Remy didn’t really care who the judges were as long as they scrutinized him for his dishes and not his pedigree, and by lying about who he was he’d ensured they would. They called start and the chefs all ran to the pantry to gather ingredients. It reminded Remy of a game his grandfather used to play with him when he was little. Hiding ingredients in the cupboard and then making him wear a blindfold to see if he could sniff out the items.
He had an image of Cupcake Girl in a blindfold and little else as he directed her around his kitchen back home. He shrugged off that thought and forced his mind back to the competition. It’d be embarrassing if he were sent home before filming even began.
He gathered his ingredients and prepared his dish, cooking easily under the pressure of the clock.
“Dude, this is intense,” said the shaggy blond guy next to him. “I’m used to working under the gun but not with this many people around.”
“It is crazy, but I think they do that to rattle you,” Remy said.
“It’s not shaking you,” the guy said.
“I’ve worked under some shouters in my day so it takes more than this to rattle me,” Remy said, thinking of his father who didn’t let blood temper his tongue when Remy screwed up.
“Me, too. I’m Troy, by the way.”
“Remy.” He didn’t want to chat but needed to get his dish finished and plated. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that he was right on schedule.
Troy kept up a constant stream as he cooked and Remy had worked with talkers before and had to be honest and admit he didn’t like them. The kitchen was for cooking not for talking. He didn’t trust a chef who was busy rattling on instead of focusing on his dish.
“Time.”
Remy put his hands up and stepped back from his station. The judges came around to taste and he wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, as they tasted his dish. He couldn’t remember being this nervous since his first day at the CIA.
“Good. Nice balance of sweet and heat. I like it,” Hamilton said.
“Thank you, chef.”
The other judges also complimented him. And he realized he was good. He’d known it, but it was nice to hear it from someone else.
They called names of the contestants going home. Troy didn’t make the cut and gave Remy a wave as he walked out the door. Remy wasn’t surprised. This was a serious competition meant for those who were serious about their work. The other group rejoined them and he noticed Cupcake Girl in the center of the pack.
She was cute with her pixie haircut and her delicate features. Her hair was jet black and her figure petite but curvy. As Hamilton started talking to them again Cupcake Girl’s cute ass and the way her jeans fit distracted Remy.
“… teams,” Hamilton said.
Dammit. He should have been listening instead of staring at the woman. He had a feeling his sweet tooth was going to be his downfall. “What’d he say?” he asked the man next to him.
“We’re going to be put on two person teams and will cook against the other teams, at the end of the round half of us will go home and the remaining chefs will be going onto the show.”
“Thanks.”
“Come forward and take a knife from the cutting block. There are 15 teams, you will be given a number and A or B. The A knife is the head of the team. You will have thirty minutes to plan your dish and then an hour to execute it.”
Everyone moved forward to take a knife and Remy drew 7B. “My lucky number.”
“Mine too,” a soft feminine voice said from behind him. “And I get to be in charge. My fate has definitely changed since the elevator.”
“Cupcake Girl,” he said. “I hoped you’d make it through. I think I should be in charge since I’m a trained chef and you are a baker.”
“Southern boy, I’m the leader on this mission you can either follow me or perish in flames, but either way I’m not about to screw up a challenge.”
He liked her spunky attitude, but he wasn’t about to risk going home because of her. He’d let her think she was in charge but no way was he putting his fate in her hands. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m from LA and you’re from the south so I was thinking some kind of taco-po-boy combo. The dishes both have their roots in common street fare. Working class food that we can elevate to fine dining,” she said.
“I like the idea. Can you make your own tortillas?” he asked.
“I can,” she said with a grin.
“I’ll make the filling a shrimp and andouille sausage blend with some vegetables in it.”
She nodded. “Sounds good. What do you think of a hint of lime in the tortillas?”
“Yes, that’s what we need. But we’re still at street food level with this,” he said.
She looked over at him with those large chocolate brown eyes of hers. “We can do it three ways and have a plate with three different tacos on it.”
He could see that she was here to win but he still wasn’t sure she had the cooking skills needed to execute her plan. They discussed the other two tacos and then went into the pantry to gather ingredients. Staci talked to everyone she met and joked. She was easy going and that concerned him.
Could someone so laid back win? He wasn’t too sure about trusting her instincts on the dish. He’d seen other chefs going for lamb and beef.
He started working the dish allowing his experience and instincts to take over. He changed a few things from her original suggestion and felt her at his shoulder one time. She reached over and put her finger in his bowl.
“What are you doing?”
“Tasting. It’s all about layers. Thought you’d know that, Southern man.”
He did know that but he’d been busy trying to make sure he got everything done in the allotted time. She brought her finger to her lips and her small pink tongue darted out to taste the sauce on her finger. He mentally groaned as all thoughts of cooking took a back seat. She was damn sexy and he had the feeling she knew it when she winked at him.
“A little spicy, but then I like things hot,” she said, walking back to her station.
He watched her for another second before someone called out that they only had ten minutes left and Remy forced his mind back to the competition and off his sexy competitor. He had to stay focused or everything he wanted to prove would be lost. He only wished that Staci wasn’t such a distraction.
2
DESPITE WHAT SHE’D SAID about being in charge, Staci knew that Remy had done some of his own things. But since this was a competition and neither of them wanted to go home, she gave him a pass. Plus, his additions were delicious.
When they started plating their dish, he reached around her to adjust the garnish on the middle taco and his arm brushed hers. Staci took a deep breath, forcing herself to ignore the man and focus on the chef.
“Not bad, but you didn’t do what I said.”
“I’ve been cooking a long time, chère, I don’t necessarily follow instructions.”
“If we go home you’ll wish you had,” she said. “I didn’t take a ninety minute bus ride only to be sent home today.”
“I’m not planning on going home which is why I simply perfected your idea.”
“You’re cocky,”