Whisk Me Away

Chapter Sixteen

Ava had slept like the dead, but it didn’t feel like it when she’d woken up. She and Becca had worked on a new design until after two in the morning, then she’d tiptoed to her room, stepped out of her clothes, and crawled into bed with Regan, spooning her from behind. Regan’s body was warm and soft, and Ava had snuggled in and fallen asleep immediately, but when Regan’s alarm had gone off at six, Ava felt like it had been four minutes instead of four hours.

She’d shaken it off, though, as she’d done so many other times in her working life, and now stood behind her counter in the kitchen.

“Kinda mysterious,” she whispered to Becca, who stood beside her as they waited for Liza to come in and start them off.

“Right?” Becca replied.

Across the aisle, Regan stood with Hadley, hands clasped in front of her, looking sharp in her white chef’s coat. She glanced Ava’s way and gave her a little grin and a wink, and Ava’s body shot her memory back in time to about forty-five minutes ago when she’d been in the shower with Regan, her back pressed against the cold tile, Regan’s fingers pushing in and out of her until she came so hard, she had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from letting the entire mansion know she was having a major orgasm. The memory alone had her throbbing and wet, and she grinned back at Regan, then looked down at the floor as she shook her head subtly. The flesh between her legs was deliciously sore.

“You okay?” Becca asked on a whisper.

Ava nodded and met her eyes. “I’m great. Yeah. You?”

“Ready to knock this out of the park.”

There was no more time for pumping each other up, as Liza Bennett-Schmidt entered the room, followed as always by May in her black pants and white button-down shirt. “Good morning, chefs,” Liza said, holding her hands out to the sides. She also wore her chef’s coat—not nearly as well as Regan, Ava absently thought—and May carried an iPad. “I trust you are all rested and ready?”

Murmurs went around the kitchen.

“Excellent. I also trust you all have designs or notes or sketches or whatever you need for this project. For the record, your success with this bake will be a large part of who I decide to donate my money to.” It was only the second time she’d mentioned the money, and Ava could feel everybody in the room perk up, stand a bit more at attention. Even Vienna, who had said the other night that she didn’t care about the money, seemed to straighten up and stand taller.

“Just to ensure there’s no leaking of ideas—by osmosis or by glances at other kitchens—we’re taking precautions.”

May snapped her fingers at the doorway, and suddenly staff members entered in single file, carrying large white muslin screens between them. As they proceeded to set them up around each kitchen area, Ava gave Regan a little finger-wiggle wave just before a screen was dropped there, blocking Regan from her view.

“Seems a little drastic,” she murmured out of the side of her mouth.

“I was gonna say the same thing,” Becca murmured back, and then they laughed softly at the silliness of talking out of the sides of their mouths when they were the only two inside their little muslin box.

“Screens are set.” They heard Liza’s voice, though they could no longer see her. “You have all day to make your bakes. I will wander through from time to time, but you have until five o’clock this evening and then we’ll do a presentation for everybody to see.”

“Gonna be a long day,” Becca whispered, and Ava nodded in agreement.

“Your bake starts…now,” Liza commanded, and the sounds of sudden movement could be heard in the air of the kitchen.

Ava turned to Becca. “Ready?”

Becca answered by raising her hand in the air. Ava slapped it in a high five. “We got this,” Becca said, and they were off.

The strangest thing about the setup was all the noise that she couldn’t see happening. When she was working in Pomp, she had her own area within the kitchen where she made all her pastries and desserts. But she could still see the rest of the kitchen, watch the chefs and sous chefs making salads and chopping ingredients for soups and grilling steaks or chicken or pulling baked racks of lamb out of the oven. It was all right there for her to watch as she listened to the soundtrack of a working restaurant kitchen. This? This was just…odd. All the sounds and none of the sights.

Time ticked on. Their cake went into the oven first, as was the plan. Ava wanted to make sure it was fully cooled before she frosted and decorated it.

Liza came through at the two-hour mark, strolling in with her hands clasped behind her back to scan their station. Ava didn’t like the way she had to fight not to squirm when Liza was nearby, but she managed. Chef looked at their design on Becca’s iPad. She pressed a finger on the center of the cake, which—much to Ava’s relief—sprang back perfectly. She studied the batter in the mixing bowl, then stuck a spoon in and tasted. She gave one nod but said nothing, and Ava’s brain wanted to know if it was a nod of Perfect or a nod of Terrible, of course she screwed it up. Liza wasn’t telling. She stood there for another moment, scrutinizing and making Ava as nervous as possible, before finally exiting behind a screen, not having said a word. Ava wasn’t proud of the breath of relief she let out, and when she glanced at Becca, they grinned at each other.

“Let’s go,” Becca said, and scrolled the iPad for what was next.

She wondered how Regan was doing. They’d been ordered not to share their ideas, so they hadn’t. But Regan had seemed just as keyed up that morning as Ava was, just as happily tense. Part of the reason for the shower sex— Tension release , Regan had claimed—and it had worked for a while. But Ava could feel her shoulders tightening up on her as she worked, stirring, mixing, chopping, piping. She took a moment and reminded herself to breathe. In slowly through the nose, out even more slowly through the mouth. She did that a couple of times and felt more centered. Baking under pressure was rough. It happened fairly often at Pomp. Somebody wanted something on the fly or a customer had a food allergy of some sort and couldn’t eat the item on the dessert menu, so Ava’d have to make something at the very last possible minute. Pressure and stress. Like now. Like today.

It was nerve-racking.

And it was exhilarating.

* * *

If you asked her, Regan would say she never really worked under pressure like this. With a time limit. But that wouldn’t exactly be true, since there had been multiple times that she had to hurry and make something on the fly—cookies to fill a suddenly cleaned-out display, a wedding cake at the very last minute that had been left off the schedule for whatever reason. But it wasn’t how she usually had to do things, so this was kind of nerve-racking.

But it was coming together. She and Hadley were very much on the same wavelength, and once the cake was done and frosted a lovely spring green, complete with texture to make it look like grass and blue wavy frosting along one side to represent a creek, Hadley started on the mini brownies they’d use to make a small picnic table as well as cornhole parts.

She was excited to see the others’ bakes. They were all such different people with such differing personalities, she was almost looking more forward to seeing the rest than showing off hers.

Ava’s was one she especially couldn’t wait to see. In the time they’d spent together, she felt like she was finally starting to get to know Ava—despite there being so much more she wanted to know. And what she was learning, she really liked. Ava was smart, and nothing turned Regan on like intelligence. She was also super creative. Her patriotism bake would be nothing short of spectacular. Regan was certain of it. Maybe tonight, they could talk some more. Just talk. Learn about each other. Find out about things like hopes and dreams and pasts and futures. She hadn’t been kidding when she talked to Kiki about wanting to trust again. Despite their past, Ava was starting to feel like somebody she could.

“Brownies in,” Hadley said quietly. “Should we start the sculptures?”

This was the part Regan could admit was her weakest: making food art. Making food look like something else. But Hadley had assured her that she was good at it, so together, they set about using fondant and cake scraps from after they trimmed it and the rice cereal bars Hadley had made while Regan made the cake and shaped them into other things. A tiny apple pie, plates, cups, a bag of chips, a bowl of potato salad, a cooler with cans in it. Everything in miniature. Everything totally edible. Hadley was in charge of the tiny details.

It was meticulous work, but worth it. To Regan, this was July Fourth: a picnic with all the picnic foods, cornhole, walks near the water, fireworks.

Speaking of fireworks, they were her job, and she got to work on the Isomalt, getting ready to stretch it and do her best to make it look like bursts of light in the sky above her picnic. She used clear and colored it, some red, some blue. The rest would stay clear. She and Hadley found some clear sticks they’d use to “put them in the air,” and Regan sent up a quick prayer to the baking gods to help her not break them.

She was working on shaping one when Liza came around one of the screens. “Chefs,” she said by way of greeting.

“Chef,” they responded in unison.

“And how are we doing?” Liza had her hands clasped behind her back as if resisting the urge to touch things, or maybe to help. She peered over Regan’s shoulder, which, no, didn’t make her nervous at all, for fuck’s sake.

Feeling herself starting to sweat, she forced herself to focus and work and pretend one of her idols wasn’t hovering over her, judging her every move.

Finally, Liza moved over to Hadley’s area, where she was putting the lid on the cooler of tiny cans. “Interesting,” she said as she watched for a moment, and Regan had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Would it kill the woman to offer some encouragement? Hadley did a commendable job of keeping her hands from shaking. Regan made a mental note to compliment her on that later.

Liza watched for another moment, said, “Mm-hmm,” and was on her way. Hadley looked at Regan and they both blew out breaths, then laughed quietly with each other.

“Holy fuck,” Hadley whispered, and that pretty much said it all.

They got back to work.

* * *

They were all nervous.

All you had to do was look around to notice, and that’s what Ava did, now that the screens had been taken away and the assistants sent off to another room. Nobody spoke. The entire kitchen was silent. But everybody was moving in some way. Maia’s knee was bouncing up and down like a jackhammer. Paige was chewing on a thumbnail. Madison spun the silver ring on her middle finger. Vienna sat perfectly still unless you looked very closely, and then you could see the muscle in her jaw working as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. And Regan? Regan was adorably—and literally—twiddling her thumbs. Her fingers were entwined and her thumbs rolled around and around each other. She glanced across the aisle and gave Ava a wink.

Liza’s crew had taken the bakes away just before taking the screens, so nobody got to see anybody else’s project. Liza was going to have each one brought in on its own, one at a time, and the bakers could talk about them and about their process.

So they waited.

Finally, Liza came strolling in, looking very satisfied with herself. Ava was kind of amazed at how her view of the famous chef had changed over the past weeks. Seven weeks ago, she didn’t think looking very satisfied with herself would have been a way she’d describe Liza Bennett-Schmidt, her idol. But today? Definitely. Her ego was much, much larger than Ava had expected. And her kindness? Kinda lacking. But she shook those thoughts away and did her best to focus on the learning she’d done here. Because there had definitely been a lot of that, regardless.

“Chefs,” Liza said.

“Chef,” they parroted back.

“How do you feel?”

Nods, shrugs, and a couple of goods went through the room. They all looked exhausted but also relieved. Ava knew she was. Relieved to have this day over. Presenting was the easy part.

“Well, you’ve shown terrific creativity on this project. I’m very impressed with most of you.”

The most of you didn’t bode well, but it was also unsurprising. It seemed Liza always chose one of them to focus her negativity on with each project, and Ava hoped it wasn’t her turn.

“Our first bake is from Maia,” Chef Liza said, and two staff members carried in Maia’s bake. “Maia, would you come forward and tell us about your work?”

“Sure.” Maia glanced across the aisle at Vienna, who gave her a thumbs-up.

At the front of the room, she turned to face her peers, just as Liza said, “I see you found your bandanna.”

“Yeah. I tore the whole room apart and then yesterday, it just…appeared.”

“Weird,” Liza said.

“Right?” Maia asked, and their gazes held for a beat before Maia began her presentation. “To me, July Fourth has always meant a weekend at my grandparents’ cottage on the lake.” Her bake had a lake as the central focus, a cake with a dip in it and covered by blue Isomalt to give the impression of glimmering water. There was a dock protruding into the lake, a couple canoes, and a small cabin. All very detailed. People were fishing, and two figures bobbed in the “water.”

Ava was just thinking about how impressive the detail was when Liza said, “Well, your people look a little toy-like.”

“I mean, they’re miniature, so they kinda are,” Maia said softly, absently tugging at the bandanna around her neck. They didn’t normally respond to Liza’s critiques or try to defend themselves, so Ava was surprised to hear Maia’s voice, as quiet as it was.

Liza nodded as she studied Maia’s work. “Your piping here on the edge is a little messy. Nice work on the dock, though.” She circled, then pointed. “One of your canoes is cracked.”

Maia’s lips tightened into a thin line, and her throat moved as she swallowed. But she stood there, hands clasped behind her back, and listened.

“Overall, a bit amateurish, but not terrible.” Liza waved a hand and the staff guys took the project away. The others clapped, and for Ava’s part, she was trying to let Maia know how good her work was. She suspected the others felt the same.

The next three were Paige, then Vienna, then Madison. Ava thought all their bakes looked spectacular, especially Vienna’s barbecue, complete with a miniature gas grill that looked so real, Ava expected to feel heat coming off it. Liza systematically pointed out a couple positive things and more negative things on each of them, but the other chefs clapped each time, and Maia even whistled at Vienna’s.

“Ava, you’re next,” Liza said, and the staff members carried her bake out and set it on the display table. Regan gave her a little thumbs-up as she headed toward the front and took her place near her project.

“To me,” she said, forcing cheer into her tone, “the Fourth of July represents family and gathering, and all I kept thinking of for that was a big picnic in the park. Right? Lush green grass, all the regular picnic foods, games like corn hole, and then, once it gets dark, fireworks.”

Liza circled the bake, taking in the details. Ava stood still, hands clasped behind her back, and tried not to sweat through her chef’s coat. “Your picnic table is a little unsteady.” She poked it with a finger, but it didn’t collapse or fall over. “Nice work on the Isomalt. Your fireworks are impressive. How’d you get them to stay up like that?”

Ava pointed to the clear sticks Becca had found somewhere. “Just these. They worked well.”

Liza nodded. “Mm-hmm.” She took another lap around. “Nice frosting. And your piping is consistent. Good work. Very, very good work.” She waved a hand, and the staff guys came in to whisk her project away.

Almost instantly, her heart began to ease up on the pounding, and she headed back to her spot. But when her eyes met Regan’s, the expression shocked her. Regan wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were dark and cloudy, and her face had lost all color. Ava mouthed Are you okay? just as Liza called Regan’s name.

Regan closed her eyes for a moment, then seemed to have to force herself to walk to the front of the room. She didn’t look at Ava. What in the world was going on with her?

It only took another few seconds for the answer to that question to become perfectly, horrifyingly clear.

“Oh, my,” Liza said. “What have we here?”

Ava stared. Regan’s bake looked exactly like hers, complete with Isomalt fireworks in red and blue, and tiny fondant foods on the picnic table made of brownies.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no…

“Pretty sure I specifically said not to share your ideas with anybody,” Liza said, and there was something about the tone of her voice. She knew , Ava thought. She saw both our bakes from the beginning. She had to know we were making the same thing, yet she never spoke up.

“I didn’t,” Regan said, her voice so soft, Ava almost didn’t hear it.

“No? Then how did you come up with Ava’s idea?”

“I—” The battle in Regan’s head was clear on her face, and Ava watched it play out. Regan cleared her throat. “I followed your instructions. I guess we just had the same idea.”

There was only one explanation for what had happened. The assistants. Either Hadley had stolen Ava’s idea or Becca had stolen Regan’s. And since this idea had been a suggestion from Becca…

Jesus Christ.

Ava thought back on the tiny details. The cornhole—Becca’s idea. The fireworks—Ava’s suggestion, but the Isomalt was Becca’s. Even the tiny foods on the picnic table. Ava had wanted to add people, but Becca thought they’d be too difficult and suggested they focus on food instead.

Becca had stolen Regan’s idea and passed it to Ava as her own.

Oh, God.

She was stuck. The last thing a chef did was throw their sous chef under the bus. It was considered cheap and unfair and an asshole move, and when there was an issue, the chef took the fallout, similar to a captain going down with the ship. Plus, Liza would take way too much pleasure in frying her like an egg if she blamed Becca. But she was sure that’s who was to blame. She couldn’t even begin to get into the why of it yet. She was too stunned.

“I don’t tolerate cheating, even in a retreat where there are no grades.” Liza shook her head, and there was something about her expression. “You came here to learn, and stealing isn’t something I teach.” With the wave of her hand, she dismissed Regan, but Ava still watched her face because there was something…

And then Liza met her gaze, and it hit her.

She’s enjoying this.

Liza Bennett-Schmidt quirked one corner of her mouth just enough for Ava to understand. She liked the turmoil. She fed off the discord.

What the fuck?

Regan hurried back to her station, eyes on the floor, face flaming red. Ava kept her eyes on her, pleading for her to look up, but she wouldn’t. Ava saw a drop fall from her cheek and realized she was silently crying. Her heart squeezed in her chest.

“Well.” Liza stood before them, doing her best to feign a concerned expression, but it was too late. Ava had already seen behind the mask, and she knew. “That’s not how I expected this day to go. I don’t have the words to express my disappointment.”

For the first time, Ava looked around at the others. Madison looked at the floor. Vienna gave her a small smile. Maia glared in Regan’s direction. Paige looked at Regan, too, and just shook her head in slow disapproval.

They thought Regan was guilty.

Liza turned and left without another word, which was new. She probably needs to go have a laugh and doesn’t want to do it in front of us.

Ava hurried across the aisle and reached for Regan, who flinched away. “Regan, I am so sorry,” she said on a whisper. “I had no idea—”

But when Regan finally looked up at her, there was fire in her eyes. Anger. Rage. “How could you?” Her eyes flashed, and her hands balled into fists. “How could you do that to me?”

“I didn’t—”

“I trusted you, and you know what? I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it.” The words were filled with venom and pain. “I knew you were too good to be true.” She shoved past Ava and hurried out of the room, not looking at the others, who were all doing a terrible of job of acting like they hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“It wasn’t her,” Ava said to the other four. Her voice was quiet, and a wave of shame rolled through her. “She didn’t steal my idea. I stole hers.”

Madison gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand.

“Not intentionally,” Ava clarified. “But I think Becca did.”

They had likely all been assistants or sous chefs at some point, so the skepticism was clear. Sous chefs caught the brunt of the rage of head chefs constantly. And while they were generally not blamed for mistakes publicly, they were often verbally pummeled in the privacy of the kitchen.

“I know. I know,” Ava said, shaking her head. There was a beat, and then the others started to gather their things. Distancing themselves? Maybe. Ava couldn’t blame them. There was still a hundred grand up for grabs, and who wanted to get caught in the turmoil of a cheating scandal? She braced her hands on her counter and wanted to laugh. This wasn’t culinary school or a reality TV show. It was a simple retreat. For learning a craft. She hadn’t come there to compete with others. She’d come to improve her own skills. But Liza Bennett-Schmidt had turned it all into something quite a bit different while they weren’t paying attention.

When she glanced up from her counter, everybody was gone. She ran her tongue around inside her cheek. “Okay then,” she said on a sigh and gathered up her own stuff. With one last glance around the kitchen, she said aloud, “I need to figure out how to make this right.”