Chapter 1
Sarah Thomas stared at the sea of expectant faces and wondered how the hell she was going to pull this off. She wasn’t very good at lying. Never had been. But now here she was, a contestant in one of the world’s most prestigious cooking challenges, telling the biggest lie of her life. On television!
A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and onto the bridge of her nose. She swiped at it, trying to calm the pounding of her heart as she waited for the judges to announce the first challenge.
She made a mental note to kill her best friend, Marly, for talking her into this. Sure, entering the Chef Masters Challenge was a great opportunity to showcase her culinary skills as well as win some much-needed money, but the opportunity came with one gigantic problem—Raffe Washburn.
Marly had forgotten to give her one teensy-tiny detail when she’d practically forced her to fill out the application. All the contestants had to be married or engaged. Sarah had learned that tidbit after she had agreed to appear on the show. It was a team effort, two people per team, and they had to be in a committed relationship, something Sarah definitely had no interest in.
Raffe was the best friend of Sarah’s boss, Jasper. She supposed she knew him a bit socially because Marly was now engaged to Jasper. They’d had dinner at Jasper’s a few times. But Sarah had always cooked. She’d always felt a little out of place eating with the three of them and had made excuses to spend most of her time fussing in the kitchen.
She barely knew Raffe. But she had agreed to the contest because the half-a-million-dollar grand prize was too enticing to pass up. Sarah wasn’t greedy. The money wasn’t for her, but it would help her solve another problem—one she was desperate to resolve. And besides, what was the worst that could happen? She and Raffe would pretend they were engaged, and no one would know any better.
Her gaze shifted from the crowd to the cooking station in front of her. Identical to the twelve other stations in the vast room, it gleamed with stainless steel from the counters to the appliances to the utensils. Her anxiety ratcheted up a notch. In mere seconds, she’d be cooking the most important meal of her life. This meal was part of the elimination challenge that would decide if she moved on to the main contest or got eliminated. More than half the entrants would be going home today.
Her gaze drifted from the kitchen to the judging station in front of her and then back to the crowd of people who all seemed to be staring directly at her. There were a lot of people out there.
“Attention, chefs!” Landon Barkley, the celebrity host and one of the three judges, announced. “You have approximately sixty minutes to make a dish that you feel represents New York City. This can be any dish at all, but if it doesn’t make us all feel like it’s roots came from NYC then you’re disqualified and will not move on in the competition. The challenge starts… now!”
The room exploded into utter chaos.
Sarah glanced at Raffe. Cheesecake. That was the first thing that popped into her head. New York-style cheesecake.
“What are you thinking? Pizza?” Raffe asked her, putting his apron on and handing one to her. “You know, New York-style pizza?”
Sarah frowned as she grabbed the apron. Was he joking? Pizza? Good grief. That would be the last thing she’d suggest they prepare unless they were sitting around watching a football game.
“I was actually thinking about cheesecake. You know, New York-style. I’m a little worried about the resting time, but I can put it in the freezer to cool it down much faster. Come on, we need to get going!” She jogged toward their pantry, Raffe following right behind her.
She stopped short, causing him to bump into her. They looked like idiots. When she had said “come on,” she hadn’t meant for him to tailgate her. “Can you just pull all the equipment we need together while I grab the ingredients?” she asked then, at his
confused look, added, “You know, like pots and pans. Spatulas. Whisks.”
Even though Raffe was the owner of several five-star restaurants he didn’t have as much cooking experience as Sarah. As the boss, he spent most of his days behind the desk, not in the kitchen. Marly had explained that the contest was important to Raffe, not only to get some hands-on experience, but also so he could become known for his skills. He wanted to prove himself. And because he didn’t have much experience, he needed Sarah to help him.
Because of this, Sarah assumed Raffe realized that she should be the lead cook. But his actions and comments in the few encounters they’d had leading up to today had
started to make her wonder if he didn’t think otherwise. She supposed he was an okay cook, but he just wasn’t at the level he needed to be to win the contest on his own. Too bad his big, fat ego appeared to be getting in the way of him realizing it.
She scurried off to the pantry and grabbed what she needed. Sugar, butter, graham crackers. She ran back out front to Raffe, placing the ingredients on the counter in front of him.
“You can make a crust from this, right?” She shot over her shoulder as she ran back to the pantry for more ingredients.
“Of course!” Raffe yelled back at her, already starting on the crust.
Was that a tinge of sarcasm in his voice? It had been an honest question. She really didn’t know how much he knew about baking or making crusts.
She shrugged it off and started to get the rest of the ingredients. Cream cheese, sour cream, oh look! Fresh berries. She scooped them up to add on top. She hurried back to Raffe, who already had the graham cracker crust done and in the oven.
“Okay, I’ll get started mixing the rest,” she said, putting the cream cheese in a large mixing bowl.
“Where are the eggs?” Raffe asked, looking around the counter then picking up a dish towel and looking under it.
“Ugh! I forgot the damn eggs. Can you…?”
“Already on my way!” Raffe replied, halfway to the pantry.
Sarah shoved a paddle blade into the mixer and turned it on. Darn thing was loud. Hopefully it wasn’t some older model that was going to crap out on her. That was the last thing she needed.
“I can’t find them.” Raffe’s voice behind her pulled her attention away from the mixer. Was he that inept he couldn’t find eggs? No. She probably just misunderstood what he’d said because the mixer was so loud.
She scrunched up her face and turned to look at him. “What?”
“I can’t find the eggs!” He practically screeched at her.
Sarah refrained from rolling her eyes as she stepped back from the mixer and motioned for him to step in and take her place. Did she have to do everything herself? “You watch this. I’ll get them.”
She stomped off to the pantry. They were already cutting it close with time, and now he couldn’t find the eggs? How hard could it be? The pantry was not very big. She walked inside, heading toward the small refrigerated section.
No eggs.
Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. Don’t panic. Eggs are a staple in every kitchen. They had to be here.
“Forty-five minutes!” one of the judges yelled.
Rising on her toes, Sarah looked on top of the freezer, thinking maybe for some bizarre reason the eggs were there. No luck. She spun around, anxiety surging.
Were they on the shelf with the spices? No. In with the flour and sugar? No. She scoured every shelf, pushing things out of the way, sending boxes clattering to the floor. No eggs. She ripped open the fridge door and checked again. Skunked.
Raffe was right. There were no eggs.
“Well?” Raffe asked as Sarah came flying back to the cooking station.
Sarah wasn’t sure what to do. Her eyes jerked to the clock. They’d already used up a lot of the time. She was lightheaded and dizzy. Maybe she needed a paper bag to breathe in or to sit down and put her head between her knees. Raffe just stood there looking at her. How could he be so calm?
“There are no eggs. Maybe this is part of the challenge?” She craned her neck to see what the contestants next to them were cooking. A pile of egg shells sat on their counter, and five beautiful oval eggs nestled in an egg carton just beyond reach, as if taunting her.
Sarah’s heart sank. They’d been given the contest rules, and talking to other contestants was a big no-no. She couldn’t ask them for eggs, and she couldn’t make cheesecake without eggs.
“What do we do?” Raffe asked, still mixing the cream cheese and blending in the sugar.
Sarah closed her eyes for a minute, thinking of what else they could make in the time remaining.
“Waldorf salad and New York strip steak. I know we have the ingredients.” She was running to the pantry before the words were even out of her mouth.
When she returned she could tell by the look on Raffe’s face that he wasn’t so sure about this dish.
“Well, I don’t know.” His voice trailed off as he looked around.
“Raffe, we have less then forty-five minutes to make this! What else do you suggest we do?” Sarah asked, tossing the bowls and mixer filled with the beginnings of a cheesecake under the counter top. The tangy sweet smell wafted up. Too bad; it smelled good. Probably would have gone over great with the judges too.
“What if we made New York-style pizza?”
Sarah stopped short. Here we go with pizza again! No! Did he not trust her judgement? Jeez!
“Raffe, I think we need to have a really great dish for the first challenge, and this is going to be kick-ass if you can start helping me!”
“I’ll make the salad. Is that okay?” he asked, starting to do it anyway.
Sarah didn’t reply. She didn’t know if he was a control freak or didn’t trust her judgement or what. She only wanted to finish this dish on time without having a heart attack.
“Twenty minutes!” Sarah practically jumped out of her skin as Landon yelled the time remaining.
She looked around at their area. Okay, the steak was cooking, and the butter garlic sauce was done. Raffe was finishing up the salads after having just grabbed the apples, and they actually looked pretty impressive. Something seemed to be missing, though. Walnuts! There was no way she could present a Waldorf salad without walnuts.
“I’ll grab the walnuts for the salad!” Sarah yelled, already running to the pantry. Once inside she made a beeline for the shelf where she had seen nuts. Hmm. Peanuts. Almonds. Where were the walnuts? She knew she had seen them. Cashews. Macadamias. No walnuts.
“Five minutes!” Landon bellowed, causing a fresh wave of panic to squeeze her chest.
She pushed items off the shelf, desperate to find the walnuts, but they weren’t anywhere to be found. She stood back, sweat dripping, chest heaving. Five bins of fruit sat on the bottom shelf. Maybe the walnuts had fallen in there.
She rummaged through. No walnuts, but she did notice there were two varieties of apples sitting in a bin, with a third section that was empty. Only the Cortland and Red Delicious apples were left, and both bins looked full.
Her chest squeezed tighter. Red Delicious apples were the type used in Waldorf salad. Raffe had grabbed the wrong apples!
Running back to their station, she grasped Raffe’s elbow.
“I can’t find the walnuts! They are gone! And you used the wron—”
“Time!” The judges yelled in unison, cutting Sarah off. “Stop what you’re doing and step back from your dishes!”
Sarah’s eyes darted from Raffe to the dishes he’d plated on their counter. Everything looked amazing. Everything except the salad that was missing the walnuts. And had the wrong apples.
“Okay, Team One, Sarah and Raffe, what do you have for us?” Landon asked as he approached them, looking at their dishes.
Sarah’s heart swooped, her mind whirling at a way to salvage this. “Um…”
“We have a Waldorf salad with a New York strip steak.” Raffe spoke up and Sarah felt a small measure of relief. He was definitely a better spokesman. He had an air of confidence and authority about him that made people pay attention when he spoke. Men, women, heck, even babies shut up when Raffe started to talk. His good looks didn’t hurt either.
“Excellent. What an excellent idea.” Landon said, jotting down something in a note pad. Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t mentioned the missing walnuts or the wrong apple! Maybe they would get a pass.
“I have a question, Team One,” a voice piped up from behind Landon.
Sarah’s shoulders tensed, tighter this time. The voice was that of Franz Durkin. He was a tough judge known for his harsh critiques and caustic manner. He was also a
well-known food critic in New York who had been rumored to make more than one five-star chef cry.
Sarah stared intently at him, waiting for the question.
Durkin’s eyes scanned their plates, coming to rest on the salad. He leaned forward and squinted.
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