Hot Under Pressure Read Online Free PDF Page A

Gladwell,” Claire Durand said, in her cultured French way. “It’s lovely to see you again. What do you have for us today?”
    Skye swallowed down the messy wad of adrenaline, bitterness, and grief clogging her throat. It took her a moment to even remember what they’d just cooked, but finally she managed. “My team and I did pan-roasted quail with a carpaccio of baby zucchini, strawberries, and avocado.”
    “Very pretty,” observed the distinguished older gentleman who’d temporarily joined the judging team just before the finals, when celebrity chef Devon Sparks had to leave. Theo Jansen was a legend in culinary circles, although more so in New York than on the West Coast, since that’s where his restaurant empire was based.
    But every chef in the nation recognized him as the founder of the Rising Star Chef competition. The fact that he’d complimented anything about her food gave Skye a thrill that chased some of the gut-wrenching negativity out of her system—even if he might not be a judge for much longer. There was a rumor floating around that Eva Jansen was looking for someone to replace her father on the judging panel.
    Until then? Skye was going to take the compliment and enjoy it. “Thank you,” she said. “I hope you enjoy the flavors.”
    The third judge, Kane Slater, had been silent until now, but he was the first to grab a fork and dig in.
    “Nice color on the bird,” he said as he cut through the crispy, brown skin of the quail with a satisfying crackle. “Wow. The strawberry! I wasn’t expecting that.”
    A trickle of sweat tickled its way down Skye’s spine. She cast a nervous glance at the rest of her teammates. The strawberry had been her addition.
    “I thought the dish needed a little more color and juice,” she offered, twisting her fingers into a knot behind her back. “And fruit is traditional with game birds.”
    “Yes. Usually the fruit is cooked, however.” Claire leaned over to cut a small bite. Skye noticed how meticulous she was about getting a tiny sliver of every single element of the dish onto her fork. “Hmmm.”
    Theo Jansen tried it, too, and gave Skye a smile before thanking her and moving down the table toward Beck.
    Before she could freak out too much that she couldn’t tell what Ms. Durand and Mr. Jansen thought of her dish, Kane Slater gave her a quick wink and a surreptitious thumbs up. It wasn’t enough to totally melt the tension in her shoulders, but it helped. Skye smiled at him gratefully, mentally promising to go out and buy every single one of his albums, even though she was more of a jazz girl herself.
    Now that the judges had moved on, Skye’s teammates crowded closer, reaching for spoons to snatch bites of the dish they’d collectively created.
    Skye’s best friend, Fiona Whealey, licked the bowl of her spoon and scowled. “It’s good. No thanks to me. Damn it, what am I doing here?”
    Fiona was the resident baker at the Queenie Pie Café. Baker, not pastry chef, and God help you if you called her by the wrong job title. Fiona was proudly self-taught, and no one made bread like Fee’s, but her talents were wasted on these short, timed challenges.
    Before Skye could move in for a comforting pep talk, her grill man stepped up. Hugging Fiona close with an arm around her narrow shoulders, Rex Roswell said, “Shut it, Fee-wee, you know we couldn’t get anywhere without our flour-puff girl.”
    It was an old joke, but a reliable one. Fiona laughed and ducked away from Rex to smooth down her perfectly straight, extremely non-puffy hair. The platinum-blonde locks were as baby fine and soft as ever, Skye observed, glad of the long years of practice at denying her own envy.
    She didn’t even want to think about what her crazy red hair had been doing while she talked to Beck.
    “I still think we woulda won if we’d gone vegan.” Their resident hippie health nut poked morosely at the perfectly crisped skin stretched golden and tantalizing across