Bond Ambition

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  BOND AMBITION

  by

  GEMMA HALLIDAY

  &

  JENNIFER FISCHETTO

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  Copyright © 2017 by Gemma Halliday

  http://www.gemmahalliday.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  BOND AMBITION

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  I parked my car in front of the address I'd written on a neon pink sticky note and gasped. Elaine, my passenger and recent close friend, did the same. The house was two stories of wood, stucco, and ceiling-to-floor windows. The roof was flat, and there was a balcony off the second-floor front room. The sun was in a position just left of it and cast a warm amber glow that made the interior walls look like honey. I could make out a platform bed with a light comforter, possibly off-white. This place was more glamorous than I'd anticipated.

  "It's beautiful," Elaine whispered as we stepped from my car.

  I'd met Elaine through my daughter, Maya, and the private investigator she worked for, Jamie Bond. Elaine was Jamie's father's girlfriend. At first glance no one would think we'd be friends. She was petite, curvier than I, and loved animal prints. She currently wore a leopard miniskirt and a black top with shoulder cutouts. I, on the other hand, preferred pearls and patent leather pumps, which were lovely with my short-sleeve yellow silk blouse and cream-colored trousers.

  We stood in front of this mini-mansion because I loved learning. I'd taken several language and cooking classes lately. Sometime after my dear Robert passed away, my thirst for knowledge awakened, as did my appetite. I'd spent most of my life enjoying good American standby dishes. But suddenly I began craving spices and exotic ethnic foods. And while I still enjoyed a cheeseburger or pot roast, I preferred spicy enchiladas with fresh salsa and guacamole or tikka masala with warm naan to soak up the creamy sauce.

  "Charley, are you sure this is the right address?" Elaine asked as I joined her on the sidewalk. In contrast to her small stature, she had an ample bosom that made me sometimes fear gravity would cause her to topple over, and a throaty smoker's voice. I wasn't sure if that was her natural tone or if years of smoking had altered it. Thankfully, for her lungs and our time together, she'd quit smoking a couple of weeks ago. She was doing great so far, except for the loud and frequent gum smacking.

  I looked down at the note in my hand, just to be sure we were indeed at the right place. "Yes, this is it."

  Even though I'd read that internationally acclaimed chef Antonio Machado was holding cooking classes in his Pasadena home, I'd expected to pull up to one of the small bungalows characteristic of the older neighborhood. Not this sleek, contemporary mini-mansion. I hadn't realized just how well off his credentials had made him. I felt a flutter of excitement in my belly at learning from a man who was so obviously doing something very right.

  "He must be very famous to afford to live here," Elaine said breathlessly.

  While Elaine wasn't living on ramen noodles and hand-me-downs, her collar was proudly more blue than white. She worked as a receptionist for Channel Four, which paid the bills but didn't leave a whole lot left over.

  Admittedly, this was a bit out of both of our elements. My wonderful husband, Robert, had left this earth six years ago, and while I still lived in the same home where we raised our precious daughter, Maya, I'd had to scale back on things since his passing. This class, however, was not one of them. And it was not cheap. Some things were meant to be splurged on.

  "Charley, how did you say you found this chef?" Elaine asked as we traveled up the front slate walk that parted the lush emerald green lawn. Her light brown hair was loose in waves just past her shoulders. When I first met her, she'd worn it in a feathered 1970's style, but recently she'd changed it for a more natural look. It suited her apple-shaped face well.

  I tucked the slip with the address into my purse. "Others in my chat group mentioned how great he is."

  "The Foodies are Fun group or the Food is Our Friends?" Elaine asked.

  I belonged to several food chatting groups. There was something magical about putting ingredients together and creating delicious meals. "Foodies are Fun."

  Elaine nodded. She didn't frequent the food sites and blogs, but she accompanied me tonight for two very important reasons. One was our newfound friendship. She and I had helped Maya, Jamie, and the other young women that made up the Bond Agency on their latest case, which had taken us all to Las Vegas. Elaine and I had become honorary private investigators and had a blast helping to capture a criminal or two.

  Since then Elaine and I had frequent lunches and a couple of girls' nights involving umbrella drinks, music, and mild flirting with eligible bachelors. She was better at it than I was, but I was the single one. She called herself my wing chick. Not that I was looking for a man in my life. I'd had Robert. I wasn't arrogant enough to believe that one received a second love as fabulous as her first.

  Elaine's second reason for joining me tonight was her feelings for Derek—her on-again, off-again boyfriend. I wasn't sure what their current status was, but it was obvious to me she was smitten with him. And cooking him a dinner that didn't come out of a box or from a restaurant seemed very appealing to her.

  I pressed the bell and stared at my reflection in the glass insert of the wooden double doors. I ran a hand over the top of my brown hair. I'd decided to wear it back in a low bun, concerned about loose hairs falling into whatever we'd be cooking. The sun glinted off my peach-colored lip gloss. Normally I wore lipstick, but I wanted the ability to easily wipe it off tonight. It was unappetizing to get red or pink smears on my food.

  The door opened, and a breath caught in my throat. Standing before us was a Greek god in loose navy pants and nothing else. His feet and chest were bare.

  "Oh my," Elaine whispered with a hoarse giggle. I shot her a quick glance and saw her face had deepened to a shade of pink. I doubted her thoughts were of Derek.

  I, on the other hand, had no guilt staring at the man's exceptional physique. I kept my gaze above the waist, of course. Okay, so maybe my eyes wandered once. Or twi…thrice.

  "Hello, you must be the last of my students," he said with a thick Spanish accent. According to the bio on his website, he'd been born and raised in Argentina until he'd turned eighteen, when he'd then moved to the States and begun his culinary career.

  He took a step back and opened the door wider. "I am Antonio. Please come in."

  We stepped inside, and I did a cursory glance around. The foyer basically consisted of the small area between the wood and glass door and the stairs. To our right was an open living room with a sleek cream-colored couch and matching love seat and armchair. Glass tables, lamps, and a pale stone fireplace filled the fr
ont portion of the room. The back held another couple of armchairs beside a glossy black baby grand piano.

  Dark wood beams ran the length of the room, and hardwood stretched out beneath, except under our feet, where marble tile lay. The windows were all uncovered and made the house look bigger than it was. So breathtaking.

  "And who may each of you be?" Antonio asked.

  I widened my eyes. "Oh, I forgot my manners. Excuse me. I am Charlotte Alexander, but please call me Charley."

  I held out my hand. He gently grabbed my fingers and lifted my palm to his mouth. I watched as his soft-looking lips traveled closer and closer to my flesh. It felt as if it happened in slow motion. When they met, a slight tingle ran up my arm.

  Then he turned to Elaine and greeted her the same way. She giggled again when he kissed her hand.

  "Welcome, welcome, ladies. Please come in."

  We followed him through the foyer to the left and into a large gourmet kitchen. The stainless steel appliances and gray quartz countertops gleamed. Seated around the large middle island were four other women, each sharply dressed in their Sunday best beneath full-length burgundy aprons. None of us looked like we were ready to get messy cooking.

  Three of the other students were around my age—close to retirement, although I still felt like I was forty. The fourth woman, however, had to be in her early twenties. The contrast shouldn't have been startling, but for some reason it was.

  "Ladies, please welcome our latest members," Antonio said to the group.

  They each smiled, said hello, and introduced themselves.

  I had to give the women monikers to remember their names. I didn't want to forget one. It would be so embarrassing if I had to point or refer to someone as "hey, you." Judy wore her gray hair up in a bun with soft tendrils loose around her long, angular face. She had bright blue eyes, the same light color as her top. She was slender and appeared to be tall, perhaps even athletic. It was hard to tell, but her arms were well toned. I planned to refer to her as Jock Judy, which reminded me of Judge Judy, who was a riot at times.

  Martha sat beside Jock Judy. She sipped her wine continuously. One sip after another. I didn't think the glass sat on the counter for more than ten seconds at any one moment. From what I could tell from the level of the sloshing red liquid, she took tiny sips. Maybe she was nervous about tonight. She became Merlot Martha. Even though we were drinking chardonnay.

  The next woman in line was the young one. Baby Bonnie. Her long, straight dark hair was pulled up into a superhigh ponytail on the top of her head. She wore little red rose stud earrings, no makeup, jeans, sneakers, and a plaid top. She not only stood out from the rest of us due to her age but also her style.

  The last woman, Fawn, was a rather fashionable woman in a black pencil skirt and a short-sleeve olive top. A diamond pendant lay on her chest, just above the deep V-neck of her shirt. Large diamond studs sat in her earlobes, and she obviously wasn't worried about marking her food, because a bright fuchsia lipstick covered her wide mouth. She batted her spider-leg-long lashes at Chef Antonio as soon as we entered the room. Yes, she was Flirty Fawn.

  Elaine and I walked to the empty side of the island and took our places on a couple of backless stools. Antonio handed us each a burgundy-colored apron, which I gladly put on. Now that I stood there, I realized how thoughtless it was to wear yellow and white. I'd wanted to look my best, perhaps impress my teacher a bit, but I'd forgotten we'd likely be doing something that could cause stains. I'd been somewhat of a teacher's pet in school. I guess that hadn't changed much all of these years later.

  "Now that we're all here, let's get started." Antonio lifted his chef's knife and spoke about how important it was to use quality knives and to keep them sharpened. "Using a dull knife is like applying mascara with a fork. Difficult and dangerous."

  Several of us giggled at his reference, although it was an odd analogy since he'd probably never applied mascara.

  "What will we be making today, Chef?" Fawn asked. She smiled widely and batted her lashes again when he looked her way. I started to wonder if maybe she had a tick.

  "Today we will be mastering one of my favorite comfort meals. My mama used to make this."

  Comfort? I was hoping for something more elegant.

  He turned to the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a butcher block. On top was one of those domed lids. He set it on the island and lifted the top.

  There was a Vidalia onion, a yellow bell pepper, a tomato, a large, long green pepper that looked like a poblano, a small red onion, a lemon, herbs, and a thick, marbled ribeye.

  Everyone oohed.

  Everyone but me.

  We were making steak and veggies? Surely that couldn't be all. He was an acclaimed Latin chef. I expected something more exotic. Something more foreign. Something I didn't know how to make.

  Then he turned to the counter behind him and showed us a glass bowl covered with plastic wrap. Inside was a mound of rising dough.

  Antonio flashed a brilliant smile. "Tonight we are making steak fajitas with homemade salsa and tortillas."

  While fajitas seemed pretty basic for the type of class fee I'd paid, at least the homemade tortillas would be something new.

  He pulled out a small box from a shelf under the island. It held additional peppers, onions, tomatoes, and lemons, but no steaks, which was just as well. Who wanted to eat a steak that had been left out of refrigeration? He handed out the fruits and vegetables to each of us. He informed us he would be cooking the steak as a whole and then slicing it for us after the proper rest period, and the dough had a few more minutes of rising before he divided it up.

  He placed a baking sheet in the middle of the island. "Please place your poblano pepper on the tray. We will broil them until they blister. Then we will peel off the charred skin and have beautiful roasted peppers for our fiery salsa. I hope you like spicy," he said with a wink.

  Flirty Fawn and Merlot Martha giggled like schoolgirls. Elaine's smile grew a little too big for her face. Part of me wanted to tsk her and remind her of her boyfriend. Then again, I wasn't entirely sure if they were on or off at the moment.

  I didn't know Derek personally, but from what I'd heard through Maya, Derek Bond had a past reputation with the ladies. I believed she used the word player. Though from what I'd seen, he'd been a one-woman man since meeting Elaine. Albeit a one-woman man with a bit of a commitment phobia—hence the tumultuous status of their relationship.

  Chef Antonio instructed us to slice the Vidalia onions in julienne strips, and then we were to dice the tiny red onions and tomatoes. No one needed to watch him, so clearly they weren't beginners. The strips went to a side of our cutting boards, and the red onions and tomatoes went into small glass bowls at the head of our boards. It was all very methodical.

  "Where are you ladies from?" Chef Antonio asked Elaine and me.

  "I'm in the Valley," Elaine replied.

  "And I live in Downey," I said.

  "How long have you lived there?" he asked while checking on the poblanos.

  "Most of my adult life. I moved there with my husband, and we raised our daughter there."

  "And you and your husband are still in the same house," Chef Antonio said. "That's beautiful."

  I set my knife down to take a sip of my wine. "Well, yes, but my husband is no longer alive."

  His expression turned somber. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."

  "My husband passed five years ago," said Jock Judy.

  "Mine ten," said Merlot Martha.

  Flirty Fawn nodded, obviously having experienced the same.

  "What's up with the husbands dying first? Is that an old-person thing?" Baby Bonnie asked.

  We all stopped midchop and stared at her. If she had any idea how insensitive and ridiculous a question that was, it didn't register on her face, as her eyebrows were drawn in a frown that suggested her curiosity was legitimate.

  Jock Judy was a bigger person than I and patted her hand kindly. "No, dea
r, not always."

  Merlot Martha snickered and sipped her wine for the thousandth or so time.

  "How does this look, Chef?" Flirty Fawn asked and pointed to her bowl of tomato, which she held close to her freckled cleavage.

  "What about this?" Merlot Martha asked of her yellow pepper. She wasn't pressing the produce to a body part, but it was obvious to me that she wanted Chef Antonio's attention. She kept looking at Flirty Fawn in her peripheral. It seemed there was a rivalry here that predated this particular lesson.

  And I started to wonder if these women were here because of the ribeye or the beefcake.

  "Is this your first lesson here?" I asked. I wasn't sure why I assumed no one would have previously known one another. It made sense to take several cooking classes until you felt you had a handle on what was being taught.

  "No, I've been here before." Flirty Fawn giggled and glanced to the other women as if she had a secret.

  "We all have," said Jock Judy.

  I nodded, not sure what to say. "Then you're all friends?"

  Merlot Martha snickered. She seemed to be good at that.

  "I wouldn't go that far. We don't necessarily socialize outside of class," said Jock Judy.

  "How long have you been coming here?" Elaine asked.

  "A few months."

  Baby Bonnie grimaced and scooted off her stool. "Excuse me." She turned and walked out of the kitchen on her tippy-toes, as if she was a ballerina.

  Chef Antonio pulled the peppers out of the oven, placed them in a large glass bowl, and covered it with plastic wrap—the whole time explaining that this was the way to get the skin to peel off with just our fingers. The bowl immediately fogged up, and he turned to the counter. He divided up the dough, giving each of us enough to make a couple of tortillas.

  For the amount of money I'd spent on these lessons, we should've each received our own steaks and enough dough for a family of four. But I kept those thoughts to myself.