Ronnie rolled her eyes. Sure, three years was a long dry spell without a man, but she still hadn’t reacquired her thirst. And the time on her own had done her a lot of good.
“Believe me, this has nothing to do with any man. I’ve been invited to participate in another Gourmet TV Food Fight.”
Cara blinked. “That’s great, Ronnie, but you do those all the time.”
Ronnie smiled. “Yes, but this one is special. It’s the first ever All-Star Food Fight. They’re taking the top winners from the last two years and pitting us against each other in a three-part challenge. The prize is one hundred thousand dollars!”
Cara’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’re kidding me. That’s ten times what you usually win.”
“I know, and that’s not all. Each round takes place in a fabulous place—Las Vegas, Hawaii and Paris.”
Cara clutched a hand to her heart, her almond eyes taking on a dreamy expression. “You lucky girl. I’ve always wanted to visit Paris.”
Ronnie’s posture collapsed. “Well, there’s no guarantee that I’ll make it to Paris. The challenge starts out with fivecontestants. With eliminations after the first two rounds, only the top three will get to go to Paris.”
Her friend, loyal to the end, waved off her concerns. “Oh, don’t worry. I know you’ll make it to the final three. One, because none of those chefs have the creativity and flair you have. And two, because I’m so going to visit you in Paris for the finale.”
Ronnie released a tense breath, and Cara reached across the table to give her hand a reassuring pat. “Crave has been open for almost two years, and it’s already received four-stars. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but there’s going to be some pretty stiff competition. In fact, against most of these celebrity chefs, I definitely qualify as an underdog.”
“Really? Who are the other chefs?”
“First, there’s the queen bee herself, Etta Foster.”
Etta Foster, a cross between Martha Stewart and Sarah Lee, was a household name. She had the most extensive line of cookware and frozen foods of any chef in the business. That was aside from her franchise of cooking shows on Gourmet TV. Yet despite her vast culinary empire, she still evoked the down-home image of a Southern grandma baking in her country kitchen.
Cara shrugged. “Etta Foster is a powerhouse, but she’s old-fashioned. Your modern approach will blow her out of the water.”
“Okay, but I’ll still have to face off with Ann Le Marche and Stewart Compton.”
Her friend, who only watched GTV when Ronnie was on it, was unimpressed. “I’ve never even heard of them.”
“Well, I’m certain you’ve heard of my biggest competition, Ace Brown.”
Cara gasped. “Ace Brown? The Sexy Chef himself?
Now you’re talking. Finally a chance to prove yourself against your old culinary-school rival. Wiping the floor with him will put the icing on your victory.”
Ronnie laughed. She and Ace had always been friends, but there had been an air of unspoken competition between them. They’d gone head-to-head many times in school, but unfortunately he had more points in the win column than she did. Since graduation, his career had grown to overshadow hers entirely.
Ace had been on the fast track, landing himself a show on Gourmet TV called The Sexy Chef soon after building his reputation on the Manhattan restaurant scene. His show had focused on romantic meals prepared from ingredients considered to be aphrodisiacs. Despite the show’s popularity, when his contract was up, he’d decided to leave television to travel the world.
Ronnie hadn’t seen Ace in nearly two years, and she couldn’t help but feel a tad excited to show off her recent successes.
Every woman in culinary school had had a crush on Ace, herself included. But since she’d had a boyfriend at the time, Ronnie had been able to pretend she was the lone female on earth immune to his charms. As a result, they’d become good friends.
Ace’s face flashed in her mind. Back then he’d had a full head of curly hair, a clean-shaven baby face and a leanly muscled body. When Ronnie had started catching The Sexy Chef on GTV, she’d noticed that Ace had become so buff he’d needed to cut the sleeves off his chef’s jacket to free his massive guns. He’d also shaved his head and grown a neat mustache and goatee.
Combine his smoking hot physique and his natural charm in front of the camera, and you had the recipe for sexy. His show had been aptly named, and Ronniesuspected that when it had been on the air, his female viewers tuned in more for the tasty sight of Ace than for his romance-inspired haute cuisine.
Ronnie had never really been immune to his charms, but a guy like Ace had his pick of women. So why would he have gone for the pretty but pleasantly plump version of her? There were plenty of men who’d appreciated her voluptuous curves. But judging by the swarm of skinny women that had surrounded Ace, she didn’t have any reason to believe he was one of them.
Therefore, it had been easier for her to pretend that she wasn’t interested. To sell the lie she’d joked that she was more woman than he could handle.
“Wow—” Cara said, snapping her fingers in front of Ronnie’s face “—the mere mention of Ace Brown sends you into a dream state.”
“I wasn’t daydreaming. It’s been a while since I last saw him. I’m hoping he’ll be thrown off his game when he gets a load of all this,” she said, presenting her body with a flourish worthy of Vanna White.
Cara laughed. “I’m certain he’ll be so intimidated by your hot body and restaurant success that he’ll lose all ability to function. Then you can whisk the floor with him.”
“How can I expect him to be impressed with my one little restaurant opening? He has two bistros in New York, a television show in syndication and a new cookbook coming out. The only way I’m going to earn his respect is by kicking his butt in the Food Fight.”
Ace Brown stacked his canapés, delicately balancing Serrano ham, roasted tomatoes and shaved Parmesan cheese on thinly sliced crostini. He garnished each layerwith a leaf of cilantro and carried the platter out to his guests waiting in the living room of his Manhattan loft.
He’d spent the majority of his career creating dishes for two, but tonight his apartment was filled with six of his closest friends—all of them foodies and one of them his sous chef for the upcoming competition.
“I can’t believe you’ve just returned to the country, and you’re already running off again,” Devon said as Ace held the tray out to her. A polished hotshot lawyer, she wore her short hair slicked to her scalp, light makeup and a casual pantsuit.
“That’s right,” her husband, Ace’s oldest friend, Spence, said. “We’ve gone almost six months without a decent meal. Now you’re asking us to hold on for another three weeks?” A light-skinned pretty boy, Spence had done his friend a favor when he’d married Devon. Ace did a lot better with women without the added competition.
Ace offered the tray to the remaining couples in the room, his sous chef Marcel and his wife, Simone, and Garett, his publicist, and Garett’s date du jour.
“Relax. Tonight I’ve planned a feast that should tide all of you over until Marcel and I return home from battle.”
Garett squirmed in his seat. “I still think we should have accepted the television deal. Gourmet TV offered you a minimum of six episodes to cook your signature dishes in front of a live audience. You’re getting too big for these little competition shows.” Garett slapped the knee of the girl he’d brought. “Talk some sense into him, sweetheart.”
Ace