Chapter Seven
Bethany
My pulse returns to normal as we enter the Grand Ballroom. Now I can enjoy myself after the chaos of the feeding frenzy outside. Nick was visibly worried after we made it safely inside the hotel lobby. He even asked if he just blew his chance to go out with me on a second date. The man is so adorable when he’s concerned. I love the rugged, protective vibe he showed on the red carpet, nearly growling at the media, before we took off in a rush to the hotel entrance.
The Grand Ballroom is exactly as the name implies—grand. Gold plating accents the huge tear-drop crystal chandeliers, five of them hang from the soaring ceiling at equal intervals across the room. The shiny marble floor is polished to the hilt, the light reflecting off the surface is almost blinding.
Nick guides me as we wander through the crowd, looking for the table number on our tickets. He holds my hand firmly while waving with the other hand at colleagues as they notice us. We don’t stop until we find table number 35. Several people I don’t recognize are already at the table.
“Nick! Glad you could make it.” A rotund man wearing a gaudy maroon tux jumps up and shakes Nick’s hand while pounding him on the back. The back slaps look painful, but Nick doesn’t even blink.
“Charlie,” Nick says while attempting to move subtlety out of his reach. Pulling me forward, Nick says, “I’d like to introduce my date, Bethany Hunt.”
Charlie turns his attention to me, but Nick blocks him from being able to man handle me like he did Nick. I smile and give Charlie a finger wiggle wave thing that I just dreamed up for this occasion after watching videos of the British royal family.
The other five people at the table get introduced, but I don’t register any of their names. Charlie, four men clad in black tuxes matching Nick’s and two women are our companions for the evening. The short brunette is clearly with one of the other guys, her greeting to Nick was friendly yet cordial. She sits back down and hangs on every word coming from the guy next to her.
The other woman, a tall platinum blonde whose hair color came from a bottle, makes an overly dramatic display of affection towards Nick. Fawning over him with a hug that lasted too long, followed by kisses on both cheeks. She gave me an evil eye as I stood awkwardly off to Nick’s side. Her attire left nothing to the imagination with a lowcut neckline and scandalously short skirt. I laugh to myself when she has to pull the mini skirt down several times during her interaction with Chef McHottie.
In an unexpected display of gallantry, Nick pulls out my chair and helps me settle into my seat. After he takes his seat beside me, he leans over and starts talking in a low voice behind his menu, making our conversation feel very intimate.
“Sorry about Nina. She can be a little much sometimes.” He gives me a heart-melting smile, never taking his eyes from mine.
“All I can say is that she was certainly happy to see you.”
He cringes. “I try to not lead her on, but she doesn’t take hints very well.”
Chuckling behind my menu, I nod. As I glance over the top of the poster-size menu, I see the blonde glaring at Nick and me. On impulse, I lean further towards Nick and speak softly. “Pretend I just said something fascinating.”
He raises his left eyebrow, then quickly leans in and whispers, “You’re very fascinating, Bethany.” His breath causes goosebumps to run up my neck. My heart responds accordingly by flipping inside my chest. I put my hand to his cheek and rub his sexy stubble. Two can play this game.
Nina frowns while Nick and I return to browsing our menus. Two waiters arrive to take our orders, breaking the intimate moment. The rest of the night I’m going to stew about whether Nick was acting or whether he was being genuine during our flirty exchange.
After everyone has ordered, conversation flows between the men at the table while the women sit quietly and ignore each other. I sip my water and pretend to be very interested in all the tables around us.
“What are you doing until the network starts shooting your next season?” one of the black tuxedo-wearing guys asks Nick. “I saw all the media frenzy and speculation after you left Brenman’s.”
Huh? That feels like an insult. My instincts tell me that maybe Nick left that position under less-than-positive circumstances. Is this guy fishing or does he know all the details?
Nick’s eyes narrow. “I’ve been enjoying a little downtime,” he says vaguely. I wonder why he doesn’t mention the cooking class, but I get a sense that these pompous men might consider it a step down from when he worked at the prestigious restaurant.
The rotund maroon tuxedo guy chimes in (I think his name is Charlie). “I heard you’re doing a cookbook with several NFL stars. How’s that going?”
Nick looks relieved that Charlie changed the subject. My date warms up to the topic, talking about getting nutritional analyses for all the recipes they’re creating. It’s fascinating and the whole table hangs on Nick’s every word. When the band takes the stage and starts warming up, there is too much noise for cross table conversation. So, Nick turns his attention back to me.
“After dinner, the band Citrus Poison, is going to play.” He nods towards the stage where guys with long stringy hair and ripped jeans are tuning electric guitars, and adjusting a drum set. “Ever heard of them?”
I put my hand to my lips, widen my eyes and gasp. “They’re my favorite!”
Nick looks a little ill at my words, like he ate a bad piece of sushi, but he tries to hide it. Guess he’s not a fan of this heavy metal group. I can’t resist laying my fangirl response on even thicker.
Fanning my face, I say, “Lead guitarist Axel Grease is so sexy. He takes my breath away.”
Peering closely at me as if he’s trying to decide whether I’m telling the truth, Nick replies, “And lead singer Zeke Von Doom is one heck of a singer.”
We both maintain a straight face for several seconds, then I cave in, and a bout of giggling hits me.
“Zeke Von Doom?” I say between giggles, wiping a few tears from my eyes.
“Axel Grease?” Nick replies, as a laugh rumbles from deep inside his chest.
Laughing at our own private joke, neither of us obviously having any clue what these guys are named, the rest of our table companions fade away, as if it’s just the two of us. Our gazes meet and hold as Nick rubs his thumbs across my knuckles. I didn’t even realize we are holding hands until I feel the contact.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. I become mesmerized by his eyes, the expression in them telling me he truly means the compliment.
“Thank you for bringing me as your date,” I whisper. “I’m so lucky.”
“I think I’m the lucky one,” he whispers back.
We gaze at each other for several long moments, as we hold hands, and simply enjoy being together at this luxurious venue. Waiters serve the tables beside ours, silverware pings against fine china, and conversations swirl around us, but that all disappears into the background as I look at my handsome date. Can I really be falling for a guy I met two only weeks ago?
Unfortunately, the spell is broken when our waiter arrives to serve the salad course. Our gazes unlock and I pull my hand from his.
After receiving my plate, I lean over and whisper directly into Nick’s ear, “No pressure for whoever is preparing the food. They’re just feeding some of the top chefs in America.”
He smiles.
***
After the entrée is served, Charlie engages Nick in a heated discussion about Cooking with Passion and the upcoming season. Based on their discussion, I gather that Charlie is the producer of the show.
While quietly eating my blackened salmon, my eyes are drawn to the table to our immediate right. They obviously know each other well, laughing and clinking glasses in various toasts. As I watch them for a few minutes, three of the people at the table look familiar. You know that feeling when you recognize someone, but can’t place them? The distinguished, gray-haired man’s name is on the tip of my tongue. He’s a judge on Chopped .
Charlie finally quits talking and decides to eat, so I take the opportunity to ask Nick the guy’s name that keeps eluding me.
“See the man at the next table?” I subtlety nod my chin in the direction I want Nick to look.
Nick turns 180 degrees, staring at the table.
“Don’t stare,” I hiss under my breath.
Nick laughs. “What was I supposed to do?” He puts his hands out in a placating gesture.
Men are always so clueless. “Look, but don’t stare. We don’t want them to know we’re talking about them,” I say in a low voice.
Nick rolls his eyes.
“The gray-haired man looks familiar. He’s a judge on Chopped . Geoffrey something?” I pull on Nick’s arm, encouraging him to lean closer to me, then say in a voice as if I discovered something important, “In fact, they all look like judges on Chopped. ”
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, while gazing into my eyes. “Good job Sherlock.”
I giggle at his teasing reply. Our eyes lock and I become spellbound. What were we talking about? My mind goes blank as my pulse races. Chef McHottie could make chocolate melt with one of his searing looks. I’m hypnotized by his presence.
Seconds later, Nick quirks an eyebrow, giving me a smirk. My face heats, he knows exactly what impact he’s having on me.
Blinking, I finally remember the topic. “I asked what his name is, the judge on Chopped .”
“Which one?”
If I was standing, I would stomp my foot at his intentionally clueless response. Instead, I give him a sweet smile and refocus on my plate. The salmon is suddenly very interesting. I eat while ignoring Mr. DeLuca.
Seconds elapse. I watch Nick out of the corner of my eye as he looks me. It’s like a one-person stare-down contest. I pick up my wineglass and take an intentionally slow drink, still ignoring him.
He leans in, putting his hand on one of my bare shoulders. Goosebumps rise along my neck. I feel his breath as he whispers in my ear, “Geoffrey Zakarian.” I turn and gaze into his brown eyes. A slow smile crosses his face, as if he knew it was just a matter of time before I’d give up trying to ignore him.
“Alex Guarnaschelli, Amanda Freitag, and Scott Conant are also at the table.” His sexy voice rumbles in my ear as he shares the information.
“Do you think tonight’s pasta was done to Mr. Conant’s satisfaction?” I say in a snarky voice.
That makes Nick laugh—loudly. A few eyes from the other table turn our way, as if they know we’re talking about them. Instead of acting chill, Nick waves to the Chopped judges, making me want to crawl under our white linen-clad table in mortification. The big tease.
Squealing guitars break the silence, startling everyone. Citrus Poison makes their ear-splitting entrance. Heavy metal music fills the ballroom. The glasses on our table vibrate in unison to the music. I guess that’s what you call rattling the rafters.
“Would you like to dance Miss Hunt?” Nick asks, still talking in my ear but at a much louder volume in order to be heard.
Standing up, he pulls me from my chair, and we walk over to the crowded dance floor. Time to get my groove on with Chef McHottie.