Page 67 of Baking and Angels

“Ms. Scarlet?” Ritchie asked, turning back to the younger woman, who smiled indulgently, showing no signs of correcting Rafferty’s presumption.

“It is what I insist all my staff call me. Ms. Kovacs was my mother, as you remember,”she said.

Ritchie blinked, his courtier smile sagging as if he was struggling to reconcile his old friend with the young woman standing before him now. “Right. Right,” he agreed, reforming the smile to full brightness. “Gosh, yes, the original Old Battleaxe. You’ll have to forgive me. Your change is really throwing me off.”

Scarlet nodded magnanimously.

“To be honest, I like my staff a little more on the pliable side,” he said from the side of his mouth at her, as if he were sharing a great secret. “That’s how I lucked into this sweet situation. I’m hosting a company appreciation next door, and I got this lot to cook for them all for free. All I had to pay for was their ingredients. Saved mea bundle.”

“That is a way to get it done,” Scarlet conceded, her mask not slipping an inch. Helena was doing a poorer job hiding her true feelings about that but managed to slip her fingers around Rafferty’s bicep and squeeze until she had control.

Scarlet’s vagueness was all the praise Ritchie needed. “Maybe I’ll go ahead and buy this whole Underground Cooking thing. I can see lots of uses. No need to run another corporate gig again. No offense, of course. Your events were always the classiest, but for things for the regulars like this… And these fools will do it just for a chance ata carrot.”

He continued to chuckle until Scarlet cut in. “Well, that would be unfortunate as I am already in the process of acquiring the competition.”

Ritchie’s fluffy white eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Oh, are you now?” A look of calculation washed over his face. “Alright, how about this? I’ll wager you for it,” he said.

“I don’t think this group is yours to be wagering,” Scarlet countered, raising one of her delicately arched eyebrows back at himin return.

“I mean, sure, we could do the whole outbidding each other, calling in favors, greasing palms, the whole nine yards. God knows, they took my money straight into their own pockets readily enough to set this up.” A gambler’s face washed over his expression, both delighted and aroused by his idea. “But that would be awfully boring. We both know I would win anyway. But this… this would be fun. You have your champion.” He nodded at Rafferty, then scanned the room, stopping inevitably on Eleanor. “And I’ll have mine.”

“Does she work for you?” Helena asked.

“No, but she will be in a minute.” With that, Ritchie sauntered off to go speak to Eleanor.

“That ass,” Helena hissed under her breath.

“This may be a little unorthodox, but I wouldn’t disparage it. You’re about to get everything you want, Helena,” Scarlet scolded just as softly, giving her a knowing look when her protégé met her eye.

“So you’ll go for my idea?” the truly younger woman asked.

“We’ll see. First, our champion needs to win.”

Chapter 26

A True

Competition

Rafferty glanced at the standing oven beside him, grinning at the beauty of it. It had been built like a cabinet, with multiple sections behind the glass doors, sporting metal racks in each. It was possible to set each of the six chambers to different temperatures, but he didn’t need that this time. Already roasting were several trays of diced-up, garlicked squash, the smell dancing in his nose as he rolled out the crusts for his creations. There would be six trays in all, one for each slot and even though they were given time to prepare, he had to use every minute if he was going to pullthis off.

A few feet away, Helena sat with Scarlet and the socialite’s “friend” Ritchie. The latter sat back in his chair, supremely satisfied and talking nonstop, not that either of the women were listening. Nor did he seem to need them to. All eyes were watching the few chefs that remained once the new rules for this competition had been properly spelled out.

Helena gave him an encouraging thumbs up, and he returned it, feeling the most relaxed he had in a while.

“We don’t exactly have time to waste,” Eleanor cut in as she walked past carrying an armload of ingredients.

Rafferty glanced at the large-faced clock on the wall, calculating the hands. There was an hour and a half to go until serving time, since they still had the full three hours reserved for the competition to create their entries, and at quantity, he simply wasn’t worried. He could spare a moment for his girlfriend who was making this all happen.

He was supremely happy and… satisfied. The truth was, he was loving this competition. It fed his sense of rivalry, excited his blood, and made his brain tingle with ideas. He thrived in this environment. Even if there was no prize or reward, and he would love to do this for the rest of his new life. And no one could really get hurt by it. He already knew what winning at all costs was like; he didn’t need that anymore.

Despite the generous amount of time, he couldn’t waste a second of it. His hands flew as he prepared the different ingredients forhis dish.

“What are you making?” one of the observers asked, a teenage girl from the looks of her. She leaned on his table to look inside one of his bowls. There were observers, their potential diners, all over the place, watching the various chefs and cooks as they worked. It added an extrapressure.

“Please don’t lean over my ingredients,” he said as he slipped his pie crusts into a chiller, another appliance built much like the multilayered oven,only cold.

The teen responded immediately by straightening, taking her long hair out of the corruption zone. “Yeah, but what are you making?”

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