The beautiful Asian woman smiled at him tentatively.
“I’m sorry, Garett—” Ace said, letting her off the hook, “—I’m just not ready to commit to another TV show. I want to promote my upcoming cookbook, and then see what happens after that. I’ve been driving in the fast lane for so long. It would be nice to take some time to regroup.”
“I thought that’s what you were doing on your extended vacation,” Garett said, raking his fingers through the dark locks that hung just below his ears.
“That was work. In addition to researching my book, you had me doing press everywhere I stopped.” Garett always wanted more, and he always wanted it now.
The two men had become friends years ago when they were both starting out their careers. Back then they’d had two things in common—skirt chasing and a driving hunger for success.
Since Ace had returned from his travels, he’d changed considerably. He’d visited some of the most romantic cities in the world, and even though he’d experienced good times, his share of romance and a lifetime of culinary inspiration, he’d never been more lonely. For the first time, he wished he could have shared those things with someone special.
That fact had never been as clear as it was tonight. He’d invited his closest friends over, and it wasn’t until they’d walked through his door that he’d realized it—they were all couples … and he was single.
Although Garett didn’t count. He was part a couple, but with a different woman for each occasion.
After returning to his empty apartment, Ace had to face that he was tired of avoiding long-term relationships. But thanks to the memories of his parents’ rocky marriage, he still wasn’t sure he could make one work.
“At least we’ll be able to watch you two on television,” Marcel’s wife, Simone, said, helping herself to another horsd’oeuvre. She and Marcel were both French Creole from Louisiana. Marcel had joined Ace’s staff when the couple had moved to New York after Hurricane Katrina.
“We’re going to record every episode on our DVR,” Spence said, “so we can watch you win as many times as we want. Who are the other chefs in the competition?”
Putting down his serving tray, Ace sat on the arm on the sofa and looked toward Garett. “I’m not sure.”
“Didn’t you read the information packet I sent you? Everything you need to know is there.”
Ace got up and pulled the thick packet of Gourmet TV paperwork from his desk drawer. He started flipping pages until he saw the list of names of the other competitors. He read them aloud, pausing for a second when he got to the last name. “Veronica Howard.”
“Ronnie Howard? Didn’t you two go to culinary school together?” Marcel asked.
Ace nodded. During those four years, they’d had a lot of fun together—despite doing their best to one-up each other. He frowned, realizing it had been almost two years since he’d last seen her.
“The good news is,” Spence said, “there isn’t anyone on that list that you can’t take.”
“You think so?” he asked, hiding a cocky grin. “What about Etta Foster? She’s an icon. In fact, for this show all of my competitors have multiple wins under their belts. It’s not going to be a piece of cake.”
While his friends debated the strengths and weaknesses of each competitor, Ace went back into the kitchen to check on his braised beef. As he stirred the hearts-of-palm risotto, his mind wandered back to Ronnie.
He wondered what she’d been up to. They’d been close in school, but hadn’t spent much time together in the years since then. His career had taken off quickly, sending themin opposite directions. But now Ronnie’s career was starting to pick up momentum, setting them back on converging paths.
It would be really good to see her again, he thought, turning off the heat beneath his copper saucepan. Her sassy wit always made him laugh. Hanging out with Ronnie in a great city like Las Vegas or Paris was a good time just waiting to happen.
She was the only woman he’d gotten close to without being romantically involved. Of course, if he’d had his way, they would have hooked up long ago. But Ronnie wasn’t having it. She’d always blown off his flirtations with the taunt that she was too much woman for him.
Even though she was full figured, he’d never taken her words literally. Tall, short, thick or thin—he valued variety in women the way he valued variety in fine wine. And Ronnie had voluptuous curves and a pretty face that had always reeled him in.
But she’d also had a jerky boyfriend back then who’d made his skin crawl. In fact, for as long as he’d known her, she’d been in one relationship or another. Last time they’d spoken, she was dating a food critic whom Ace had always despised.
Taking out seven square serving dishes, he began plating his beef and risotto. For all he knew, Ronnie could be married by now, he thought with a grimace.
But, he thought, carrying the first two plates to the dining table, there was always the chance that she was free. If that was the case, anything could happen.
With that flicker of hope, Ace realized he was looking forward to this competition more than ever.
Chapter 2
After a busy night’s service at Crave in trendy Georgetown, Ronnie looked over her staff, who’d gathered to see her off.
“Now, you all know the rules. Even though I won’t be here in person for a while, you’d better maintain my standards. My spies are everywhere.”
Though she pretended to scold them, Ronnie felt deeply grateful for the predominantly female talent she’d been able to assemble for her first restaurant. It was a man’s world, and she’d taken a gamble scouring culinary schools for female chefs.
Fortunately, she’d hit the jackpot. Even though they’d been untried, she’d been able to train the eager staff to her satisfaction. Ronnie had confidence in them, even though this would be the longest she’d ever left them on their own.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” her restaurant manager,
Callie, assured her. The petite blonde was a business dynamo. “All you have to think about is bringing back that hundred-thousand-dollar check.”
“We’ve got it in the bag,” said La Quanique Collin-Silverberg, her top sous chef, who would be at her side throughout the competition.
Despite her unconventional name, La Quanique, or LQ as Ronnie liked to call her, was the only person Ronnie trusted in a high-pressure situation because she was genuinely invested in Ronnie’s success. Second-generation African and newly converted to Judaism for her husband, she had skin the color of dark espresso, was Amazon tall and wore her hair in a tightly braided updo that sprouted out of her crown like the spikes of a sea urchin.
Her staff took turns cheering the team on with words of encouragement, until one finally interrupted the love fest for an announcement. “We got you a little something for good luck.”
Ronnie felt her skin heating. “You didn’t have to do anything special for us,” she said, in a rare shy moment as Callie gave her and LQ gold lapel pins embossed with Crave’s art deco logo.
Ronnie thanked her staff profusely. “These will come in handy. With the competition we’ll be facing, we’re going to need all the luck we can get.”
LQ shook her head, pushing up her square black frame glasses. “We don’t need luck. We have everything we need right here,” she said, tapping Ronnie’s temple.
Ronnie felt her eyes welling up as she took in the confident smiles of her staff. She just hoped she’d be able to live up to their expectations.
On