And women always come with expectations.
“That’s it?” she chides. “That’s all I get? What kind of chef are you? And for who?”
My eyebrows lift. “Why the interrogation? Maybe I didn’t say for a reason. Maybe I don’t want to tell you.”
She laughs, a full-on belly laugh revealing creases beside her eyes and a full set of pearly whites. “I happen to have an interest in your profession. I might dabble in the culinary field myself.”
“Is that so?” Her amusement triggers something in me. “Please don’t tell me you’re a food critic.”
There’s nothing that scares and excites me, in equal measure, more than a food critic poking around the cooking school where I teach.
She leans back with a challenge in her eyes. “And what is wrong with food critics? If it weren’t for those with exceptional palates and creative write-ups, some of the best mom-and-pop restaurants in the world would have gone out of business. It’s a competitive market, with restaurants on every busy corner. You want your food to stand out from the rest? Then you need someone like me on your side, shouting your unique offerings to the world. That is, unless you have none to show.”
My eyes go wide, suddenly forgetting everything I was trying to avoid on my long plane ride home. This conversation just got interesting. “You’re shitting me. You’re an actual food critic?”
She laughs and holds out her hand. Her diamond bracelet catches the weak overhead light. “Faye Montgomery. Pleased to meet you.”
Fuck, I think my heart just exploded all over my insides. “Faye Montgomery?” My eyes sweep over her body again, this time with an entirely new perspective. “As in, Five-Star Faye? I love that show.” I shake my head. “I didn’t recognize you.”
She shrugs, a satisfied smile playing on her face. “I’m not surprised. I don’t get much TV time. It’s about the food and who makes it. That’s what’s important. That’s what we showcase.” Leaning back, she folds her arms, which conveniently pushes up her chest. “So tell me about your restaurant.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, beautiful, but I don’t own a restaurant.”
Her eyes furrow in curiosity.
“My buddy and I own a cooking school. Well, he’s more like a silent partner. I teach, I certify, and I entertain.” I give her a wink, letting my pride for my business show. “We’re in a hot spot in downtown Seattle. Classes fill up months in advance. We’re accredited and growing our services. It’s been a huge success.”
Faye’s narrowed eyes show her skepticism. “Original recipes?”
It’s my turn to lean back and feel somewhat defensive. “All original. All food made from scratch. All ingredients picked up daily from the farmers market around the corner. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Interesting.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a black business card with gold writing. “You should call me.”
I raise my eyebrows, feeling a smirk pulling at my lips. “Call you?” I linger on the question, letting our flirtation brew just a little bit longer.
She rolls her eyes to bat me away. “Not that kind of call. Not yet anyway.” She doesn’t even blink through her forward comment. “I’d love to check out a class while I’m in town. Maybe your kitchen is a fit for the show.”
“You’re serious? You want to check out my food? I’ve seen your show. My place isn’t exactly the type of joint you review.”
She shrugs. “Maybe not. But we’re between seasons, and I’m looking for fresh ideas. I’m just interested in checking it out. If I hate it, I walk, and you’ll never see me again.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Ah, you’re a cocky chef. Humor me, will you? Which part isn’t going to happen? Me hating it? Or me walking away?”
“Both.”
“Now I definitely need to try your food.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Great. And I get to read your scathing review, written just to spite me.”
“Clearly you don’t watch the show. The worst that can happen is that you don’t get any airtime, and I won’t give pity attention for food that doesn’t deserve it. You think your food is good? Let me be the judge.”
She reaches out her perfectly manicured hand, which I stare at far longer than I really should—not because I’m admiring her soft skin or blinging jewels, but because this is a serious opportunity, one I’ve been wanting ever since I accepted my chef’s hat after four years of grueling culinary training. Growing up, I wanted that so much, but I wanted this more