Jackie Braun - Falling for Her Rival

At the reception desk in the lobby, she checked in, donned a visitor’s badge that bore the name Lara Smith and headed for the nearest elevator with a sigh of relief. She’d cleared the first hurdle. She’d half expected someone to recognize her, new bangs notwithstanding, and call her out on the alias.

On the fifteenth floor, the waiting room for Sylvan Studios was crowded with people. The best of the best in the industry sat in the tastefully upholstered chairs. They were an eclectic-looking bunch, but that was to be expected. Chefs came in all varieties, from the artsy and avant-garde to the down-home and downright dowdy. She knew better than to discount any of them based on appearance alone. All of them had won their preliminary round and were after the same thing as Lara: a job.

Not just any job, but one that would have been hers if she hadn’t taken her rebellion to the extreme. Leave it to her father to rub salt in the wound by publicly proclaiming the need for a “successor,” and then agreeing to let Cuisine Cable Network fill the head-chef position at his restaurant via its highly rated Executive Chef Challenge show. By the time the last of the weekly installments aired in the fall, Lara or one of eleven other über-qualified chefs from around the country would be deciding the Chesterfield’s dinner specials.

Lara had entered the competition without her father’s knowledge. Indeed, no one at the network knew about her ties to Clifton and the Chesterfield. She could only count on anonymity because the program was taped in advance. If it aired live, she would have been found out right away. If she made it to the final round, which her father would judge personally, she would be forced to come clean. Between now and then, however, she had to do some of the best and most creative cooking of her life.

She scanned the faces of the six men and four women in the waiting room. Add her and that made eleven. She frowned. Someone was missing.

She was still standing just inside the door, surreptitiously checking email on her cell phone, when she heard it open. Contestant number twelve had arrived. She turned, ready to size up the competition, and came face-to-face with...

“Paper,” she murmured in surprise and resisted the urge to touch her lips.

The gray eyes regarding her widened fractionally before his mouth softened with a grin.

“Actually, I go by Finn. Finn Westbrook.” He peeled off his drenched jacket and hung it on the coatrack just to Lara’s left. “Enjoy your ride?”

“I did. Thank you.” Even though the answer seemed obvious, she inquired, “Did you have to wait long for another taxi?”

“I gave up on waiting there. I hauled ass for three blocks before I was able to flag one down at Columbus Circle.”

A drop of water spilled down his temple. Lara resisted the temptation to wipe it away. Instead, she reached into her purse and handed him a plastic-wrapped package of tissues.

“Thanks.”

“Least I can do. I didn’t realize we both were headed to the same place or we could have shared the taxi.”

He pulled out a couple of the tissues, gave her back the packet and blotted his temple before rubbing them over his head. His short hair looked both messy and perfect afterward.

“So, you’re a chef,” he said.

“That’s right.” And although she was pretty sure she knew the answer, she said, “You?”

“One of the best.” The smile that accompanied the boast was charming enough to keep his words from sounding too cocky.

“I’m pretty sure everyone in this room can make the same claim,” she replied drily.

His smile widened as he balled up the tissues and, after little more than a cursory glance, tossed them in the direction of a wastebasket that was tucked in the corner. The soggy wad made it in. Of course. More points for him...if she were keeping score.

“I guess this means we’re adversaries,” he said.

Indeed. They both were after the same thing. The very thing for which he’d sought out a good-luck kiss. Keep your eyes on the prize, Lara, she silently admonished, since she was finding keeping her eyes on Finn a far-too-pleasing diversion.

“I guess it does.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth, lingered for a couple of heartbeats. “That’s too bad.”

Before Lara could think of a fitting response, a man stepped out from one of the offices. He was in his late thirties, suit-clad and bespectacled with a receding hairline. But what made him seem older and headmasterish was the way he clapped his hands together to gain their attention.

She recognized him from the preliminary round that she’d won a couple of weeks earlier. His name was Tristan Wembley, and he worked for the network in some sort of production capacity. She couldn’t remember his official title, but he’d made it clear in their previous dealings that if Lara had any questions or concerns, she was to contact him first.

“Welcome, everyone, to Sylvan Studios, the home of the Cuisine Cable Network and its highest-rated program, Executive Chef Challenge, which, as you know, is featuring the famed Chesterfield restaurant this season.

“Congratulations on making it this far in the competition. It’s a testament to your skill as chefs that you are standing here right now. One hundred and eighty-two other hopefuls didn’t make the cut.

“Today, you will get your first look at the kitchen studio. Tomorrow and Friday, we will spend the day taping promo spots that will be televised and also air on our website. Filming of the first round starts Monday morning. You are to report to the studio no later than 7:00 a.m. Plan on spending at least ten hours here.”

Someone gasped. “Ten hours!”

“It may be closer to twelve,” Tristan replied, unfazed.

Even though the segments would air weekly on the network, the chefs would be competing three days a week for nearly four weeks. She was in for some long days.

Tristan’s upbeat tone took an ominous turn when he said, “Take a good look around, chefs, because by this time next week, one of you already will have been sent packing and another one will be on his or her way out the door.”

Lara scanned the waiting room’s occupants, wondering whom it would be. No way was she leaving after the first round or the second. When she got to Finn, he snorted softly and leaned over to whisper, “Don’t look at me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m in it for the duration.”

Under other circumstances, she might have welcomed those words from a gorgeous man whose mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon. In this case...

A tremor swept up her spine. “God, I hope not.”

The corners of Finn’s mouth turned down even as his brows shot up. His tone held a slight edge when he replied, “At least you’re honest.”

If he only knew...

Tristan clapped his hands together again.

“Okay, chefs, if you’ll follow me, we can get started.”

Finn fell in step beside Lara.

“I guess you regret that kiss for luck now,” he said conversationally.

She glanced around, thankful that none of the other chefs appeared to have overheard them. Lip-locks with strangers for good luck wasn’t exactly a topic she wanted broadcasted.

“Probably as much as you’re regretting letting me have that cab,” she replied, keeping her voice so low that he leaned closer to hear her. She swore she could feel the heat wafting from his hot, moist skin.

“You won the cab.” Broad shoulders lifted and his gaze lowered to her lips again. “As for anything else, I’m not beating myself up over it. It was...nice.”

“Nice?” She replied too quickly to edit the incredulity from her tone.

“You have a better adjective for it?” His tone held a dare.

She shook her head and he went on.