Sweet Seduction (25 page)

‘Damn.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Gabe’s voice cut through her malaise. She tried to wipe up the mess quickly.

‘Nothing.’

He walked to the stove to view the damage.

‘Ah, no need to cry over spilt pancakes,’ he said, his eyes sparkling. He poured himself a coffee, leaned against the kitchen counter and scooped up the newspaper.

As she cleaned, Charlie stole a glance at his body. He looked as though he’d stepped from a billboard. His designer jeans hung perfectly on his slim hips and his cool urban shirt highlighted his broad shoulders. She busied herself with the pancakes, easing a couple onto a plate.

‘Focus on this instead.’ He flung the paper down on the counter and pointed to an ad.

Wanted. Amateur cooks for new reality TV show.

‘You’re advertising for contestants already?’ she asked as she skimmed the ad.

‘Yes and we’ll be conducting regional finals for the next few weeks to find the top ten contestants for the show.’

She handed him a plate of pancakes and he took a seat at the table.

‘It’ll be great,’ he continued. ‘We’re running regional competitions across the country. The ten finalists will compete each week in a televised knockout. The winner receives the opportunity to attend the top British cooking school and do an apprenticeship at Alexander’s under the direction of Jasper Donovan.’

‘Sounds amazing.’ She looked down at the ad again.

‘And you’re going to try out,’ he said, his eyes bright with mischief.

‘What?’

‘I want you to audition.’

She smiled indulgently. ‘There’s no way I am going on national TV.’ It didn’t really fit with keeping a low profile.

‘Perhaps not, but you are going to give it a go.’

‘No way.’

‘If you make the finals, you receive a seven hundred and fifty pound stipend per episode. That’s more than twice what you’re earning now.’

She stared at him.

With that much, she could stay in London for longer. That would show the men in her life she wasn’t so easy to control. She read the ad again. Why not? There was nothing in Australia to go back to and everything in London to stay for – she flicked a glance at Gabe. This could be the difference between success or returning home with her tail between her legs.

‘Aren’t there rules about friends of the director being involved?’ she asked, moving back to the stove.

‘As far as I know, you are not an employee of my company, or any associated companies, or a relative. So, according to the rules, you’re eligible.’ He cut off a slice of pancake. ‘Unless of course we front up to the altar in the next few months.’

Another pancake died on the side of the pan.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, thankfully not noticing her loss of composure, ‘I have nothing to do with the judging. I might be good at developing reality TV shows, but I wouldn’t know a ramekin from a rissole. I’ve lined up three of the best foodies in the country – Terry Fletcher, the
London Times
food critic; Susan Watson, the director of Olivio’s cooking school; and Jasper Donovan.’

‘Wow.’ Their names alone sounded intimidating.

‘And VIP passengers and the audience also vote. Their votes count for fifty percent of the overall weekly score,” Gabe forked some pancake into his mouth.

Why not give it a go? It wasn’t as if she were going to reach the finals and be on TV. She’d have some fun and Gabe would still be in her life. It would be fun to see the concept come to life.

‘So, I exert no undue influence,’ he said. ‘Trials start next week at the London Exhibition Centre and you’re going to be there.’

She’d nearly convinced herself when reality pounced. What was she thinking? There were so many reasons not to do it, most pressing being her lack of money.

‘I can’t do it. I have to get home. There’s that little problem of my lack of funds and I really don’t think it would look good to have a contestant living with the director.’

Gabe rubbed his chin and sat back in his chair. ‘You know what, I have never been so well looked after in my life.’ He pointed to the plate in front of him. ‘Cooked breakfast each morning, house immaculate and gourmet dinner each night. I have friends who pay a fortune for housekeepers who don’t do half the work you’ve been doing around here.’

‘It’s the least I can do considering I’ve been staying in your house for over a month.’ She picked up his coffee cup and refilled it.

‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘how about I pay you to be my housekeeper and then you’d be free to stay here and try out for the competition.’

‘Wouldn’t that make me your employee? I’d be ineligible? And there’s still that little issue of me living here.’

‘Mmm. Excellent point.’

His fingers drummed the table. His face screwed up in concentration.

‘All right,’ he said looking up suddenly, his eyes bright. ‘How about this? Emma’s been struggling since the chemo. It’s totally wiped her out. We were thinking of looking for someone to live in the cottage out the back rent-free and give her a hand. She’s been reluctant as she doesn’t want a stranger around the kids, especially as they are all feeling a little vulnerable, but the kids love you.’

She should resist. She should go home and sort out the mess that was her life. But this! This might just be the big break she was looking for. Show all the doubters back at home that she could make something of herself. And if it all came to nothing, well, she would have spent more time with Gabe and that was not a hardship. It was a long shot but she’d vowed to take more risks, live life . . .

‘It’s a deal.’

Gabe pulled into the morning peak-hour traffic and drove towards his production office in Hammersmith. What was he doing inviting Charlie to be potentially part of the show? He’d barely managed to keep his hands off her and now he’d invited her into his work life.

He was breaking his own rules. Since the Sophie episode, he’d become expert at keeping contestants at a distance. Now he’d invited the gorgeous, bewitching, sweet Charlie onto the set.

He shifted in his seat and hit the accelerator a little too hard, forcing him to brake immediately. A horn blasted behind him. He looked in the rear-view mirror and waved his apology.

At least he’d quashed the temptation of having her at home. But Charlie had insisted on keeping a key and planned to still manage his housekeeping. Then it struck him.

He’d solved his problem without even realising it. Charlie was auditioning for
First-Class Chef
, which meant she was now ‘business’.

So Charlie was off limits. Completely and absolutely. Never mix business and pleasure.

He relaxed back into the leather seat, but the relief felt strangely hollow.

Charlie looked around the enormous exhibition space and knew instantly she didn’t have a chance. Hundreds of people milling about. No way would she make it onto the show. She spied a banner:
First-Class Chef – Registration South-East England Regional Trials.

She smiled to herself. At least it would be a bit of fun.

A long queue stretched across the room. She joined it, the clamour and chatter engulfing her. But the closer she moved towards the registration desk, the more anxiety tightened its grip on her nerves.

What if, by some crazy twist of fate, she were chosen for the show? Sure, it’d be a dream come true, but her father or Paul would be here in a flash to drag her home. If high-street clothes were ‘common’, she couldn’t imagine the expletives her parents would use if she appeared on reality television.

She glimpsed Gabe across the hall. He was directing a small group of people surrounding him. Even at this distance she could tell he held their absolute attention. She understood immediately. Gabe had the power to enthral. A smile crept across her lips.

She sighed. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, but the risk of being discovered was too great. She picked up her backpack and turned towards the exit.

‘Can you believe it?’ The guy behind her was dressed in a dark suit and spotted tie. He was probably nudging forty.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘This,’ he said, spreading his arms wide to take in the whole room.

‘Yeah. Incredible.’

‘Imagine making it through.’ The wistfulness in his voice didn’t match his proper executive image.

‘Mmm.’ She nodded, anxious now she’d made her decision to leave.

‘Imagine living your dream. I mean, I’m an accountant.’ The man pointed to his suit as if it explained everything. ‘But cooking’s my real passion.’

She cocked her head and looked at him intently. ‘Then why are you an accountant?’

He laughed, the sound heavy with irony. ‘Father.’

She raised her eyebrows in a query.

‘A chef’s not an acceptable occupation for an Etonian.’ The sneering, clipped British tone was obviously designed to mimic his father.

‘Oh.’ She nodded. ‘I have one of those too.’
Harry Andrew Wentworth.
He’d predetermined almost every step of her life.

‘Hey, we’re moving,’ her companion said.

She turned back and took a large, deliberate step closer to the registration desk. For the first time in her life she could see what her own dreams might be. She glanced over at Gabe. And cooking was only part of them.

Finally Charlie reached the head of the queue.

‘Name?’

‘Charlotte We— Brown. Charlie Brown.’

The young woman behind the desk looked up at her. ‘Cute.’

She held out her hand. ‘Registration form?’

Charlie handed over the document signed with her newly practised signature. She’d skimmed the document but hadn’t wanted to read it too closely. She didn’t want to see a rule about not falsifying your identity.

The woman glanced at the form. ‘We’re processing people in batches of twenty. The trial consists of two parts. First there’s a two-minute interview. If you’re successful, you then have twenty minutes to cook something from the ingredients provided.’

The registrar handed over an ingredient list. ‘The top ten candidates for this region will be selected today.’

Charlie skimmed the list. Immediately ideas swirled in front of her.

‘Take a seat and listen for your name. Good luck, Charlie Brown.’ The woman shot Charlie a big grin.

‘Thanks.’

Charlie loved the sound of her new name. Each time she said it, someone smiled.

Finding a seat, she extracted a pen and paper from her bag. She needed something really distinctive. She began making notes on the various dishes she could make from the limited list. Everything she thought of was good, but not really
special
.

She needed an edge.

Charlie leaned back and scanned the room. The mix of people was vast. Teenagers to grannies. Conservatively dressed to outrageously alternative. Food certainly united people.

‘Charlie Brown.’

Charlie jerked her head up. She glanced at her notes one more time and headed towards the interview area.

A lone chair sat within an array of bright stage lights. A television camera trained its lens on the chair. A woman sat outside the lit area. She looked so cool in her head-to-toe black outfit. Charlie glanced at her own clothes and suddenly felt very conservative.

The woman pointed to the seat.

Slightly blinded, Charlie sat down. She squinted under the heat and intensity of the lights.

‘Charlie Brown?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Charlie replied. Her stomach muscles clenched tightly as nerves threatened to render her speechless.

‘I’m Abigail, assistant director. I’m just going to ask a few questions. Ready?’

A red light on the camera blinked on. Charlie’s breath caught in her throat and she suddenly wanted to drink a reservoir of water. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

Charlie noticed Gabe out of the corner of her eye. She straightened in her chair. Gabe wouldn’t have suggested she try out if he didn’t think she had something to offer.

‘Ready,’ Charlie said with renewed confidence.

The two-minute interview seemed to be over before it had begun. She thought she’d done well and she could see Gabe out of the corner of her eye nodding and smiling throughout the whole ordeal.

‘Thanks,’ Abigail said as the interview wrapped up. ‘Take a seat outside. You’ll be called within an hour if you’ve been selected.’

As she was ushered from the room, Gabe sauntered by.

‘You nailed it,’ he whispered.

She grinned. Who would have thought three little words could engender so much joy?

Charlie took a seat near the back of the auditorium and waited. Finally Abigail walked to the front of the hall, a microphone in hand. She called the crowd to attention.

‘Thank you, everyone, for coming today. We’ve completed over two hundred and fifty interviews and we’ve short listed the top fifty who will progress to a cooking trial.’

She paused and glanced down at her list.

‘If your name isn’t called, you haven’t been selected, but it doesn’t mean you won’t have your five minutes of fame. A highlights package from today’s interviews will be featured on the
First-Class Chef
’s YouTube channel tonight.’

A cheer resounded around the room.

Charlie tensed. YouTube? Had that been on the form she hadn’t really read? What if her interview was part of the package? What if someone recognised her? She really hadn’t thought this through. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on Abigail’s voice.

‘So, will the following people please come forward?’ Abigail read from a list of names.

Charlie counted as the names were read out. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Her fingernails copped a pounding with the announcement of each name that was not hers. By the time forty names had been announced her nails were a mess and Paul’s words clanged in her ears.

You’re nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

She dropped her gaze to her lap. Her father had made a fortune picking winners. He’d made it clear she wasn’t one. Perhaps he was right.

‘. . . Bill Champion. Charlie s . . .’

Her head snapped up. She jumped from her seat.

‘That’s me.’ Momentarily stunned, she didn’t know what to do next.

‘Go on,’said someone next to her.

Charlie walked to the front of the room and stood with the other finalists. Staring out at the sea of anxious faces, she realised she’d achieved something important – a milestone. Her gaze travelled to the back of the room. Gabe was leaning against a side wall. She could feel his magnetic gaze even at this distance. When their eyes met, he held up his hands and clapped. She blinked hard as tears leapt into her eyes. She couldn’t remember anyone clapping any of her achievements.

Even if she didn’t advance any further, she’d accomplished something significant. And it was all because of Gabe and his faith in her. She fingered the little Leaning Tower of Pisa on her charm bracelet. Gabe was her lucky charm.

The hall emptied quickly, leaving the finalists standing in a small crowd.

‘Follow me please,’ Abigail announced.

She led the group into another area of the hall complete with a series of workstations equipped as miniature kitchens. A number of cameramen were standing around the brightly lit space.

‘We will be filming your cooking trial and adding highlights to tonight’s YouTube package. But before we start, I’d like to introduce you to our judges.’

Abigail presented a brief bio of each of the judges. All three judges were just as Gabe had described – foodies, all at the top of their field.

‘So,’ Abigail continued, ‘we will process you in batches of ten. Our judges will pick the top two from each round, which will give us our final ten. Those ten will then come to the actual set tomorrow to compete for a spot on the show.’

Nervous whispers swept through the contestants.

‘So will the following people please select a station?’

This time, Charlie’s name was in the first group. She took her place behind a station at the back of the room. She quickly ran over the three options in her head. All three were good, but not great. She bit her lip.

She noticed Gabe walking among the contestants. He had a quick word with a couple of them. Then he walked towards her.

‘Come on, Aussie,’ he murmured, his eyes shining.

Aussie
. Of course. She looked around the room at the other contestants. That was her unique quality. Being an Aussie.

She quickly revised one of her recipes in her head.

‘So,’ Abigail said, ‘this is how things go. In the cupboards and fridges behind you are all the ingredients listed on your sheet. When I say go, you have just twenty minutes to produce a dish for the judges.’

‘Are you ready? Go.’

Charlie dashed to a fridge, pulled out what she needed and rushed back to her station. A quick trip to the cupboard and she had everything she needed. Her hands shook as she pulled the chicken breast from its packaging. As she diced the chicken she could feel Gabe watching her from across the room. She glanced up to meet his eyes. He smiled that killer smile.

Her heart hammered in her chest but she forced her mind to calm.

Just pretend you’re at home cooking for Gabe.

Her hands steadied as she expertly threaded the chicken onto bamboo skewers. She checked her work. Perfect.

Amid the flurry of sizzling chicken, simmering sauce and finely sliced carrots and cucumbers, all Charlie’s nerves dissipated. She could do this.

‘Charlie Brown?’

Charlie glanced up, but kept stirring her sauce. Jasper Donovan, the owner and head chef from Alexander’s, leant over her pot, surveying her work.

‘What have we got here?’ he asked.

‘Chicken kebabs topped with fresh pesto sauce complimented with an Australian julienned summer salad.’

‘Australian? That sounds good. Hold on a moment.’ He turned and beckoned one of the cameramen to come to her station. ‘Okay, Charlie, let’s do that again.’

The camera came in close, the red light flashed on and Jasper posed his question again.

Charlie opened her mouth and the words flowed. She chatted to Jasper while managing to prepare the dish expertly.

‘And there you have it,’ Charlie said as she finished plating up her Aussie-themed dish. The camera zoomed in for a close-up as Jasper attacked the meal with a knife and fork.

His face broke into a brilliant grin.

‘Fabulous. And all done in,’ he consulted his watch, ‘less than fifteen minutes. Impressive.’

Beaming, he left Charlie and walked off to taste another contestant’s offering.

She stood back and surveyed the room, trying to locate Gabe. He was chatting to another female contestant. A young, pretty contestant held his attention and whatever she said made him laugh.

Charlie bristled with unexpected jealousy. She looked away, then back again. Then away. She had no claim on Gabe.

‘Okay, people.’ Abigail’s voice snapped her attention back to the competition. ‘Three minutes to go.’

Some contestants stood back confidently, their dishes beautifully presented, while others had failed to finish. Tears streamed down one young woman’s face.

The judges, Gabe and other production staff visited the stations. When Gabe passed her station, he slid a finger through the edge of the sauce.

‘Can’t touch me now,’ he said, pointing to a tea towel lying on the bench.

Charlie giggled.

He licked the sauce from his finger and moved to the next station.

The judges conferred for a few minutes and handed a piece of paper to Abigail. The contestants stood in edgy silence. Abigail took up her mike.

‘The winners of this round are Mike Fisher and Charlie Brown.’

Charlie’s insides twisted with excitement. She barely heard the muted applause. She shook hands numbly with a couple of other contestants.

‘Congratulations, Mike and Charlie,’ Abigail continued. ‘Thank you everyone and don’t forget to check the highlights package tonight to see if you feature.’

Those who had failed the round collected their belongings and left.

‘Mike and Charlie, could you please see our director, Gabe Grenville?’ Abigail concluded, pointing in Gabe’s direction.

Gabe waved them over.

‘Congratulations.’ Gabe shook Charlie’s hand as briefly as he did Mike’s. He handed each of them instructions for the regional final that would be held in two weeks’ time on the actual set. ‘You’ll find everything you need to know on there.’

Charlie scanned the page and baulked.

‘Um . . . it says here we need a Facebook page and Twitter account.’

Being Charlie Brown within the confines of this exhibition hall was one thing. Broadcasting to the world via the world’s biggest social networking sites took things to a whole new level.

‘Is that a problem?’ Gabe asked. ‘All our pre-publicity is online and we need to create a buzz before the show airs.’