbed Lance when Lance took a step toward Morgan. “Chill, man. She’s just trying to psych you out. Don’t let her get to you.”

“This is going to be a long afternoon,” Anthony commented.

Ashton nodded in agreement. “And the best part is, when the wait is finally over, we get to have our food picked apart like we’re fry cooks at a fast-food chain.”

“Come on, people,” Lance said. “Let’s get our minds off our food. Who knows a drinking game?”

“I don’t think so,” Ashton said. “We have to go back on camera.”

Lance looked unfazed. “Have you ever seen this show? The judges take hours to critique. We’ll be sober by then. Besides”—he pointed to the shelf of hard liquor—“why do you think they put that in here? Makes for better TV than sitting around sipping lemonade.”

“I’m in,” Duffy said. He turned to Ashton. “Come on, Blondie, you look like a girl who can hold her liquor.”

An hour—and two bottles of tequila—later, Ty entered the room.

Ashton sat on the floor, propped against the wall. The room had grown fuzzy, but she was still in complete control of her senses. Somehow, she’d ended up taking more shots than any other chef, but she was fine. Sure, she usually limited her alcohol to wine, and the last time she’d done tequila shots had been her first year of culinary school. And okay, there had been nothing in her stomach to absorb the alcohol.

But she was
so
fine.

She looked up at an oddly blurry Ty, who cast a rueful shake of the head. “We’ll see everyone back in the kitchen,” he said.

The chefs stumbled to their feet and began to pile out the door. Ashton made it to her knees, wishing she hadn’t taken that last shot. At the time, she hadn’t felt much impact from the alcohol, and they’d been told it would be hours before they were called in front of the judges. Why had they come to a decision so quickly? What did it mean for her?

All of a sudden, she was being lifted to her feet. Strong, warm arms kept her from falling. She looked up at the face of her savior.

Ty.

“What are you doing, Ashton?” His face hovered over hers, his breath warm on her cheek.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what you have to say,” she slurred. The room began to spin, like the teacups at an amusement park. She leaned closer to him, needing his support. “What did you think of my dish?”

“You know I can’t tell you yet.”

She thought she felt his lips against the top of her head, but it could have just been a drunken hallucination.

“Ashton, we have to go. Everyone’s waiting. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can.” Embarrassed, she pushed away from him. The world went into a full tilt and her stomach roiled. Unable to stop herself, she bent in half.

And threw up on Ty Cates’s shoes.

In an instant, she felt a combination of better and wishing she could drop dead. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Ty shook his foot. “Neither can I. Frankly, I expected you to be able to hold your liquor better. Just do me a favor, next time you want to throw a knife at someone, make sure you’re sober. I’d hate to see you end up in jail.”