Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Madison drove to the market on Friday with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And that had more to do with Gabe than it did with the competition. His harsh words had been hard to hear, because they were words that had run around in her own head ever since she'd asked her father to talk to Larry. She had wanted to get her own restaurant on merit, not on a relationship with her father, but she'd been trying for ten years to make that happen, and she'd finally broken down and asked for the favor.

Now accepting that favor made her feel like an imposter. And maybe she was. The restaurant wasn't thriving, and she couldn't blame anyone but herself. She'd thought about quitting the competition, but that wouldn't get her anywhere. She couldn't run away and hide. She couldn't let Gabe be right about her. She couldn't let her own doubts take hold. She had to prove to everyone that she was good enough. And she would do that…starting now.

With that mental pep talk, she parked her car and joined her fellow competitors at the front of the market. She didn't avoid Gabe. She walked right up to him and gave him a determined smile. "Are you ready?"

His return look was wary. "I am. What about you?"

"I've thought about the dish. I think we should go with your suggestion of the braised baby vegetables. I'm not sold on the mint chimichurri, but you can make it, and then we'll decide. I also want to do some crispy shallots. It will add flavor and crunch to the meat and the vegetables. Any comments?"

"Just one. I want to apologize for what I said to you yesterday."

"I've already forgotten that conversation." She paused. "Along with other things we have said to each other. I'm only interested in moving forward."

"I'd like that as well," he said with relief in his gaze. "So, I'll head to the meat counter."

"And I'll start with the produce."

As the clock hit noon, they rushed into the store. She felt more decisive now that she'd committed herself to a dish and a course of action. She also felt slightly better that Gabe had apologized again. He probably still believed what he'd said, but, clearly, he knew they needed to work together and tearing each other down wouldn't accomplish that.

She probably owed him an apology as well for looking down on his food truck, but she didn't want to keep bringing up the past and hoped that they could just move on. At the end of the day, they both wanted to win. And they weren't going to get out of the first round unless they stopped fighting with each other. Once this round was over, hopefully, they would be going against each other and not have to work together. That would be easier to handle.

The thirty minutes of shopping went fast, and she continued plotting her plan of attack for her jus on the short drive back to the kitchen at the Lazure Hotel, where they would be prepping today and cooking tomorrow.

It was crowded in the kitchen with twenty-four chefs, but she and Gabe found a workspace in one corner of the kitchen and went over their strategy for their plate.

While she'd taken the lead at the market, Gabe was ready to take charge now, and as much as that rubbed her the wrong way, she kept her mouth shut and tried to think of him like any other chef.

It was easier when they stopped talking and started working. While she felt confined in the small space, Gabe didn't seem bothered at all, but why would he? He worked in a truck every night. This little corner was probably as much room as he ever had, which actually made her respect him a bit more because he was far more efficient and contained than she was.

He also seemed comfortable handling the rack of lamb, and that gave her confidence. She liked his use of herbs, and he was impressed with how many ingredients she was using to make her sauce. As they prepped, the tension eased between them. Or maybe it was just that cooking relaxed both of them. Whatever the reason, she was happy not to spend the entire afternoon at war.

They spent some time talking with the other four people on their team, but not a lot. Everyone in the group was an accomplished chef. She'd done some research the night before on her fellow competitors, and she was much more appreciative of her teammates now that she knew how much experience they had. She wasn't sure they felt the same way about her.

While she ran a fine-dining restaurant now, it was very recent, and before that she'd never been in charge, although she had been cooking for a long time. Gabe was also on the bottom of the chain of experience, having only run a food truck. But while the other chefs had given them a few suggestions, everyone was more worried about their own dishes than anyone else's.

The two hours passed quickly, and soon it was time to wrap up what they'd done and pack it away for tomorrow. As they left the kitchen and then the hotel, she blew out a breath, relieved to be out of the hot kitchen.

"That was fast," Gabe commented, as they neared her vehicle.

"Yes, but we got done what we needed to get done," she said, feeling tired after the pressure of the time limit. "Now I get to prep for dinner service."

"Me, too. Busy day for both of us."

"In some ways, it's just getting started."

"That's true." Pausing, he added, "I think we have a winning dish, Madison."

"Don't jinx it. We still have to cook and put it all together tomorrow."

"It's going to be great. What did you think about the other two dishes from our team?"

She was surprised he was even remotely interested in her opinion. "I think Art and Cliff may be taking too simple of an approach, but if they pull it off, then the beauty will be in the simplicity. The opposite for Renee and Lyssa. They have a lot of ingredients. I'm worried they're going to dull the flavors by having too many things on the plate. But there's still time for editing, and I'm sure they'll do that."

"I agree." He appeared a little surprised by that fact. "Look at that, we're on the same page."

She gave him a brief but wary smile, not quite trusting the truce they'd engineered. "I guess miracles can happen," she said lightly.

"I don't think it took a miracle, but okay." He smiled back at her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.

This was the guy she'd met at Maverick's, the one who was attractive, sexy, and charming. She really didn't want to remember that guy.

"By the way," Gabe added. "I asked one of my staff to set up some cones to direct my line down the other side of the sidewalk. You shouldn't have a problem tonight."

She was shocked to hear that. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you asked me to."

"That wasn't your response when I asked."

"I had time to think about it."

She didn't know if he'd realized he was in the wrong, or if he didn't believe blocking her doorway would matter if no one was trying to get in her restaurant. Either way, she should just be happy about it. "Thank you."

He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bring your A game."

"I always do."

Saturday came faster than Madison would have liked. When she entered the kitchen at the Lazure Hotel just before noon, her nerves tightened as the reality of what she was about to do hit home. She wasn't just cooking for a panel of judges; the competition would be shown on Chef Battles and livestreamed on the Internet. Whatever mistakes she made would be highlighted and publicized forever, and that was a disturbing thought.

There had been only one lone photographer in the kitchen yesterday, and that guy had been so quiet she hadn't really noticed him, but now there were three cameras and several bright lights set up in the kitchen. She felt like she was on a movie set, not in a kitchen.

"You ready for this?" Gabe asked as he came up next to her, looking handsome in his white chef's coat, his dark eyes brimming with excitement and energy.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't expecting all the cameras in the kitchen."

"Forget about who's watching and cook the way you know how to cook."

As much as she hated to give him credit for anything, he was right. She had to find a way to just keep her head down and concentrate on her sauce and their plate.

The other four members of their team came over, and they discussed their game plan for serving their dishes, and then they broke into their pairings and started to cook.

Today, only two groups would cook at one time. They were in the second group, so the kitchen was already hot. While there were half the number of chefs in the kitchen as there had been during prep time, there were still twelve people to work around, along with the cameras and the lights. But she focused on her food and tried to ignore everything else. Halfway through their cook time, one judge came through the kitchen to check on their dishes. As he approached her and Gabe, the cameras moved in closer, and she almost sliced off her finger in her distraction.

Gabe put a calming hand on her arm as Hank Richmond, the owner of the Valerian Restaurant Group, asked them what they were making. She wanted to answer the question, but she couldn't seem to find the words, and Gabe jumped in with his effortless charm and ready smile, confidently telling the judge that their lamb dish would be the best he had ever tasted.

Hank loved Gabe's cockiness and bantered back and forth while she gave them both a tight smile. When the judge asked her about her sauce, she stuttered out a few of the ingredients, knowing she wasn't in any way doing her sauce justice, but she was better at showing than telling.

Finally, Hank moved on to the next team, and she blew out a breath.

"Way to not sell your sauce," Gabe said dryly.

"I…I'm not good with cameras or public speaking."

"Clearly. Thankfully, your sauce tastes great."

"Do you think so?" she couldn't help asking, needing the reassurance.

"Yes. Now it's time for you to taste my mint chimichurri."

She had agreed to let him make it and decide at the last minute. "Okay, but it doesn't feel like we need it. I'm comfortable with what we have. It's risky to add another element."

"What we have is good, but we're looking for great. We need to play to win, not to avoid losing, Madison."

"I am playing to win."

"Then taste my chimichurri."

"Fine. I'll taste it." She dipped a spoon into his chimichurri and was shockingly surprised by the flavor. "It is good," she said grudgingly. "But we need to put together our plate and taste it with everything else."

"Then let's do that."

They spent the next ten minutes assembling a plate and then tasting each element separately and together. She didn't want to admit it, but he was right. A small drizzle of chimichurri enhanced the meat and her sauce. She played it safe in life, but not with food. That was the one area where she took risks.

"Well?" Gabe asked.

"We'll put it on the plate," she said decisively. "But I'm plating. I'm good at that."

"You are good at it," he admitted. "I'll follow your lead."

They finished plating just as the timer went off. Then they followed their servers into the dining room.

There was one round table of judges featuring the individuals who had been introduced the day before. And then there were four other tables with six people at each table, who had been selected in an online lottery to participate as the public judging in the competition. Their scores, along with the judges, whose opinions would be more heavily weighted, would determine the two teams moving on to the next round.

They stopped by the judges' table where there were more cameras and more lights, and beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. Francine asked them to explain their dish, and she found herself completely tongue-tied. Gabe jumped in once more with an easy smile to talk about his lamb and her sauce. Fortunately, he did justice to both.

When they returned to the kitchen, he held up his hand to give her a high five, and she couldn't help but slap his hand, feeling immensely relieved that at least one part of this day was over. But they still had to get through the judging. She prayed that they would make it to the next round, that all this would not have been for nothing.

"Our dish was great, Madison," Gabe said, excitement in his gaze. "We're going to win."

"I hope so, but it's not up to us."

"How did it go?" Renee asked as she and Lyssa were third up, with Cliff and Art heading next into the dining room.

"It went great," Gabe said confidently.

Renee nodded in approval. "Good. Do you mind helping us plate?"

"No, of course not," he said as they stepped up to help their team.

After their final team dishes had left the kitchen, their team exited onto a nearby patio where the other teams were already sipping champagne, wine, and beer, celebrating the end of round one. All twenty-four chefs appeared exhausted, exhilarated, and nervous.

Madison certainly felt all those emotions and more. There was a small part of her that wouldn't mind if this was all over. But the bigger part of her wanted to win. She sat down at a group of outdoor sofas and chatted with Renee and Lyssa while they were waiting for the judging. They seemed very confident in the dish they'd put out, so hopefully that was a good sign, because it wasn't just about her and Gabe. They needed their entire team to do well, or they'd be cut.

After about thirty minutes, they were called back into the ballroom in front of the judges. The tables had been cleared and there was an expectant hush in the room as both the contestants and the public participants waited eagerly to hear who had won.

She felt an enormous wave of anxiety that made her feel a little unsteady on her feet. As her hand brushed against Gabe's, she had to forcibly stop herself from curling her fingers around his. She couldn't lean on him. She had to stand on her own two feet. She just needed them to get on with it because she didn't want to pass out in front of everyone.

Francine spoke first. "Chefs, thank you for a wonderful meal. We truly enjoyed our lunch. There were some very exciting pairings. Good job, everyone. While you're all talented chefs, we will be picking our two favorite teams, based on our guests." She waved her hand toward the crowd. "And the opinion of our talented group of judges. In addition to moving on to the second round, the top pairing from our top two teams will also each enjoy a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to dine at Pasta Mia. Without further ado…" Francine paused dramatically, then said, "Our favorite team was team two."

Her heart jumped. They were in team two, weren't they?

Gabe grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "We did it," he murmured.

She couldn't quite believe it, but then everyone on her team was hugging each other. When they settled down, Francine continued. "Our top pairing on team two was the lamb dish from Chef Gabe Herrera and Chef Madison Baldwin. Photos of their dish and their recipe will be posted on our website."

She was stunned to hear their dish had been the favorite dish on the team. And more congratulations came their way.

Francine went on to announce that team three would also be moving to the second round, and there were more cheers and hugs of congratulations, as another pair of chefs was singled out for having the favorite dish on that team.

"Unfortunately, that means team one and team four will be leaving us today," Francine added with a regretful smile. "Thank you so much for joining us this week, for giving us a great meal. You're all incredibly talented, and this was a very tough and close decision. You can now say your goodbyes to your fellow chefs and leave the ballroom."

It took several minutes for the other two teams to hug their fellow contestants and then exit the room. Once they were down to the twelve chefs continuing in the competition, Francine gave further instructions.

"Congratulations again. We'd like our favorite pairings from each team to return to the kitchen where your dishes will be photographed along with you, and Emilia Everett, a food columnist for the website Eating with Emilia, who will be interviewing you for her blog. For the rest of you, the second round will take place on Monday at noon. You'll find out what your challenge is then. It will be an individual challenge, so you'll be working on your own. Enjoy your day off tomorrow."

When Francine finished speaking, the lights dimmed, and the cameras stopped whirring.

Madison blew out a breath of relief. She and Gabe had won the best dish of the day for their team. She'd known it was good, but she'd been afraid to believe it was that good.

As the crowd in the ballroom dispersed, she and Gabe returned to the kitchen with the two winning chefs from the other team. The production staff had created a background for the photo shoot with the banner from the competition hanging over a stainless-steel counter where the two winning dishes were displayed.

They did several shots with all four of them, and then more shots with each pair. It was a blinding session of photos, and she had no idea how she looked in any of them.

When they were finished with the photo shoot, they spoke to Emilia Everett, a forty-something redhead, who seemed quite taken with Gabe, directing most of her questions to him. Madison found it irritating to take a back seat to Gabe, but she wasn't great at interviews, and at the end of the day, she would still get great exposure on the food blog. Emilia's site got a tremendous amount of traffic, especially in Southern California, so hopefully that would bring more people into her restaurant.

Finally, everything was done, and they made their way out of the kitchen and the hotel.

As they headed to the parking lot, Gabe said, "I think we should celebrate."

"I have to go to work."

"Right this second? It's only three."

"And dinner service starts at five thirty, so yes. Maybe you should have asked your groupie journalist to help you celebrate."

He smiled. "You sound jealous."

"I'm annoyed you took over an interview about our dish. You do remember we made it together, right? Because it didn't sound like it."

"I never made it sound like I did it alone," he protested. "And you were free to speak up whenever you wanted. Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't get a word in."

"You didn't try that hard."

"Oh, forget it," she said wearily. "We're done working as a team, so we can go back to being what we really are—rivals."

"If that's the way you want it," he said. "But can we postpone that until tomorrow?"

"Why wait?"

"Because we had a victory, and we should enjoy it. We have to celebrate the wins when they come, right?"

"My father would say you don't celebrate until the end, and we're not at the end."

"We're at the end of round one. Let me buy you a drink."

"I can't drink now. I have too much to do tonight."

"How about a coffee and a cookie?"

"A cookie?" she echoed, surprised by the suggestion.

"There's a café down the block with the best coffee and cookies. I know because my sister, Christina, is addicted to chocolate chip cookies, and we have spent many a day looking for the very best one." He paused, giving her a wheedling smile. "What do you think? Coffee and a cookie? We can brag to each other about how good our dish was compared to everyone else's, which will feel really good after the last hour of pretending to be modest."

She laughed in spite of herself. "That was you being modest?"

He grinned. "I was trying."

"How far away is this place?"

"Two blocks. We can walk. Tomorrow we can go back to being enemies."

"All right," she said, giving in to what was probably a dangerous impulse. But she wanted to celebrate, and she could use a coffee—maybe even a cookie.