Ty said. “Remember, being a celebrity chef is about three things: presentation, quality, and accessibility. If you keep those ideals in mind, you may find yourself the next celebrity chef.”
“That’s it for today,” Sally said. “Tomorrow we film your first challenge. You have tonight off, so get some rest. Be back in the studio at eight in the morning.”
Groans filled the room at hearing the time. Chefs were inherently night owls; they worked late and slept in. At least they’d all be at the same disadvantage.
Ashton slumped against the table and closed her eyes. This had been the longest day of her life. She couldn’t believe she had to do it all over again tomorrow. And tomorrow, someone would be eliminated.
Worse, someone could be eliminated for something as small as not enough salt in a dish. If every chef were on his and her game, it would be the little mistakes that counted.
“ Not enough salt .” She couldn’t get Ty’s words out of her head. She’d won the challenge, so he’d obviously liked the dish, but his criticism gnawed at her like a dog on a bone, especially since she didn’t believe it. Don’t take it personally , her inner voice begged. He’s not Dad. He’s not trying to hurt you.
If it had been her father tasting the dish, he would have said it needed salt just to get a reaction out of her. And if she attempted to argue, even if he knew he was wrong, he’d never admit it.
Was Ty the same way?
She watched as he headed toward a back office. A minute later, an assistant followed, a bottle of sparkling water in hand.
Ashton caught up with the guy. “Is that for Ty—uh, Chef Cates?”
The frazzled young man nodded curtly without breaking his stride.
“I can take it to him if you’re busy.”
An appreciative smile touched his lips. “Thanks.” He handed her the bottle. “I’m Ms. Cummings’s assistant, and she doesn’t like me doing things for other people, but Chef Cates asked—”
“No problem,” Ashton cut him off. “Happy to help.”
She continued down the hallway to Ty’s office, peeking in before entering to make sure he was alone. Sure enough, he sat at a desk, peering down at a pile of papers. She knocked lightly and then entered before he had a chance to look up.
“Can I help you?” he asked glibly.
She shut the door halfway. “I brought your water.”
He lifted his chin. “I thought I asked an assistant for that. Second job?”
She forced away the feeling of foolishness that warmed her skin. She needed to know, or otherwise she’d never get any sleep tonight. “You weren’t serious about your criticism of my sandwich, right? You were just playing to the cameras. My sandwich was perfect.”
…
Ty leaned back in his chair, a smile rising to his lips. “Perfect? There’s no such thing as perfect.”
Her pert, little nose scrunched up as she set his water on the desk. “Are you saying your food isn’t perfect?”
“ Perfect is a subjective term. I could take any dish from any chef and serve it to a group of people, and I guarantee I would find at least one person who loved it and one person who hated it.”
Her eyes lit. “So you admit you could be wrong about my dish needing more salt.”
“I didn’t say that. I was right about the salt.”
If he didn’t find her fierceness so attractive, he would probably be a little afraid right now. She was looking at him like she wanted to skewer his head for a shish kebab. This would probably be the time to shut up, but he hadn’t had this kind of stimulation in a while. He couldn’t stop himself from arguing with her.
“Yes, capers are salty, but you didn’t have that many capers in the sandwich. Some bites were a bit bland. The flavor needs to carry throughout the whole dish.”
“I know.” Her words came out with a snap, and he couldn’t blame her; proper seasoning was day one in culinary school.
“And why are you even upset? You won the challenge.”
Her cheeks flushed, and
“That’s it for today,” Sally said. “Tomorrow we film your first challenge. You have tonight off, so get some rest. Be back in the studio at eight in the morning.”
Groans filled the room at hearing the time. Chefs were inherently night owls; they worked late and slept in. At least they’d all be at the same disadvantage.
Ashton slumped against the table and closed her eyes. This had been the longest day of her life. She couldn’t believe she had to do it all over again tomorrow. And tomorrow, someone would be eliminated.
Worse, someone could be eliminated for something as small as not enough salt in a dish. If every chef were on his and her game, it would be the little mistakes that counted.
“ Not enough salt .” She couldn’t get Ty’s words out of her head. She’d won the challenge, so he’d obviously liked the dish, but his criticism gnawed at her like a dog on a bone, especially since she didn’t believe it. Don’t take it personally , her inner voice begged. He’s not Dad. He’s not trying to hurt you.
If it had been her father tasting the dish, he would have said it needed salt just to get a reaction out of her. And if she attempted to argue, even if he knew he was wrong, he’d never admit it.
Was Ty the same way?
She watched as he headed toward a back office. A minute later, an assistant followed, a bottle of sparkling water in hand.
Ashton caught up with the guy. “Is that for Ty—uh, Chef Cates?”
The frazzled young man nodded curtly without breaking his stride.
“I can take it to him if you’re busy.”
An appreciative smile touched his lips. “Thanks.” He handed her the bottle. “I’m Ms. Cummings’s assistant, and she doesn’t like me doing things for other people, but Chef Cates asked—”
“No problem,” Ashton cut him off. “Happy to help.”
She continued down the hallway to Ty’s office, peeking in before entering to make sure he was alone. Sure enough, he sat at a desk, peering down at a pile of papers. She knocked lightly and then entered before he had a chance to look up.
“Can I help you?” he asked glibly.
She shut the door halfway. “I brought your water.”
He lifted his chin. “I thought I asked an assistant for that. Second job?”
She forced away the feeling of foolishness that warmed her skin. She needed to know, or otherwise she’d never get any sleep tonight. “You weren’t serious about your criticism of my sandwich, right? You were just playing to the cameras. My sandwich was perfect.”
…
Ty leaned back in his chair, a smile rising to his lips. “Perfect? There’s no such thing as perfect.”
Her pert, little nose scrunched up as she set his water on the desk. “Are you saying your food isn’t perfect?”
“ Perfect is a subjective term. I could take any dish from any chef and serve it to a group of people, and I guarantee I would find at least one person who loved it and one person who hated it.”
Her eyes lit. “So you admit you could be wrong about my dish needing more salt.”
“I didn’t say that. I was right about the salt.”
If he didn’t find her fierceness so attractive, he would probably be a little afraid right now. She was looking at him like she wanted to skewer his head for a shish kebab. This would probably be the time to shut up, but he hadn’t had this kind of stimulation in a while. He couldn’t stop himself from arguing with her.
“Yes, capers are salty, but you didn’t have that many capers in the sandwich. Some bites were a bit bland. The flavor needs to carry throughout the whole dish.”
“I know.” Her words came out with a snap, and he couldn’t blame her; proper seasoning was day one in culinary school.
“And why are you even upset? You won the challenge.”
Her cheeks flushed, and
Similar Books
