out his hand.
“Remy Stephens,” he said shaking the other man’s hand. “I’m guessing you’re from New York or Jersey.”
“Jersey—born and bred. But I work in Manhattan. You’d think I’d cook Italian but my grandmother is French.”
“Mine too … well, French Creole,” Remy admitted.
“Cool. Did she cook?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yours?”
“Yeah. She’s the one that taught me to cook. But you can only go so far in a home kitchen,” Tony said.
“True. Do you have any formal training?”
“CIA,” he said with a smile. “This might be the only place where I don’t have to explain that it’s the Culinary Institute of America not the Central Intelligence Agency. Though to be honest there are a few from my hood that think I’m with the government.”
Remy laughed. “Where do you work?”
“Dans La Jardin,” he replied, naming one of the most popular French restaurants in the city.
“Head chef?”
“Nah, junior, but I’m hoping to learn some skills here that will give me a leg up when I get back home.”
“Not here to win?” Remy asked.
“Sure I want to win, but I have heard of some of these other chefs,” Tony said. “They might be hard to beat.”
“They might be,” Remy agreed, writing Tony off as a nice guy but not much competition. Anyone who was more concerned about what would happen when he got home versus what needed to happen here wasn’t going to win it. And Remy was definitely here to win.
“You’re not worried?” Tony asked.
“Nah, but I have been around celebrated chefs before,” Remy said.
“Me, too,” a tall thin girl with skin the color of cappuccino said, joining them. “I’m Vivian Johns.”
“Tony Matea,” Tony said. “This is Remy Stephens. Whom have you cooked with?”
“Troy Hudson,” Vivian said flashing them both a grin. “I work at The Rib Mart in Austin and he came down there for one of his cook offs.”
“How was it?” Remy asked.
“Interesting. He’s a solid cook but a lot of his talent gets lost in filming the show. He had a staff with him for the challenge,” Vivian said.
“Did you win?” Tony wanted to know.
“Hells to the yeah,” she said. “It’s hard to beat Austin ribs in Austin but my dish was good. Really good. It’s interesting how people act around celebrity chefs. Who’ve you cooked with, Remy?”
“Alain Cruzel,” he said. His grandfather was one of the most famous chefs to come out of New Orleans.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He’s one tough guy in the kitchen.”
“Yes, he is. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes,” Remy said. “However, sharing the kitchen with him made me realize even the greatest chefs make mistakes some times. That’s why I’m not worried about anyone’s reputation.”
“You don’t have to,” Tony said.
“What do you mean?” Remy asked wondering if he’d somehow given away his real name and pedigree.
“You won today. I think that means most of the participants will be gunning for you.”
“Not just me,” he said. “Cupcake Girl was pretty impressive as well.”
“I don’t think she’s going to take kindly to being called that,” Vivian said with a grin.
He didn’t think so either but Remy would do whatever he had to in order to avoid the chemistry between them. And to preserve some kind of edge over her. The nickname bothered her so he’d keep using it.
“We need everyone gathered in the living room,” the director said.
Everyone moved into the spacious room that had a big screen television on one wall and three long sofas and a number of assorted armchairs casually placed into conversation groups. He saw cupcake girl across the room and forced himself to look away from her.
“The winners of today’s challenge are going out to dinner tonight at Martine’s where they will have a private tour of the kitchen and talk with their chief sous chef. The rest of you will be participating in a grilling workshop.”
Remy shook his head. The last thing he wanted was more time alone with Staci. If he were as superstitious as his grandmother he’d believe that fate was pushing them together.
But he wasn’t.
Really.
DINNER ALONE WITH REMY and Chef Ramone wasn’t what she’d anticipated when she’d started the day off by spilling tea all over the hottie in the elevator. However, she was happy enough for it now. She got dressed in the one nice dress she’d brought with her.
The instructions for Premier Chef were pretty explicit. She’d had to bring her cooking gear but also jeans, a dress, a skirt, a bathing suit and a number of other expected items. Still, it was the specific clothing that had struck her as funny.
She knew it was a television show and that they’d want them all to look a certain way but beyond that she hadn’t given what she wore much thought. Now that she was heading to one of the LA areas nicest restaurants she was glad she’d gone shopping with Alysse last weekend.
She enjoyed spending time with the co-owner of Sweet Dreams, especially since Alysse was so busy—engaged to be married and busily determined to expand their cupcake business. Staci had decided to take a break from the day-to-day running of the bakery to get ready for this show. Staci was the first to admit her dreams lay in a different direction now.
The bakery had saved her sanity when she’d first come back to California but that was a long five years ago and given that she was almost thirty, Staci felt it was time to figure out what she wanted from life. And she couldn’t until she made up for her past mistakes. Until she resolved her lingering doubts about her abilities as a chef. This show was her chance to do that.
She did a double check of her make-up, although she knew that the production person would re-apply it and make it heavier for the television cameras.
“You look good,” her roommate Vivian said.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure that I’d be wearing this dress on TV. Do you think it’s too low cut?” she asked. She’d tried it on in the store but had been wearing a sports bra so she hadn’t noticed how much cleavage it revealed.
“Not at all. Sex sells, baby. It also distracts. If Remy is staring at your chest it should give you an edge over him.”
She
