Some Like It Spicy (23 page)

A chair had been brought in for her and she sank into it. According to Sally, she was supposed to partake in the meal and relax. Yeah, right. Her stomach pitched at the thought of ingesting food.

She looked at the others as they bit into their blini. Chloe spoke up immediately. “This is fantastic,” she gushed. “I could eat a plate of these.”

“Obviously,” Charles said, eyeing Chloe’s curvy figure. He didn’t mutter the insult under his breath; he never did. He found himself way too witty.

Chloe’s cheeks reddened, as did Ashton’s on her friend’s behalf.

“I agree with Chloe,” Ty put in, smiling at her. “I really enjoy the combination of the chive, chèvre, and smoked salmon.”

“It’s really wonderful, Ashton,” Jenna said.

“Thank you,” Ashton said.

She saw her father open his mouth, and she hunched forward.

“You don’t think chèvre is too tart a cheese to be paired with the smoky salmon?” he asked.

She squeezed her hands into fists, diverting the sting of his comment. “No, I think they complement each other nicely.”

“You…you love chèvre, Charles,” her mother spoke up. “It’s one of your favorite cheeses.”

If she hadn’t already been sitting, Ashton would have fallen down. This was as close to support as she’d ever gotten from her mother.

Her father patted Francine patronizingly on the hand. “You don’t understand the discussion, dear. It’s about the blending of ingredients, not their individuality.” As Francine shrank into her seat, Charles turned his attention back to Ashton. “I’m surprised you chose smoked salmon. Usually you like to cook so bland. By choosing this, you were at least guaranteed there would be flavor.”

Claude nodded. “Interesting thing to say, Charles. Seasoning has been an issue in some of her dishes.”

“I’m not aware it’s been a problem,” she bit. “I don’t remember hearing any comments to that effect.”

Claude laughed. “How soon you forget the caper incident.”

Ashton could feel her face flame. That had been a practice challenge—no one was supposed to know about it. Without thought, she shot Andrea, the only one who hadn’t made a comment, a pleading look. But Andrea sat stiffly on the couch, her attention barely on Ashton or the food. Too late, Ashton remembered Sally telling her that Andrea had argued to let Duffy return to the show, even after the higher-ups had decided otherwise.

On shaking legs, Ashton stood. “I need to finish the main course.”

She stumbled into the kitchen, hoping no one would follow her. She had twenty minutes to put on her finishing touches before she served, and she needed to keep it together.

Plating helped distract her. She’d decided to serve family-style, hoping it would add to the idea of comfort food. When Sally popped her head in to tell her to start serving, she picked up two large serving dishes and carried them into the dining room, where everyone was seated.

Sally had spent part of the afternoon decorating the table, and she’d done a beautiful job, using expensive china and crystal goblets she had brought with her. The oak table had been covered with a metallic-colored tablecloth with complementary napkins and a bronze candelabra in the middle.

Her serving pieces were white, which not only set off the colors of the table, but also the food.

She set the plates in the middle of the table, between the candles.

“Family-style?” Her father raised an eyebrow. “How primitive.”

Immediately she kicked herself for giving him such obvious ammunition.

“Please tell us about your dishes, Chef Grey,” Ty said, shooting a look at Charles.

Somehow, she found her voice. “I have for you a root-vegetable beef stew, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, and sweet potato biscuits.”

She sat at the head of the table, directly across from her father.

As she watched, the others took turns spooning food onto their plates and tasting.

“The meat is so tender,” Jenna said. “And I love the use of root vegetables. It’s very appropriate for autumn.”

“I love it,” Chloe added, sending a glare at Charles, as if daring him to dig at her again.

Her father stayed strangely silent, though, allowing others to comment first.

“There is a hint of sweetness in the stew,” Claude pointed out. “How did you achieve that?”

“I used a can of cherry cola to balance the natural tartness of tomatoes.”

“The potatoes complement the dish perfectly,” Andrea said. She gritted her teeth, as if it were painful to praise Ashton.

“It is perfectly cooked,” Ty agreed. “You also managed to make the biscuits moist, yet crumbly.”

“Thank you,” Ashton said, relief flowing through her. She relaxed enough to ladle a portion onto her plate.

After the way Charles had chastised her in front of everyone, Ashton knew her mother wouldn’t comment on this course. All she had to get through was her father. Maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he actually liked it. God knew he’d rather say nothing than something that might encourage her.

“I find it commendable you’re being yourself with this meal, instead of playing to the judges,” Charles said.

She looked up at him, warning signs shooting off in her head. He had that smile on his lips—the one that decorated his face just before he tore the wings off butterflies.

“I would think with such high stakes you would go the route of elegance,” he continued. “But instead you chose dishes that would fit in at a local diner. Very appropriate for your style.”

Absolute silence blanketed the room. Then, Claude chuckled awkwardly. “I think what you’re trying to say, Charles, is that Ashton elevated a classic dish to a new level.”

Charles shot Claude a look that sent the man squirreling in his seat. “I believe I spoke clearly. Ashton understands. Don’t you?” He looked directly at her.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even nod.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” Charles added. “A majority of chefs are mediocre, even those charging an exorbitant amount for their food. So few have the genius to create the perfect dish, and unfortunately, my dear, you’re no genius.”

Ashton stood suddenly, her chair scraping against the wood floor before it fell backward. “I have to get the dessert.”

She stumbled into the kitchen, unshed tears blurring the room. Gripping the counter, she felt along the cold granite edges until she found the stove, where her dessert warmed. With no finesse, she poured the dessert into the nearest platter and carried it with unsteady hands into the dining room. Although she had twenty minutes to prepare the course, she couldn’t stand the thought of prolonging the agony any longer than necessary.

When she entered the room, Chloe saw her shaking hands and jumped up to take the platter. She set it on the table. “This looks absolutely fabulous.”

Somehow, Ashton managed to find a voice, though, to her humiliation, it was clogged with tears. “This is a white-chocolate-and-cranberry-stuffed pear poached in a port wine sauce.”

Chloe took a quick bite, and then looked at Ashton. “This is fantastic. I can absolutely say, as a pastry chef, I couldn’t have done better myself.”

Charles laughed heartily. “Poaching a pear is hardly in the same class as baking. How much skill does it take to drop a pear in liquid?”

“That’s enough!” Ty slammed his hands against the table, sending his fork flying through the air and hitting the plates into one another in a symphony of horror. “I am not going to listen to you harass your daughter any longer. Ashton is one of the most talented chefs I’ve ever met, and she put together a spectacular meal. If you think otherwise, then clearly old age has diminished your taste buds.”

Jenna and Chloe clapped and hollered their agreement, while her mother shrank even deeper in her chair. Claude and Andrea both wore stunned expressions.

Ashton tilted her head as she gazed at Ty.
Thank you
, she mouthed.

It’s true
, he mouthed back.

The only person who remained unfazed was Charles, who still wore that awful smile on his lips. “Interesting speech. From the man who is eating more from my daughter than just food.”

A collective gasp filled the air.

Charles chuckled at his own vulgar joke as Ashton’s face burned with humiliation.

“At least,” he added, “that’s what it looked like on the video.”

And then, finally, his expression changed—to a brief look of surprise just before Ty’s fist connected with his jaw.

Andrea screamed as Charles went down, while Claude and several crew members rushed to his side. Francine, on the other hand, continued eating her pear, indifferent to her husband sprawled on the floor.

Ashton needed to escape. Without a word, she pivoted on her heel and fled out the door. As she took deep gulps of cool air, she realized she’d come in the van and had no way to get home.

Behind her, the front door creaked open. It was probably Chloe or Jenna. They could give her a ride.

But when warm, strong arms enveloped her from behind, she knew it was Ty, and she sagged against him. Despite everything that had happened between the two of them, she needed him.

“Your father’s an asshole,” he whispered in her ear before kissing the crown of her head.

“I know,” she whispered back, letting him support her weight.

“I’m not sorry I hit him.”

“Neither am I.”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Desperately,” she said. “But I don’t have a car.”

“I do,” he said, pointing to the black sedan at the curb. He took her hand and they walked to the car, where a driver scurried around to open the back door for them.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Ty looked at her. “Up to you.”

“My place,” she said without hesitation. She no longer cared if a reporter waited there for her. She wanted to go home.

They didn’t speak during the drive. Ty held her, stroked her hair, her arm, her back. When the car dropped them off at her building, Ty dismissed his driver for the night.

She led him to her apartment door and then through the living room to her bedroom.

There, they undressed each other slowly and made love leisurely.

Afterward, they crawled beneath the covers and Ashton cuddled in his arms. There was no question of him leaving, and no answer as to what this meant for their future.

The next morning, the alarm on Ty’s phone woke both of them. He searched the floor for his pants to turn it off and then sat on the bed, gazing down on her.

“My flight leaves in a few hours,” he said, sliding his finger down her bare back. “I could change it, if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “I need time to think. You should go.” Last night had changed everything, but not for the better. If her restaurant had been busy before, surely it would fall empty once word got out that her own father, food-critic extraordinaire, called her food “mediocre.” Combine that with his vulgar reference to her affair with Ty and Ty punching him in the face, and she would probably be working the counter at Subway in a week’s time.

With so many changes afoot, the last thing she could handle was a relationship. Especially with Ty. If she ever had any hope of putting this competition and the bad press behind her, she had to distance herself from him.

Ty put his hands on either side of her head and loomed over her. “Ashton, I want to be with you. We can make this work.”

Oh, God, why did he have to say that? Why did he have to make this even harder? “Please, Ty. I need time.”

He sighed heavily and sat up. “I guess I don’t have a choice. If you need me, call. I can hop on a plane and be here in a few hours.” His words brought tears to her eyes.

He pulled on his clothes and then leaned down to kiss her, lingering.

Finally, she had to gently push against his chest. “You’re going to miss your flight.”

“I’ll see you in New York for the finale.” With one last look, he left.

She fell against her pillow and put a hand to the space where he’d lain. The sheets were cool now, his imprint gone, as if he’d never been there.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ty felt like a child being scolded by his parents. Andrea, Sally, and the president of Food Fanatics TV, Marcus Wylie, all wore disapproving frowns. Plus, Marcus had brought along the station’s attorney, Ford Leighton, to make sure Ty knew he was in seven kinds of trouble.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Marcus said. He took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This contract”—he held up a packet of papers—“may as well be toilet paper for all the respect you’ve given it.”

“Sir,” Ty started, only to be cut off with a wave of Marcus’s hand.

“Save it. I don’t really care for your excuses. Nothing you say can satisfy me.”

Ty clamped his mouth shut. Marcus was right; what could he say that would make the situation better? He couldn’t take any of this back and now his career—and Ashton’s—was over.

It was ironic, really. He’d wanted out of his contract so badly…but not like this. Not in exchange for his reputation. And he’d certainly never wanted to hurt Ashton.

He should have told her he loved her. He should have refused to leave her side until she admitted she loved him back. Truthfully, though, sometimes he wasn’t sure if she really did love him. And it was killing him.

The attorney, Ford, had taken the contract from Marcus and was flipping through it. “We could take every penny you have for the number of times you’ve violated this contract. Sleeping with a contestant, sparing her from elimination—”

“I
never
did that,” Ty broke in, his temperature rising. “Ashton is an incredible chef.” He looked at Andrea. “Back me up. You agreed with keeping her in the competition.”

Andrea pursed her lips together. “She is a fine chef, but was she always the best…?”

“That’s horseshit,” he erupted.

“Are you saying she received no advantage?” Marcus asked. “You never tipped her off to an upcoming challenge?”

“I nev…” His own words died in his mouth as he remembered accidently telling Ashton about the dessert challenge and that food had been planted in the RVs. They wouldn’t understand that the slips had never been intentional.

“Sharing information about upcoming battles with a contestant,” Ford ticked off his list. “Hitting a guest judge. Well, I suppose that one is for the police to handle.”

“Ninety-two percent of people agreed with Ty’s decision to punch Mr. Grey,” Sally offered. “And ninety-eight percent of those people thought Ty should have followed it up by drowning him in the mashed potatoes.”

Ty stared at her. “You polled this?”

Sally shrugged. “Ignoring it would have been as easy as ignoring an elephant in the room. Putting some humor in the situation spins it the direction we want. So we leaked it to YouTube. By the way, it’s currently their most viewed clip of the week.”

“Perfect.” Ty closed his eyes. Would this ever die, when any moron with a computer could dredge it up again?

“You know I was against letting Ashton compete in the finale,” Andrea said. “The only reason we’ve let this farce go on is that you technically don’t decide the winner of the show.”

“What do you mean, ‘technically’?” Ty asked. “I have no input in it whatsoever.” The phone polls opened when the last episode aired and closed twenty-four hours before the finale. “An outside accounting firm handles the count and hands me the results on air.”

Marcus, Andrea, and Ford exchanged looks, while Sally looked away from Ty.

“What?” he asked.

“Strictly speaking, you’re right,” Marcus said. “But we want to go in a bit of a different direction this time.”

Uneasiness pricked at the back of his neck. “What kind of direction?”

“Jolene is exactly the type of chef who would fit in perfectly with our programming here,” Marcus said. “She’s gorgeous, talented, and has a great personality.”

“Her home visit went a hell of a lot better than Ashton’s,” Andrea added.

Ty couldn’t argue with that. Jolene had put together a family picnic of four generations. Her family had been the opposite of Ashton’s: loving, supportive, and damned proud of their daughter.

“We’ve decided to create a new show, focused on Jolene creating delicious but healthy dishes,” Andrea told him. “If she wins this competition, it will guarantee a huge premiere for her show.”

He still had no idea where they were going. “Jolene has a very good chance of winning. And even if she doesn’t, she’s gotten a following. I think she’ll do great on her own show.”

“You’re not getting us,” Marcus said. “Jolene will be the winner.”

Marcus’s words sank in. “You’re going to fix the competition?” Ty said.

“No,” Marcus corrected. “You are.”

His jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“The accounting firm keeps the results under lock and key. We have no way to change them. You’re the only one who gets the results envelope, the only one who sees what’s inside.”

“What about the accountant who puts together the envelope?”

“If he wants to keep our business, he’ll keep his mouth shut,” Marcus told him. “You can read any name you want and no one will be the wiser.”

Ty leaped from his chair. “You’re out of your fucking minds if you think I’m going to do that.” He looked at Sally. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this.”

She didn’t quite meet his gaze as she shrugged. “My job is to put on a great show; that’s it. Everything else is up to the bosses.”

Ty turned back to Marcus and Andrea. “I won’t do it. I’m not going to rob Ashton of her prize if she legitimately wins.”

“Then be prepared to spend the next year in court,” Ford said. “And you will lose. I’m telling you right now: You. Will. Lose. You can’t dispute breach of contract—we have you on tape. You’ll end up with nothing.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he spat.

“Your restaurant in Atlanta; that’s still in your name, isn’t it?” Ford asked. “Even though your sister and brother-in-law actually run it?”

A chill ran through Ty. He nodded.

“We can go after that as well,” Ford told him. “Is that what you want? More lives ruined? Let’s face it, if you hadn’t been sleeping with Ashton, maybe she wouldn’t have made it this far. Jolene is the rightful winner. We just want to make sure she gets what she deserves.”

“We expect you’ll do what’s right here,” Marcus said, standing. “If you do, everything will be forgiven, no contract broken.” He motioned to the others. “Let’s leave Mr. Cates to ruminate on the correct decision.”

Ty sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. If the network wanted to terminate all future contracts with him, so be it. He’d go back to Atlanta, back to his restaurant, and do what he loved. He’d find a nice Southern girl who didn’t argue over everything, and he’d marry her. To hell with Food Fanatics TV and to hell with Ashton Grey.

Except he didn’t want a perfectly thin, perfectly coiffed, perfectly content robot. He wanted to be challenged; he wanted fire. He wanted Ashton.

Maybe when the finale was over and this whole thing blew over, they could have a chance.

Not if you fix the finale
, a little voice nagged him. Because he’d never be able to look at Ashton again without overwhelming guilt of what he’d done.

But if he didn’t fix the competition, he’d be in court, where her name would be dragged through the mud. And in the end, he’d lose, because he was guilty. He
had
broken his contract, and he’d done it knowingly.

No matter what he did, they’d both lose.

…

“Not as nice as the brownstone,” Jolene declared, depositing her purse on the couch, “but it’ll do.”

Ashton grinned as she hugged Jolene. “Sorry we couldn’t go back there. Sally said paparazzi are still camped out, waiting for us.”

The show’s finale filmed in two days, and Ashton had arrived in New York that morning. Sally had booked her and Jolene a suite at the W Hotel so the press wouldn’t bother them.

“A luxury hotel, great view, room service. Yeah, it’s a real disappointment.” Jolene’s smile fell. “I saw your home visit. I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks,” Ashton said past the lump in her throat. “I saw your home visit, and I’m really jealous. Your family is great.”

Jolene nodded. “And yours is a nightmare.”

“They are, aren’t they?” She laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks. “I’ve already gotten a call from the WWE. They seem to think my father needs a good pummeling.”

“Oh, he does,” Jolene declared. “More than any man—or woman—I’ve ever met. Personally, I think you’ll get some major sympathy votes.”

“I’ll take any votes I can get,” Ashton said, her lips quirking. “You’re a shoo-in with the fraternity demographic.”

“That makes us about even, I’d say.” Her face turned serious again. “How are things with you and Ty? Have you seen him?”

Ashton fidgeted in her chair. “No, not since he was in Chicago. I asked him to give me space, and he has. The truth is…” She paused. “I miss him. So much that at times I can hardly breathe.”

Jolene let out a long breath. “Sounds like love.”

Tears began slipping from Ashton’s eyes, faster than she could wash them away. “How can it work between us? The press will never let anyone forget how we met. The show will always be between us. And he lives here, but I live in Chicago.”

Jolene squeezed her hand. “Do you love him?”

“Too much has happened—”

“Don’t think,” Jolene cut her off. “Just answer from the heart. Do you love him?”

“Yes.” The word ripped from her heart, and a laugh bubbled in her throat. God, it felt so good to admit it out loud. “Yes, I love him.”

“Then you’ll work it out.” Jolene grinned. “But he’s the one you have to tell, not me. Go see him.”

“Now?”

“Yes,” Jolene said firmly. “Now. Get everything out in the open before the finale.”

Ashton jumped to her feet and looked in a mirror hanging over the table. “I look horrible. I’m all blotchy and my eyes are red.”

“He won’t care,” Jolene told her. “He loves you—it’s obvious. This was never about sex with him. You need to let him know the same thing.”

Ashton hugged Jolene tightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now go!”

…

Ty had his driver take him home from the studio, and then he called Vic.

“Nice of you to finally return my calls,” Vic said sarcastically. “Two hundredth time was the charm, eh?”

Ty ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Everything has been crazy. And frankly, I didn’t want to get into it with you.”

“‘It’?” Vic snapped. “‘It’ is why you hired me. I handle all the ‘its’ for you. I can’t do my job if you avoid me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Well, now that you’re talking to me, we need a game plan. You’ve been ‘no commenting’ the press, which is fine. But you’re going to want to issue a statement.”

“We can figure that out later. Look, Vic, I have a problem.” Ty began pacing the living room. “The show offered me a deal. If I name Jolene the winner, no matter what the results, they won’t go after me for breach of contract. If I don’t…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Vic gruffed. “So, what’s the frickin’ problem? Do what they want.”

Ty stared at the phone. “Just like that? Not even one speck of moral outrage?”

“You broke their contract,” Vic reminded him, none too gently. “If you wanted to bang the chick, you should have made sure no one with a camera was around. Take the deal and be grateful.”

Blood boiled under his collar. Was this really the man he’d been in business with for the past few years, a man he thought he could call a friend? “So that’s your answer? I fix the competition so Jolene wins, and we walk away without blame.”

A high-pitched feminine gasp froze Ty. Blood pumping, he slowly turned and saw Ashton standing in the open elevator doors.

“I’ve got to go,” Ty said, partially into the phone. He could hear Vic yelling something at him as he snapped his cell shut.

Ashton stepped just out of the elevator. Her eyes were rimmed red, her face pale. “Your doorman let me up.” She laughed bitterly. “He recognized me from television, didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Ashton, about what you heard—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Save it. Don’t try to cover up or make excuses. I heard what you said. You’re going to fix the winner to save your own ass.”

“No,” he said. Then, “Maybe. I don’t know. I want to do what’s right.”

“You think changing the results is right?” she cried.

“I want the scandal to go away for both of us. If the station hauls me into court, you’ll probably have to testify. They’ll keep showing the footage of us making love—”

“Having sex,” she spat. “Don’t try to make it something it wasn’t.”

Ty swore. “You are never going to give us a chance, are you? We did have more than sex, but you’ll never admit it, because you’re too afraid.”

Something flashed in her eyes, and then fell away. “No,” she said sadly. “We’ll never have more than sex. It’s over, Ty.”

She pressed for the elevator, which was still at his floor, and then she was gone.

Ty stood by the elevator and watched her leave him. Then, he put his fist through his white wall.

With a bandage on his battered hand, Ty flew to Atlanta for his mother’s birthday party, which would be held the next afternoon. He’d need to fly back to New York immediately after the party for the filming of the finale the following morning.

The trip couldn’t have come at a better time. He’d needed to get away from New York and away from Ashton. In a matter of twenty-four hours, the course of his life had changed, and he needed this time to figure out what he was going to do.

Moving back to Atlanta made the most sense. He could return to his restaurant and to doing what he loved most—cooking amazing food.

And once he was back, he could forget about Ashton and put the last few years behind him.

The only thing he’d miss in New York was Scott, Ellen, and Laci. But it wasn’t like he was leaving the country. They’d be just a plane ride away from each other.

When he arrived in Atlanta, he rented a car and headed toward the restaurant. His family wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow morning, and he wanted to surprise them. The restaurant should be pretty booked on a Friday night, and he planned to jump in and lend a hand.