Page 65 of Baking and Angels

“I can’t believe we got away with that!” Helena said, her giddiness bordering onannoying.

Rafferty paused halfway up, looking toward the swinging kitchen door as a small, smugly smiling Scarlet shut it when their eyes made contact.

He didn’t have the heart to tell Helena that they hadn’t gotten away with it.

Chapter 25

Food Battlethe Second

“Very well. I’ll consent to witness one of these food battles,” Scarlet finally conceded. They had been sitting around her kitchen island.

“Really?” Helena asked, clapping her hands together in delight.

“Have you ever known me, child, not to be a woman of my word?” her boss said dryly. She sat with them now, wearing a long sweater the same color as her name over black slacks with a glittering black shawl draped over her shoulders. She may have had a shower, but her hair was perfectly dry and styled simply, its waves cascading around her lovely face. There was not a scrap of makeup on her, and yet she was one of those women who looked as if she had been done up in a salon allthe same.

She slipped another bite of the Food of the Gods from the plate to her mouth, the morsel delicately balanced on the flat of her fork. Satisfaction burned in Rafferty’s chest as the dessert disappeared and her lips allowed a small smile as she chewed. He had gotten the recipe right.

“I must say, Mr. Lares, I should hire you as my personal chef and forgo all this competition nonsense,” she said, holding her fingers up to block the view of her chewing asshe spoke.

“But that is part of the attraction. Like… someone sponsoring a race car driver. He’ll be your chef and represent Scarlet Promotions. It’s excellent publicity for both of you!” Helena declared, her eyes shining with the energy ofthe idea.

Scarlet exchanged a glance with Rafferty, a kinship he didn’t realize they shared, an understanding about the drive and dedicationof Helena.

The other woman plucked up her cloth napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “Like I said, I am willing to go see what all this is about, but it is just that. I’m going to see. I am not agreeing to anythingelse yet.”

“That’s plenty. Let me go find your coat, and we’ll get going,” Helena said, standing up to dojust that.

“What, now?” Scarlet exclaimed, her eyes glancing at the overly large, ornate clock ticking away on the wall. It declared they were approaching five in theafternoon.

“Yes! There is an event tonight, not too far away. You can see for yourself the potential here. And if we hurry, we can still enroll Rafferty into the competition.” With that, Helena was gone, off to get the aforementioned coat. His and Helena’s were draped over one of the stools at the island counter, ready at hand.

“Is this truly what you want as well?” she asked, leveling her gaze at him.

“Yes,” he replied, letting his hungry grin take over his face. She needed to see the truth right now. “Oh, yes indeed.”

The same familiar shiver washed down his spine as Rafferty entered the newest arena. It was taking place in the same hotel they were staying in, in one of the ballroom/convention halls attached to the space. Not their most lavish spaces by any means. The industrial carpet they walked on spoke to that, but it had plenty of space. The venue made the token effort of covering the various tables with black tablecloths.

As in the gymnasium, each cooking station was set up with essentials, including a few more appliances, such as grill surfaces and stand-alone hot pads with four surfaces. A supply table of ingredients waited on the far side, cooks preparing to cook their dishes were walking through making selections. From the sheer volume, it seemed there was more than enough to make three dishes. A larger crowd of audience members moved through the cooking stations, which had been spread out in the space randomly. There truly seemed no pattern to it, and Rafferty wondered why.

“This is certainly interesting,” Scarlet noted, as a handsome young man in a plum purple chef’s uniform and a ponytailwalked by.

“Something’s wrong,” Rafferty said, noting that many of the chefs and cooks were standing in clusters talking urgently. Many had their arms crossed.

He spied Eleanor amongst the closest group and decided she was the safest person to ask, being she was the only one he knew. Leaving Helena with Scarlet, he approachedhis rival.

Her frown deepened when she spotted him.

Unable to resist, he adopted a swagger, a bad habit from the kitchens of yore.

“What’s happening?” he asked as if they were old friends.

She huffed, then relented in a low, growly voice. “They changed the whole format. I’d blame your sugar mama, but it was apparently just decided for the pleasure of Mr. Tirrell. I guess all the Richie Riches think they can buy us now.”

“I think I’m out,” one of the other cooks she had been talking to said, slapping off his own toque as he turned to go to his station to gather up his things.

The others continued to stand around, unsure of what they wanted to do.

“What are they demanding?” Rafferty looked back at Eleanor.

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