BURN (The HEAT Series Book 1) (2 page)

"I'm not sure how much of this you want me to eat, Cadence."

I glance across our kitchen island at my best friend, Sophia Reese, who's eating gnocchi like a woman deprived a meal for days. "I told you to taste it, Soph. I didn't want you to eat it all."

She sets her fork down carefully on the granite countertop. "It's hard not to. It's delicious."

I laugh as I pick up the fork and the bowl and take a bite of the now, cold food. "I can do better than this."

She pushes her long brown hair back over her shoulder, her blue eyes locking on me. I know that look. I also know what she's about to say. "You're stressing over nothing, Den. You're going to walk onto that kitchen set tomorrow morning and knock the culinary socks off every single one of those millions of people watching you."

"I don't need you to remind me how many people watch that show."  I smile overly sweetly, grateful that Sophia left her office at a reasonable time tonight so she could be my taste tester.

We've been close since she moved in with me shortly after she arrived in New York almost two years ago. I put out some feelers with friends asking them to keep their eyes and ears open for anyone, preferably a woman close to my age, looking for a room to rent on the Upper West Side.

When I got Sophia's number from a friend of a friend, I sent her a short text asking if she wanted to see the place. An hour later, we were sitting in this kitchen, sharing a beer and talking about what fuels our passion. For me it's obviously food. For Sophia, fashion is her life.

She's helped me understand how to dress my tall, slim frame. She's even given me tips on what colors complement my pale green eyes and medium length blond hair. Even though I spend the majority of my life in a chef's jacket, I now know how to rock a killer dress and heels when I actually do find the time to go out.

"I had a professor in college who told me that the best way to handle speaking in front of a group of people is to …"

"Imagine everyone in their underwear?" I interrupt her. "I've heard that too, Soph, it's not going to work."

"That's disgusting." She shields her eyes with her hands. "Now I'm thinking of my professor in his boxers."

"That's a bad thing?" I swallow the final bite of food that was left in the bowl. "What did he look like?"

"Like someone you don't want to see naked." Her arms fold over her chest. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to tell you that you should pretend you're here, cooking for me. Forget about the cameras and the lights. Cook from your heart, the way you did just now."

I turn off the burner on the stove and slide the next batch of gnocchi into the empty bowl. "I can't do that when Tyler is standing next to me. If I fuck up, I'll lose my job."

She reaches to pick up the fork before she tugs the bowl back into her hand. "In the case of Tyler Monroe, I'd go with that advice about imagining him in his underwear, or better yet, nothing at all."

***

I give Tyler a once-over when I walk onto the set after spending more than an hour in hair and make-up. I'd shown up to the studio in Midtown before dawn broke. An assistant producer on the show called me last night, right after Sophia and I finished our dinner, to tell me when and where to be. She was clear that they didn't want me in a chef's jacket. They wanted me dressed in something casual but appropriate. She suggested dark wash jeans and a white blouse to offset the color of the emerald green apron they'd give me to wear. The apron, emblazoned with the show's logo, is a requirement for me, but apparently not for Tyler. He's dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt, open at the collar with the arms rolled up past his elbows to reveal his colorful tattoos.

That's not the only striking difference since I saw him yesterday. His hair is shorter. It's been trimmed and his face is clean shaven. He looks every part the successful restaurant owner and chef.

As a man approaches me with a microphone pack in his hand, Tyler glances in my direction. His gaze slides slowly over me, from the black heels I'm wearing straight up to my perfectly styled hair.

I drop my eyes, instead focusing on the sound guy as he makes small talk while we wait for the producer to hand me the apron I have to wear. I put it on, tying it securely around my waist.

The microphone is clipped into place on the front of the apron, the pack secured to the back of the waistband of my jeans. I follow the vocal prompts that they give me to test for sound quality. I'm assured, calm and if I didn't know better, I'd think that I'm at ease.

My heart doesn't agree with that though. It's beating a million beats per minute, anticipating the moment when the director signals that we're on the air.

"Are you ready to show the country the best of what Nova has to offer?" Tyler asks as he approaches, his eyes narrowing.

"I am, Chef. Once we're done there won't be an open reservation at the restaurant for at least the next year. "

I step into place next to Tyler as soon as the male host of the show, Percy, appears on the set. He shakes Tyler's hand before he reaches for my shoulder, tugging me into him. His lips touch first my left cheek and then the right. I smile as he pulls back. He's as handsome as he looks on television.

Since it's on so early in the morning, I don't catch the program often, only on the days when Sophia needs a pep talk before she heads to lower Manhattan to her job as assistant to the CEO of one of the world's premier fashion empires.

I stand still, listening as Percy launches into an introduction about the segment when the show resumes after the commercial break. He's charismatic and relaxed as he reads from the teleprompter.

"Chef Cadence Sutton, right?" Percy grabs hold of my forearm, his fingers pressing gently into my skin through the thin silk of my blouse. "That's a beautiful name. You're a beautiful woman. What made you want to be a chef?"

I look beyond him to where Tyler is standing, his arms crossed over his chest, a dark brow raised.

"I've always enjoyed cooking," I answer honestly. "Today I'm going to prepare one of Chef Monroe's new small plates. It's the gorgonzola gnocchi."

I take a step toward the long counter that's complete with a working cooktop and oven. It was wheeled into place during the commercial. My hands instinctively reach for each ingredient in order, as I start preparing the dish, knowing that my time is limited.

"How long have you been a chef?"

"I've been working in restaurants for the past six years." I drop the pre-prepared gnocchi into the pot of already boiling water. "The blue cheese that we use in this dish is specially made just for Nova in Italy."

"Is that right?" Percy leans closer to me. "If I wanted to prepare this at home, could I use any gorgonzola?"

I wait for Tyler to reply but there's heavy silence. "You should save yourself the trouble and come to Nova. Chef Monroe has a full range of small plates. They're perfect for couples or groups of friends. Everyone can try a taste of several different dishes."

"Reservations are limited," Tyler finally speaks. "We're booking months in advance at this point."

"What are you doing now, Cadence?" I recognize the voice of the show's female co-host as she walks toward us. "You must have something I can help you with."

I turn to her just as I feel Tyler step in place behind me. His hand reaches out to catch her elbow. "How are you at cutting mushrooms, Pamela? I think we have time for me to give you a quick lesson."

She looks up and into his face. She's charmed, just the way most women are when they see him in person. I was too nervous yesterday to be anything but anxious. I turn back to the two burner cooktop in preparation for draining the gnocchi.

We finish the segment with me explaining the last steps in preparing the dish while Tyler circles the female co-host from behind. His hands hold hers as she cuts the mushrooms with a subtle thrust of her ass against his groin with each slice of the knife.

***

"He was seducing a woman on national television?" Sophia asks with an easy smile. "I was stuck in a meeting this morning so I haven't had a chance to watch it yet but I'm going to right now."

I laugh as she picks up her tablet from the coffee table. "I did really well, Soph. I'm not sure what the hell Tyler was doing, but that woman will probably have an orgasm the next time she cuts mushrooms."

"What exactly went on there?" She keys in the address of the network's home page. "Does food give him a hard-on?"

"It gives me one," I say playfully with a wink. "He was flirting with her. She was flirting with him. It worked out great for me."

"How so?" She presses pause on the video of the cooking segment just as it starts.

"He was so pre-occupied with her, that I stole the show," I say proudly as I brush her feet aside so I can settle on the couch next to her. "The producer came up to me after and told me that I was a natural. She was genuinely impressed."

"I knew you'd kill it." Her eyes fall to the screen as she starts the video. "You look beautiful, Cadence. I love the way they did your make-up."

I love it too. I love it so much that after the segment I went back to talk to the woman who had applied it. She gave me a few tips and wrote down a list of inexpensive products I can use to mimic the look she gave me.

"I was thinking that we could go out on Saturday night to celebrate the fact that I'm no longer a television cooking virgin."

"This is just the first step towards your own show." She closes the cover of her tablet when the video ends. "You were amazing."

"I was so nervous," I confess. "Once I was done, I finally took a breath."

"I'd never know that from watching it." She rests her tablet on her pajama covered knee. "You're the next face of the Food Network, Den. Mark my words."

I ignore the comment because the concept is too foreign. My long term aspirations don't reach beyond a year or two from now. I want to cook my way up the ranks at Nova. After that, I'll consider my options. Until then, it's work as usual under the watchful eye of Tyler and his executive staff.

"I'm game to go out on Saturday night. You're off work on Sunday, right?" She smiles and stands. It's near ten, which for her means time to crawl into her bed to work on new sketches of dress designs she'll eventually create with the help of the sewing machine she has set up in the corner of her room.

I heave a sigh as I nod. "Right and that means I have all day Sunday to recover from whatever, or whoever, I do on Saturday night."

"We should have some sort of protocol in place in case one of us scores a big one." I stir the straw in my glass.

"A big what?" Sophia's brow furrows. "Like a cock? Is there a protocol for that? Does it start with trying to shove your hand down a guy's pants? I saw a girl trying to do that right behind you just now. I swear."

I turn quickly toward the crowded dance floor of the club before I look back at my best friend who is gingerly sipping her vodka and cranberry juice. "You misunderstood, Soph. I meant if one of us finds a guy to hook up with, we should talk about what the other one will do."

"I don't do threesomes, Cadence," she says with a half-smile.

"Hush," I scold her playfully. "You know I'm talking about whether you want me to hang out somewhere else if you take a guy home."

"Seeing how it's your apartment, and it's enormous, I think if we each agree to hide out in our own room if the other has a guest, we're totally good. Your bedroom is so far away from mine, I can't hear a thing that goes on in there." She picks her glass up from the bar before she places it back down without raising it to her lips. "I should slow down. I don't want to drink too much before I've had any fun."

She downed half her drink within minutes after we arrived here at Club Aeon in Times Square. I don't know if it had anything to do with the fact that we were both carded at the door. I'm twenty-four. Sophia's only six months younger than me. Neither of us looks like we're twenty-one. I took it as a compliment, Soph didn't.

She headed straight for the bar, ordered us both the same drink and downed half of hers in one gulp. The only thing that proved to me is that she didn't eat before we arrived. Her eyes started to glaze over almost as soon as she'd placed the glass back on the bar.

"Did you have dinner?" I ask out of curiosity. I worked until eleven and it's now just past midnight. I grabbed a bite at Nova during my shift.

"I made a sandwich for myself this afternoon." She rubs the back of her neck, her fingers stopping to touch the fabric of her dress. "I finished this dress when you were at work. Do you like it?"

It's beautiful. Everything Sophia designs is breathtaking. This one in particular is stunning. It's royal blue with satin straps and a square neckline. "It's gorgeous. This is the one you should show your boss."

She looks over my shoulder at the crowded dance floor. The volume of the music drowns out everything except her voice. We lucked out when the two women who were sitting at these barstools, jumped up to dance just as we approached.

We both like to pace ourselves when we're at a club. We don't rush. We normally have a drink before we hit the dance floor to see who, in the form of an unattached man, is out there waiting.

"I'll show him one day," she murmurs. "You never told me what Tyler said to you about the morning show. He thought you did a great job, didn't he?"

"I haven't talked to him since then." I smile at the bartender, a guy not much older than me with shaggy blonde hair and brown eyes. "He's been busy. I keep to myself mostly at work."

"You outshined him, Den." She glances over her shoulder. "No one even noticed he was there."

I arch both my brows when she turns back around, tilting my head an inch to the right in the direction of the bar. "Pamela, the mushroom cutting, co-host did.  I thought she was going to hike up her skirt so Tyler could ram it home during the commercial break."

She laughs as she rests her elbow on the bar. "There is something about a man who can cook. It's probably different for you, but for us average home cooks, Tyler Monroe is the complete package. He's irresistible in more ways than one."

"He's super talented, Soph," I concede. "You're right about that."

"Talented? Have you looked at him?" she asks me, raising her voice above the music which is a notch higher than it was during the last song. "He's insanely good-looking. I'd be surprised if there's another chef in this city as hot as him."

How can I argue that point? I've worked in restaurants in New York City for years. I jumped head first into a job as a sous chef right after high school. I believed in my talent so strongly that I thought I could hurdle over culinary school and slide right into a head chef position.

That didn't happen. Every chef I've worked under has told me the same thing. They were impressed with my natural ability to create unique and flavorful dishes but the restaurant industry is cut-throat. They wanted a degree to show I had the knowledge to back up my skills.

I eventually realized they were right and by the time I was finally accepted into culinary school, I'd already logged more than three years of full-time work in professional kitchens doing everything from prep-work to helping prepare entrees. I kept working part-time when I went to school because I wasn't willing to give up the rush that I get from being in a kitchen.

In all that time, I've never seen another chef who looked anything like Tyler Monroe. One caught my eye once. He was definitely hot, but he couldn't hold a candle to Tyler. The man is in a class all by himself.

"I've looked at him." I cast a glance back at the bartender who is busy talking to a man at the end of the bar. "You're right about him being gorgeous, but I'd never call him the complete package."

"Why not?" She studies my face before her gaze drops to my simple black dress. "I have a red leather wraparound belt that would completely change the look of this. I wish I would have thought of that before we left home."

She's done what I wanted to do. It has nothing to do with the dress and everything to do with getting off the topic of my hot as hell boss.

It's Saturday night. I'm hanging out with my best friend, making serious eye contact with a cute bartender and trying to get my mind off of work, especially the part of my work that includes Chef Monroe.

"Let's dance." She jumps to her feet and grabs hold of my hand. "Unless you're big one is the bartender."

I lean to the right so I can peer past her shoulder to where the bartender is now stroking the cheek of a beautiful brunette who is practically crawling over the bar to get to him. "Looks like that one got away but we still have a few hundred to pick from."

She nods before she tugs be by my hand to lead me to the dance floor.