Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 126

Abby

It’s been raining cats and dogs all morning, but I’m too excited to care. All I can think about is the anticipation buzzing in my chest as I make my way up the walkway to the upscale studio where the interviews for the cook-off are being held.

“Hello,” I say from under my umbrella to a security guard leaning against a post, looking bored. “Is this the right entrance for the interviews?”

“Yup,” he says, nodding, and gestures to a set of double doors behind him. “Head in there, take a left, and follow the hallway to the end.”

“Thank you.”

As I step through the doors, my heart rises into my throat. It’s all I can do to swallow it and force my feet to carry me forward.

I’ve never been on television before. This is going to be both exciting and terrifying, and probably more terrifying than the former. But, thankfully, I’ve arrived early and I feel prepared. I’ve spent the past week practicing for my questions, and I have my answers ready to go. All that’s left now is to get this interview over with, and then tomorrow is the cook-off.

The cook-off.

I can’t believe it’s already almost here. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be walking into another television studio where I’ll be competing in front of a live audience. Am I just as prepared for that as I am for this interview?

I really, really hope so.

But at the same time, aside from the interview and the cook-off, there’s another knot of dread forming in my stomach—this time, thanks to Karl.

He’ll be leaving after tomorrow, only returning in a few weeks for the Alpha party, and then leaving again.

I think, in a weird way, I took his presence for granted. I feel a little selfish because of that. All this time, he’s been putting aside his extremely important Alpha duties for me. And I have so much to show for it. But what does he have? Wasted time? I hope it’s been more than that for him, but I have no way of knowing.

Suddenly, I’m pulled back to reality. Crisp lighting, a monochrome palette, and a faint scent of hairspray fill the air as I walk down the hall, my heels clicking on the marble floor—everything about it screams professionalism.

I’m then greeted by an assistant and directed to a waiting area that looks more like a beauty salon, complete with hair and makeup stations.

I glance around and spot the three other contestants—a tall, rugged man with a European air about him, an older-looking man who doesn’t even glance my way, and an impeccably dressed man with black hair and a disdainful expression that seems glued to his face. They’re both in the process of having their hair done, and a makeup artist waits nearby.

I sit in the empty chair next to the black-haired man introducing myself with a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Abby,” I say, holding my hand out.

“Daniel,” he says, holding his hand out without lifting his gaze from the magazine in his lap. I shake it, feeling all too awkward as his hand practically crushes mine. When I pull away, I feel oddly violated in a strange sort of way.

I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you. I’m the owner of La Belle Vie Bistro in town.”

Daniel smirks as if he just heard a good joke. “La Belle Vie Bistro? Isn’t that the place that got famous for hiring a homeless man?”

My eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. “You mean Anton? Yes, he’s an incredible chef.”

Daniel chuckles as if I’ve just affirmed something he’s been suspecting. “I’m sure he is. But cleanliness is also crucial in the kitchen, don’t you think?”

My cheeks flush, annoyance flickering through me. “Our kitchen is spotless, and we’ve consistently received top ratings on all our health inspections, thank you very much.”

Suddenly, the other man chimes in, setting down his magazine. “Ah, yes, the local bistro with the unconventional staffing.”

“And you are…?” I ask politely, leaning forward a bit to meet his gaze.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Frederick. Pleasure.”

“Same to you,” I respond with a smile.

Frederick pauses, then licks his lips and speaks. “It’s making some waves, you know. Your reputation about your staff. You should consider yourself fortunate if it doesn’t affect your ratings.”

My fingers curl around the armrests of the chair. “If it comes to that, I’ll deal with it. But honestly, I’m not worried.”

Daniel arches an eyebrow. “You must be quite brazen, then, to not worry about such things.”

I grind my teeth, forcing a smile on my face. “And what about you, Daniel? Where’s your restaurant?”

Suddenly, the older man who has been silent all along speaks up, still not looking my way. “Daniel owns a two-star restaurant. I’m Bryan, by the way.”

Daniel smirks, and I feel a twinge of envy. In the culinary world, there are three star ratings: one being a basic restaurant, two being an Alpha hotspot, and three? Well, those are reserved for the best of the best.

La Belle Vie Bistro’s reputation has been slowly climbing lately, but we’re still one star. Becoming a two-star restaurant feelings like a distant dream right now, and it’s something that only one woman chef has ever accomplished in this country. I have faith that it will come eventually, but not for a while. Star ratings aren’t handed out like candy.

However, I manage to shake my envy off quickly. After all, stars aren’t everything. Daniel’s attitude, on the other hand, leaves much to be desired.

I guess I expected rivalry in this competition, but not like this. I feel the intense need to prove him wrong—to show him that I deserve to be here as much as anyone else, if not more.

The makeup artist gestures for me to come over, and I willingly oblige, giving myself a chance to be separated from Daniel and his needling comments. As I walk away, I feel Daniel’s gaze on me, as if he’s sizing up his competition.

Well, let him look. Let him underestimate me.

I sit in the chair and the makeup artist gets to work, but my mind is racing. Daniel’s snide comments have lit a fire in me, and I’m more determined than ever to give this cook-off everything I’ve got. After all, I’ve faced worse adversaries, and I’ve always come out on top.

Frederick’s words are also ringing in my ears. Waves? What did he mean by that? Is hiring Anton—someone who deserved a chance—really something that could backfire on me? The thought makes me grit my teeth.

If doing the right thing is going to bring me criticism, then so be it. I’ll face it head-on, just like everything else.

I look at my reflection as the artist applies the finishing touches. My eyes meet my own, and for a moment, I hardly even recognize myself. My hair is curled into perfect waves rather than its usual bun, my face is perfectly blushed and contoured, and my eyelashes are longer than ever.

Is this what it’s like to be a female chef in the public eye? A doll to be made up whenever I need to get people to like me?

The makeup artist leans back, admiring her work. “You’re all set,” she says, nodding more to herself than to me. “You can head to the greenroom.”

I force a smile and stand, smoothing my shirt down. “Thank you.”

Just as I’m turning around to leave, though, the door opens. “Sorry I’m late!” a breathy voice calls out. A black woman with a curly afro steps in, shaking her umbrella.

My eyes widen.

Is this…

“Vanessa Greene?” I find myself blurting out, my mouth agape.

The woman’s eyes meet mine, and a smile twitches across her lips. “That’s me.”

I feel as though my heart is about to leap out of my chest. This is no random contestant; this is none other than Vanessa Greene, one of the most renowned female chefs in the country, the owner of an entire chain of 3-star restaurants, and…

My biggest role model in the entire world.