“What was that about?”
“I...”
Oh God. Now that she was looking at the ingredients she’d prepared for her version of a New England clam chowder, she wasn’t sure she could win, but she was damned determined to try. She had tested out the dish a few times on her production crew. But they weren’t Michelin-star judges. Maybe she shouldn’t have made the wager, but she’d always had a problem with impulse control.
Why hadn’t see just reasoned with him?
“You?” Nola asked again.
She took a deep breath and then decided to sound confident. The judges of the cook-off were made up of a professional chef from a neighboring town—Tony Elton, town council member Jeff Hamilton, and three randomly selected people from the audience. There was a chance she could win, she told herself. They had mics on, but the production assistant had shown them how to turn them off and on. She double-checked—hers was off.
“Is your mic off?”
Nola looked at hers and flicked it to off. “Yes...but girl, you are worrying me.”
“I made a side wager on the outcome of the cooking challenge. And if I win, he has to stay in town for an entire weekend.”
“And if he wins?”
She waved her hand toward her friend. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to lose.”
Nola nodded. “Glad to hear it. Either way, you might be in trouble. You don’t want to spend a weekend with the Beast.”
“Why not?”
Nola looked around to make sure no one was near them, but then still leaned in close, making Indy very worried.
“Rumor has it he’s very hard to resist one-on-one. I heard that he goes through a woman a weekend, and they aren’t complaining when they leave.”
“Nola. He’s not interested in me that way,” she said, lying to her friend since he’d specifically mentioned a romantic weekend. “He just said that to make me back down.”
“Which you didn’t. So let’s face it, Indy, you’re the next delicious morsel on his plate.”
She blushed and shook her head again. “Stop it. That’s not going to happen.”
“We will see,” Nola said. “I guess we need to start getting ready to cook, right?”
“Yes.”
Nola moved away and Indy looked down at the cooler with her ingredients in it. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on what would happen if he won. But surely, he knew he couldn’t just demand things from her?
Who said he’d have to?
She ignored her inner voice as her eyes strayed over to his cooking station and she saw him with his head down, chopping. He wasn’t interested in her. Men seemed to take one look at her and relegate her to the sweet girl next-door. That wasn’t the kind of woman a man asked to spend the weekend in his bed. But there was a part of her that wished that was what he’d meant. It would be nice to be the sexy one instead of the smart, reliable one. Just once.
Ophelia waved Conrad and Indy over about forty-five minutes later. The townspeople of Gilbert Corners had come out for the competition which Dash had agreed they could hold on the grounds of Gilbert Manor. The large mansion loomed in the background.
The octagonal tower element at the front elevation made the mansion look welcoming but still grand. The columns and traditional architectural elements on either side of the steps leading to the main entrance added formality to the more laid-back authentic cedar-shingle roof that lent a natural aspect to the mansion and complemented it with an aged soft silver-gray color. There was a porte cochere that the production vans were parked underneath. Locals in attendance had left their cars in the large paved side lot that had always been used for these types of events.
But Conrad knew that no local, save those employed by the Gilbert Manor foundation, had been here since the night of the winter ball that had changed his life and led the town to believe they were cursed.
The classic red brick and Tennessee fieldstone chimney was visible from the backyard where the competition was being held. The audience had entered through a lovely garden gate to the covered rear terrace where Ophelia’s team had set up seating for them. There were lattice walls on one side that served as a wind block but let in sunlight.
Conrad had offered to allow Indy to use the outdoor dining area adjacent to the covered lounge, but Ophelia had insisted they use the exact same setup. Stated that the judging would only be fair if they both were using the studio-provided kitchen areas.
“Before we get started, Ms. Belmont, I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed?”
Indy smiled at Ophelia, and he couldn’t help noticing the difference between the two women. Ophelia was tall and sleek, carrying herself with a cool sophistication that made Indy seem sort of small-town and...charming. Which just reinforced that his mind was on the wager. He seldom lost a cook-off—in fact, the last time he had, it had been to a master chef who earned his first Michelin star when he was eighteen.