Heat 1 (Heat: Master Chefs #1) Read online

  HEAT

  Master Chef: HEAT Serial

  VOL. 1

  Kailin Gow

  HEAT (HEAT: Vol 1)

  Published by Kailin Gow Books

  And theEDGEbooks.com

  Copyright © 2014 Kailin Gow

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information, please contact:

  Kailingowbooks(at)aol(dot)com.

  First Edition.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  DEDICATION

  To My Readers, Betas, and Kailin Krusaders, Thank You for All Your Love, Support, and Encouragement. You are truly one of the most important reasons why I’m blessed beyond measure.

  Prologue

  Bobby

  The music from the nightclub pounded into my brain and the lights that flashed here and there added to the dizziness. Man, was this what getting wasted all about? Dizzy, nauseated, monster headache? Shit. I would never drink again.

  I suddenly remembered all those times in high school when a few of the guys had tried to get me to drink, tried to get me drunk… ‘Come on, Bobby, just one beer.’ ‘Hey, Bobby, how about a shot of tequila?’

  Back in the States, I was still under the legal drinking age, and man did my mom constantly remind me of that.

  “If you want to get into a good school, you better fly right, Bobby.”

  So I did, until last night when I arrived in Paris; legal drinking age eighteen, thank you very much. I wasted no time getting wasted. What else is an eighteen year old guy supposed to do?

  But as I tried to lift my head off the floor, a stinky, sticky floor, I tried to count the number of drinks I’d had. I knew I’d started off with a few beers, threw in a few shots of something sweet and strong, and topped it off with a snifter of cognac.

  While in Paris, right?

  Still, while I knew it wasn’t a great idea to mix, all in all, I hadn’t really had that much to drink. It was just enough to get me partying, get me dancing, and get me talking some God awful French that I’m sure made no sense.

  That didn’t keep the girls from coming, though. No sir. I don’t know if it was my boyish good looks, my cute American accent or my New York sense of style… oh, or maybe it was that I’d shown off my abs. I remembered pulling my shirt up a few times, giving the girls a peek. And then I simply took my shirt off entirely and paraded around like some kind of egomaniacal peacock. Hell, I put enough work to get my abs so tight and taut, I didn’t see the harm in showing off a bit? Anyway these French dames just kept coming. Older ones, younger ones, hot ones, hotter ones. The night had been a veritable smorgasbord of feminine bodies; boobs, asses and even more boobs.

  “Ah, mais regardez ce beau derriere,” one older woman had called out as she’d swatted my butt.

  Women weren’t really shy about reaching out and grabbing whatever appealed to them. If they liked what they saw, they went after it. It’d been pretty cool at first, but I’ll admit, it became a little intimidating after a while, like I had some kind of standard to live up to, or something.

  Then again, I knew I was asking for it when I mentioned that I was Errol King’s kid brother.

  “Le chef Errol King?” one amazed young woman had asked.

  Yes, hard to believe, but the most baddest bad boy chef Errol King had been tamed by my own sister Taryn. Who would’ve thought the celebrity chef would ever settle down. The man was tied up and unavailable, while I was free and more than willing to taste a variety of women.

  That was until my head had started pounding and my stomach had decided to start turning somersaults.

  I pried my face off the floor and tried to stand, but the entire room started spinning and everything came at me in sets of two. I leaned up against the wall as two cute girls with flashy magenta hair held out two glasses of wine while each smiled with their two bright red mouths. For a moment I thought I was going to get my first taste of twins. The prospect was both thrilling and daunting. Two girls at once. Was I up for it?

  There was really no point worrying about it. As it turned out, all I had to do was shake my head to get rid of the slightly disturbing image and get my eyes to focus on the one girl in front of me.

  “Vous allez bien?” the girl asked.

  I shook my head. “I’ve been better.” Then I remembered where I’d seen her before. Earlier in the night; she’d insisted I come to this part of town, to this club. The only word I’d been able to translate in her argument had been ‘party.’

  Yep, I’d wanted to party and I’d been ready to follow her anywhere. With Taryn and Errol still enjoying their honeymoon, I was on my own to explore my new home for the next couple of years while enrolled at the Culinary Institute.

  She planted a big, slobbering kiss on my mouth and if I’d been sober I’m sure I would have enjoyed it, but as it was, I felt all the more nauseated.

  “I need some air,” I said. She looked at me with that frown everyone had been giving me ever since I arrived. I took in an exaggerated big breath and said, “De l’air.”

  “Ah, oui. Absolument. Venez avec moi.” She helped me get my balance as I left the solidity of the wall, and led me to a door at the back of the club.

  The minute the cool night air slapped my face, I had to lean against the graffiti filled brick wall and vomit. By the time I’d spit out the last of it, I turned and she was gone.

  “Great,” I muttered. I looked up and down the street hoping to get some sense of where I was. Looking up above the rooftops, I tried to find the ever present Eiffel Tower, but it was nowhere to be seen.

  Had I left Paris?

  No. I couldn’t have.

  Clinging to the wall, I walked to the corner and looked at the street sign. Maybe I could call Taryn and get her to come pick me up. Crimé and Jomard. It shouldn’t be too hard to Taryn to find it, especially if Errol was with her. I crossed my fingers hoping she was in town. Last I’d heard she was still out at Errol’s country cottage. I pulled out my phone and tapped the first name on my contact list.

  In Paris, she and Errol were my only contacts.

  But no sooner had I tapped her name that my screen went black.

  “You're kidding me,” I groaned. Hadn’t I charged my phone just before leaving the campus? I was sure I had.

  Well, whether I had or not was pointless now. My phone was out. If I wanted a ride I’d have to find a landline.

  I looked down the intersecting street. The main entrance to the club I’d just sneaked out of was right there. Maybe I could go back in and get an employee to call a cab for me. But after only a step or two, I remembered the inexplicable fear that had accompanied my initial wave of nausea.

  It wasn’t a fear of being sick, but a fear of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Something wasn’t right about that place; about the people in it.

  No. I had to leave the club; put as much space between it and myself as I could. I’d find another phone. Surely there was a bistro or café somewhere close by. For heaven’s sake, there was a café at every corner. But as I took a step in the opposite direction, the street suddenly began to waver, like a huge piece of black licorice. My stomach wanted to escape.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, an ice pick of a headache suddenly blasted me just above my left eye.

  “Shit.” Holding my cool palm to my heated forehead, I closed my eyes and stopped walking. Between the blinding headache and the licor
ice like street, I couldn’t take another step. The headache remained blinding and intense for fifteen seconds before it finally subsided. What the fuck had that magenta-haired bitch put in my drink?

  I knew I was a little naïve when it came to alcohol, but I was sure I was feeling the effects of something other than a few drinks.

  Angry with myself as much as with her, I knew I had to go back to the club. I wouldn’t make it far out here on my own and maybe, while I was at it, I would confront magenta and get her to tell me what she’d put in my drink.

  I turned abruptly and slammed head on into something soft and supple. It yelped, that light, sweet sort of yelp that only a French girl could emit, and I opened my eyes and looked down at the sprawled out figure on the ground. Two heart-shaped faces surrounded by a mass of chocolate silk hair looked up at me with four huge violet eyes…eyes so bright and shiny like an angel…two angels. Man, I was seeing double again.

  “Taryn?” I said, my vision blurred and seeing strange things. “Oh, my God. Have I been poisoned? Did I die and you're here to take me to heaven? Oh, shit. Do I even make it into heaven?”

  She smiled and only when she struggled to get back on her feet did I realize she’d been waiting for me to help her up. I could be such a dunce sometimes.

  Nonetheless, she took my hand and led me down a narrow, dark alleyway. I should have been on my guard, should have been a little suspicious, but I wasn’t; not at all. She stopped in front of an old rundown building, looked at me and murmured sweet French words that I just couldn’t make out.

  “Oui,” was all I could think to say regardless of what she’d said.

  She nodded, opened the door, led me up the stairs and stopped at door number fifteen. After going through her purse which seemed to hold everything from lipstick to hairspray to mints to some funny looking folded up ballerina slippers, she finally pulled out a key ring with one solitary key and inserted it in the lock.

  I was fascinated by her face, so childlike, yet so feminine and mature. It was impossible to determine how old she was. She could be fifteen, but then again, she could be twenty-two.

  “Voila,” she said.

  And that voice; sultry yet innocent, and confident, but with a touch of hesitation.

  I looked inside the apartment. Where did she bring me and why? She could be another crazy assed bitch like magenta girl, or… At this point I figured I had nothing to lose. It was either crash at this beautiful girl’s place or sleep off whatever I’d ingested on the street.

  Walking in, I was struck with the delicate scent of feminine perfume and felt instantly at ease. I glanced up at her when she pushed the door to her bedroom open and knew I was in good hands.

  Comforted simply by the scent of a perfume and angelic eyes? Well, in my inebriated state, yes. And with that thought, I fell flat onto the bed, drifted off and slept like a rock.

  Chapter 1

  Though my eyes were closed, I was aware of the bright sun that poured into the room and turned away from the source and managed to nod off again. My sleep was invaded with images of that angel. She floated into my room, nudged up beside me and warmed me with her body before getting to her feet to dance in a sweet and seductive way.

  Her body swayed and I knew it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Of course she did have a strange taste in music. It wasn’t anything raunchy or sexy. In fact, it was a silly and childish song.

  Was that patty-cake, or hickory dickory or… knick knack patty wack? Shit! My phone! I bolted upright and looked at the bedside table where my phone sat blaring the silly song, but by the time I reached for it, it fell silent. I frowned at it for a moment. Was it mocking me? The last time I’d desperately needed it, it was blank and useless.

  “Well, well, well,” Taryn said as she came to the doorway and looked down at me. “It’s about time you open those eyes of yours.”

  I tried to say something to her, but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and all I managed was a pain-filled groan.

  “I knew you were too young to come out here,” she said.

  I glared at her and turned to put my feet to the floor, but immediately regretted the sudden move. My head continued to turn for a few seconds still.

  “You do realize that it’s Tuesday, don’t you?”

  My eyes widened in surprise and I wondered if she wasn’t pulling my leg. I’ve been knocked out for two days?

  “Yes, Tuesday. If you didn’t wake up within the next hour I was going to take you to the hospital. The only thing that kept me from bringing you there to begin with was Errol. He was convinced you’d sleep off whatever it is that you need to sleep off.”

  “Where…?” I managed to choke out.

  She disappeared into the apartment for a few seconds and returned with a tall glass of water.

  Nothing had ever looked so good.

  “You're in Errol’s new apartment.” She handed me the glass and sat beside me on the edge of the bed shaking her head in disgust.

  I gulped down the water and held it out to her in a request for more. Glaring at me, she took the glass, and slammed it onto the bedside table.

  The slam almost did me in. I reached for my aching head. “Please be careful. I have a bitching headache.”

  “Serves you right,” she said, using the same tone Mom always used when we’d done something she didn’t approve of. “What were you doing in the 19th district?”

  “Where?”

  “We found you not far from the Parc de la Villette.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Just that. I don’t know how I got there. One minute I’m in this flashy club with bright lights and beautiful women, and the next minute I’m in this seedy place that smells of cheap perfume, and cheaper cologne with a hint of urine mixed into the blend.

  “Great. Welcome to Paris.” She crossed her arms over her chest and silently dared me to explain myself.

  “You don’t understand, Taryn. This isn’t just some run of the mill hangover. It’s not like I went out and drank everything in sight. Someone put something in my drink. I mean I was seeing double… like really double. And the streets literally melted under my feet. And I think I even saw an angel. Shit, that’s not from alcohol, is it?”

  “So our lost adventurer has finally awakened.” The deep, velvety male voice had a smooth and sexy French accent.

  Man, if I could talk like that, all the ladies would be at my knees.

  “Hey, Errol,” I said.

  Errol King had a reputation for being a rough and tough professor at the International Culinary Institute in Paris, but I wasn’t intimidated by him. After seeing him with Taryn these past weeks, I knew he was all pussycat underneath that rough exterior.

  “You know, you had your sister going nuts with worry. You could be waking up in a hospital bed, young man.”

  “You should be waking up in a hospital bed,” Taryn said. “I’m still not convinced bringing you here was a good idea. You're probably dehydrated and more.”

  “Taryn, I told you how things work here in France,” Errol said. “Illicit drugs are not tolerated… no matter what your story is.”

  “Hey, man, I didn’t take any drugs. I swear. Someone slipped something in…”

  “I told you. It doesn’t matter what your story is.”

  “Errol,” Taryn said. “Surely they’d understand that he didn’t deliberately take any drugs. He’s a naïve young American who got lured by the wrong crowd .”

  Errol looked at his wife, and while there was definitely a lot of love in his gaze, there was also a bit of reprimand. “Not only would they not understand, but they would have called the police. He could have gotten up to a year in prison.”

  If he was trying to scare me straight, it was working. I’d never been the kind of guy to take interest in drugs – my brain was loopy enough as it was – and my night out on the town brought down by drugs added to my disinterest, but if I n
eeded another incentive to keep away from the stuff, that certainly was it.

  “Well,” Taryn said as she stood and picked up my empty glass of water. “It’s useless to talk about all that now, anyway. You’re awake, you seem to be feeling better and no harm was done. At least I hope so. I swear, Bobby, if the cops come here saying you got into some kind of trouble while you were out there hallucinating, I’m shipping you back to Mom in New York.”

  I wanted to tell her I hadn’t done anything illegal, but, truth was, I wasn’t really sure. For all I knew, the cops could very well knock on the door and tell her I’d done something awful.

  “How did you guys find me?”

  “Your angel.”

  “Huh?”

  “That angel you were talking about,” Taryn said. “Really pretty. And smart. I didn’t think you’d go for that type.”

  “What the hell do you mean by that?” Type? Did I have a type? I love all women.

  “Just very sweet and… nice. A really nice girl.”

  “I like nice,” I groaned.

  “Anyway, she was smart enough to find your phone, realize it was out of battery, recharge it, and called the emergency contact number on there. Which was me.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve passed by Canal St. Denis,” Errol said. “It’s not a part of town a lot of tourists go to.”

  “I’d say, it’s probably not a part of town tourists should go to,” Taryn added. “I mean, think of it, Bobby. Anything could have happened to you.”

  “Yeah, we could have ended up fishing you out of the Canal.”

  My head continued to spin, and their constant harping on how bad things could have turned out didn’t help any. I stood and staggered to the window to look outside. It was a bright, sunny day and the glare of the sun beamed off the domed roof of the Basilica in the distance. A dull, grey day would have suited me just fine. I wanted to spend the day in bed, in the dark.

  “Didn’t you sell the apartment in the city? I thought you guys were living out in the country,” I finally said as I looked down at the buildings that surrounded Errol’s apartment. He had a bird’s eye view over the entire city.