"Hand me the chili pepper."
Rian gave me what I asked for, and I quickly cut them up and added them to the sauce. We moved fluidly, like a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync despite our differences. Every once in a while I would glance over at him on impulse, with that promise of his ringing in my ears.
You never have to see me again.
Then I would scowl at where my thoughts had strayed, and turn back to my work.
The clock on the wall read that we had half an hour left. What I was trying to do wasn't easy, but I'd been harbouring a lot of anger recently, and cooking had always provided an outlet. I only hoped the judges would be able to handle it.
"Okay," I breathed, stepping back. "We need to let this fry for a bit." Rian nodded and busied himself with chopping up some vegetables. It was hard to keep my eyes from lingering.
Instead, I glanced up at the stands. Rokim grinned as soon as we made eye contact. I caught the gazes of Adrian and Prof, looking on encouragingly. Adrian flashed me a thumbs up, and I smiled despite myself.
Then my focus drifted to the left, where Lisa sat. But upon seeing her face, my smile faded.
Her eyes were wide with shock, and then horror. She cut her eyes to mine worriedly, then tilted her head in the direction behind me. I frowned, turning to follow her gaze. Inexplicably, I felt ice-cold dread slither down my back. What could have made even Lisa look so—
A grinning set of teeth stopped me in my tracks.
Vanessa leaned against a table, wearing an apron that betrayed her to be a member of the competition. Her unnerving smile grew when I locked eyes with her. The sliver of dread I'd felt suddenly made sense.
I glanced between her and Lisa rapidly, not comprehending what was going on. Lisa caught my gaze again and slowly pointed to their table. My eyes darted back and zoned in on the name-tag on Vanessa's station, the one that identified their school. My blood ran cold.
"Bainbridge," I murmured in disbelief. "She joined up with Bainbridge Academy."
Our biggest competitors. She'd dropped out of our program for them?
My eyes flitted to Vanessa's partner. A young blond man was moving at a blindingly fast speed through the station, his pale blue eyes moving even faster. He would bark commands at Vanessa, who complied almost immediately. I was surprised by how harsh his voice was, but what was even more shocking was the fact that Vanessa did it all without complaint.
It was only then that I put the final pieces of the puzzle together.
He was Jared Benoit, the impossible-to-work-with chef Lisa had told me about. He must have been. And that meant that Vanessa . . . Vanessa was his AC. His AC.
She hated us—me—so much that she'd become an Assistant just to try her hand at beating me? That was insane.
Just then, Vanessa glanced up from where she'd been slicing at a cutting board. Another bone-chilling grin spread across her face, and she blew me a kiss with the knife in her hand. My eyes widened.
The way she was looking at me . . . it was nothing like before. Her gaze glowed with venomous fervour. She wasn't just hateful. She was unhinged.
Maybe insanity wasn't as far out of reach as I'd thought.
"Hanna?"
Rian's voice snapped me out of it. I broke my gaze away from Vanessa and turned to look up at him. I guess something in my face must have tipped him off to my distress, because he frowned.
"What is it?" he asked.
I glanced in Bainbridge's direction again, and Rian followed my eyes. "We have some unexpected competition."
Surprisingly, Rian gave a short laugh in response. My eyes darted to his again as he smirked. "I always thought she was threatened by you, but this is just funny."
To my chagrin, the beginnings of a blush tainted my cheeks. Before Rian could see it, I pivoted on my heel and refocused on the food. "Threatened or not, Bainbridge is a big deal. Especially if Vanessa is bitter enough to stomach that asshat of a chef."
That sobered him up. "What do you want to do?" he asked, more seriously.
I contemplated the question. We had 25 minutes left on the clock. I'd originally planned on simply relying on the taste of my food to win, but now an extra component was needed to completely trump all our competition. I gave Rian a sidelong glance and sighed heavily.
I had no pride.
"Remember when we made that bet?" I asked grudgingly.
His brow furrowed. "Yes."
"Well, I need you to tap into some of that MIT-art-class talent for me. Can you?"
He scoffed. "Oh, is that all?" he asked mockingly. I scowled and stepped closer to him, hyper-aware of Vanessa's vulturous gaze on the two of us.
"Can you or can you not?" I hissed, glaring up into his face.
He smirked back down at me, and my ire grew when I realized he wasn't taking my anger seriously. I was about to tell him off when I felt something feather-light brush against my cheek, and my voice died in my throat.
Rian tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His smirk transformed into a rueful smile, and my fury faltered, momentarily unsure where to fire its vengeance.
For one confusing moment, I wondered how I could possibly be angry at him, this glorious creature, with his hand on my face and his eyes in my soul.
"Anything for the belle of the ball," he murmured.
Against my will, I found myself drawn in to him. His hand drifted over my cheek, the pads of his fingers dragging over the flushed skin. He was close—far too close. My eyelids fluttered.
Then his touch vanished, and he moved away from me.
I stood there for a moment, entirely still. Only a few seconds within close proximity, and he'd toppled my defences. Just like he always did.
I heard the sound of more vegetables being cut behind me, and I compelled myself to remember his words, not an hour earlier. You never have to see me again.
At the thought of that promise, my fury rushed back, tingling from my toes to my fingertips. He had no right. He had no right to say something like that, to mean it, and still make my heart race without even trying. My fists began to clench.
But I stopped, and forced the matter from my mind. This wasn't the time for another petty conflict. For now, we'd have to work together. I could only cling onto the promise that I wouldn't have to see him again anytime after this. Just today. One day, and I'd be free.
As soon as I crushed Vanessa and her blond lackey into the dust.
Soon.
With that thought in mind, I readjusted my sleeves and got back to work.
♛
"The competition is now over!"
I breathed heavily, leaning against the counter behind me. We'd just barely managed to finish in time. Rian leaned next to me, rapidly twirling a small knife between the fingers of one hand. The other hand was tapping.
He looked at our three plates appraisingly. "Maybe I really should have gone to MIT."
I glanced at the judge panel distractedly. "Yeah. You should have," I muttered in response. "At least then you wouldn't be here."
The knife stopped twirling. "Oh, here?" he taunted. "Helping you win, you mean?"
"We haven't won yet." My response was curt, and curbed any further conversation. Now that we were done, I didn't want to talk.
I gave Vanessa's team a sidelong glance, and felt a surge of unease when I found her already watching me. She gave me another wolfish grin and a salute. The knife was still in her hand.
What was it with everyone and the knives today?
The voice of the announcer dragged my attention from her, but my unease persisted. "The judges will be proceeding according to the number attached to the tag at each table. When your number is called, you may come up to the panel and serve your dish."
Rian and I simultaneously looked at our name-tag, and I stifled a groan. There were one hundred and fourteen contestants at the ecomp this year. And we'd just happened to get lucky number 114.
We were going last.
"Well, this is gonna be a delightful wait," I muttered irritably. I watched as the first group was called, some nameless pair from a third-rate school. My nose wrinkled as they passed. Was that fish?
Rian chuckled darkly nearby. My eyes cut to his in surprise. "You still hate fish?" he asked amusedly. Apparently he'd caught me surveying the competition.
I scowled in response. "Yeah. Fish are nasty."
"But you like sushi," he said matter-of-factly.
My scowl deepened. It irritated me that he still had access to all that knowledge from when we were friends, even though we were as far from friends as possible. "That's because sushi is good. And it's more than just fish."
"It's healthy to have a balanced diet."
"It's also healthy not to eat stuff that smells like feet."
He gave a short laugh. "True enough, I suppose." He smirked at me, but it wasn't as smug as before. "It's just a shame that I won't get to see you grow taller before I go."
Normally, any mention of my height would have had me ready to punch someone. But this time I simply averted my eyes. "I guess not."
We fell into silence after that. The line passed along. I waited with growing nerves as the contestant number on the board increased, getting closer and closer to 114.
It seemed that after each pair went up to serve their food, the judges would sample a tiny taste and question them about it. After that they'd receive a score, which would be featured on an enormous screen above the panel. The average score was around 20 out of 30. Small fries.
I couldn't quite hear what the questions were, though, and I wasn't exactly looking forward to staring into Waddles' smug face and failing them. My thoughts drifted to imagining every possible way I'd be humiliated. It was good stuff.
I was only snapped out of it when I heard the next number called. A quiet murmur rippled throughout the room. The familiar clack clack clack of dangerously high heels made its way to my ears. And Rikki was nowhere in sight.
Vanessa strode past our table, holding all three dishes while Jared walked ahead. His face held a cruel arrogance, as did hers. Truly a match made in heaven, I thought drily.
The dishes she was somehow balancing on her arms, however, were impressive. I couldn't see much as she stalked past me, but what I could spot looked top-of-the-top gourmet. I remembered having the same sensation when I'd first arrived at my study abroad, and everything seemed wildly out of my league.
But I'd come a long way since France.
We waited patiently as they served their food. Rian's fingers were tapping incessantly, but I didn't understand why. He wasn't threatened by Bainbridge—he wasn't threatened by anybody. Why was he so on edge?
Finally, the screen flashed white. Their score appeared, and I scowled.
28 out of 30.
Jared smirked coldly as he descended the steps, Vanessa at his side. As she passed by, she grabbed my arm and yanked me towards her. I stifled my surprise and instead focused on ignoring the way her nails were digging into my forearm.
"What the hell, Vanessa?"
"That feeling you have right now?" Vanessa hissed in response, her eyes alight with that same unsettling hysteria I'd seen earlier. "That inadequacy? Get used to it, Hanna. I won't let you win."
"Uh, not that I'm against a good catfight, but do you really think this is the time—"
"It never should have been you," she interrupted snarkily. "You don't deserve to be a chef. God knows why Prof recruited you in the first place."
I rolled my eyes. "You know, you sound a lot like a Disney villain right now. Or maybe a Mean Girl."
"What?"
"'Cause you're monologuing."
"Shut up! That stupid nonchalant attitude is why you don't deserve win," she replied angrily. I rolled my eyes again, just because this entire conversation was ridiculous. Other teams were starting to give us strange looks. "This hardly even matters to you. You shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the ecomp!"
I only raised a brow, bored of her meaningless chatter. "Is that all? Because if it is, I have more important things to get back to."
She scowled and finally released me, but not before sending me another ugly glare. "Break a leg," she said snidely, and stalked off after her partner.
"Ugh," I muttered, rubbing the fingernail imprints on my arm. I glared at her retreating back. "That's not even a chef saying. That's for theatre."
"You have interesting taste in friends," Rian remarked drily. I gave him a scowl of my own and didn't respond, content to instead watch and wait for our turn at the panel.
And it eventually came.
The announcer called for pair number 114. I shot one last look at our supporters in the stands before scooping up a dish, leaving Rian the other two. We strode by our other competitors swiftly, reaching the steps in a matter of moments. Finally, we stood before the judges.
"Ms. Hanna Jordan and Mr. Rian Aronhalt," the announcer called, but his voice faded into the background. I placed the first dish in front of the judge to my left, the woman from before, as Rian served Mr. Soo and Waddles.
The dishes were lidded, and Mr. Soo frowned and prodded at one with his fork.
"Why are these covered?" he asked confusedly.
I grinned. "It adds an element of surprise."
With that, Rian and I simultaneously reached over and unveiled the plates. I was satisfied to hear slight gasps from all three judges before me.
"This—what?" the woman stuttered, staring at her dish in amazement.
And what a dish it was. We'd decided on ratatouille as the base, spread onto a creamy spiced pepper soup. Rian had used olive oil and piquillo pepper extract to draw a phoenix-like design around the ratatouille middle, all in beautiful tones of golden yellow and fiery red.
But what really had the judges' mouths hanging open was the small but brilliant centrepiece: an intricately carved crimson bird, cut entirely out of chili pepper.
I'd gotten the inspiration from a certain rooster friend of mine.
"How did you do this?" Mr. Soo asked, regaining enough composure to ask us a question.
Rian and I shared a perplexed glance. "Uh," I said. "With a knife?"
Mr. Soo waved the answer away. "No, I mean, how did you manage in only an hour? And with such detail, too!"
Rian shrugged. "I enjoy art," he responded simply. "It came in handy."
The woman piped up next. "And what were the motivations behind this piece?" she asked, glancing down at the platter.
I answered this one. "The predominant emotion would be anger," I supplied drily, raising a brow. "Or passion. It depends how you look at it. Hence the duality present in the colour scheme—red and yellow, fury and mellow."
She blinked, then examined the dish again, as if she was searching for some obscure, hidden meaning. I doubted she'd been expecting such a detailed response, but she looked a little impressed.
"And what is this anger directed towards?" Mr. Soo asked.
I lifted a shoulder. "Nothing in particular," I lied. "And also anyone and everything. It's a universal idea. The emotion itself is complex, so we thought it'd complement the complexity of the dish we were trying to create as well."
Mr. Soo nodded pensively. "I see. Interesting response."
"Thank you."
He raised his brows. "It may not have been a compliment."
"In my opinion, sir, interesting is always a compliment."
He hummed. "And why is that?"
"Because it's better than boring," I said simply.
He smiled slightly, and I felt a twinge of satisfaction. Apparently, that had been the right answer. He lifted his fork, running it along the edge of the plate. "In that case, why don't we try it?"
The other two judges nodded. I frowned a little—Waddles had been uncharacteristically quiet this entire time. He was simply staring at his plate with a neutral expression. Whatever Rian had said to him, it must have worked.
And you still want him gone?
I shook away the voice in my head. This wasn't the time. Instead, I focused on the image of all three judges taking their first bite. I never got tired of seeing this part.
As they chewed, I saw the woman's eyes widen. Mr. Soo followed suit, and my sense of satisfaction surged when I saw them both lunge in for another taste. Waddles simply finished munching and gripped his fork, looking like he'd just lost a bet. That was a good sign.
Finally, Mr. Soo coughed. "Well, Ms. Jordan," he said. "It seems as though your time in France did you good."
My lips tugged into a half-smile. "Maybe it did."
"You can head back now. You'll see your score on the board shortly."
I nodded and turned, walking back to our table. Rian descended the steps with me. "Do you think that went well?" he asked, nearly at our station.
A small gasp rippled throughout the room. Everyone was looking up behind us. I caught Vanessa's eye and smirked just as we reached our post. I turned to look at the screen, where our score was displayed.
A perfect 30.
"Yeah," I replied in satisfaction. "I think it went well."
The people in the stands went wild, cheering and shaking the room with applause. Getting a perfect score was practically unheard of, and I couldn't keep away the grin that stretched across my face.
Great, you won. Now he'll leave.
The irritating voice, which I'd been hearing more and more lately, tried to make its way past my euphoria, but I forced it back down. I'd worked hard for this. One day of fun wouldn't kill me.
So instead, I simply gave in and joined the celebration.