Addicted (The Addicted Series, #1)(78)

Shannon clapped me on the shoulder, and walked out of Kitchen Stadium. I looked around the set one more time before turning to leave, when I heard my name called again. "Miss Aksoy?"

I couldn't believe it. Approaching me was the man, the myth, the legendary host of so many things I'd watched on Food Network since I was a little kid, Alton Brown himself. After Dad died, Alton's show was one my main comforts in life. Dad was a lot like Alton, quirky and focused, if sometimes a bit nerdy. "Yes? Wow, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Brown."

"Pleasure is all mine," Alton replied. "You may not have known, but I had the opportunity of meeting your father once when I was working on the pilot for Good Eats. This was back even before it was picked up here, and I was on PBS in Chicago. I'm glad to see you followed in his footsteps."

"Thank you sir, it's an honor to be here. But I'm not the contestant, Chef Shannon is."

"Well, if I'm still around in five or ten years, I expect I'll be seeing you up here, or maybe over on Chopped. In any case, good luck tomorrow."

We shook hands, and I turned to go. As I did, I stopped and turned back around. "Excuse me, Mr. Brown?"

"Yes?" he replied.

I smiled, remembering a promise I'd made. "You wouldn't happen to know if Iron Chef Morimoto is around, do you? I promised a friend an autograph if I had a chance to meet him."

Alton shook his head, but then stopped. "Just a moment. He's not in the studio today, he's not filming until tomorrow, but let me give him a call. Maybe if you can get in here a bit early tomorrow you'll have a chance. You have anything he can sign?"

"I'll have something tomorrow. If anything, I'll steal one of the swag bags that the celebrity judges get and see if he'll sign a t-shirt for me or something."

He smiled at me and I nodded my thanks and left Kitchen Stadium, feeling better than I had in hours. Tomorrow was my day for battle, and Alinea was going to kick some ass.





* * *



Julian



I looked down at the stereotypical boxes of Chinese takeout in the bag in my hand, and wondered just what I was doing here. If I were back in Los Angeles, I'd be dressed up, ready to hit the clubs or maybe just find one of the never-ending parties that dotted the landscape. My night would end sometime around sunrise with at least one woman in bed with me, maybe more.

But you were a miserable * then, a little voice said in my head. I'd come to hear that voice more and more often since meeting Krystal, and knew that most people called it a conscience. I wasn't really sure if that's what it was, considering I'd never heard it before. I didn't know if I was worthy of having such a term applied to any part of my thought processes, but so far it had been honest with me. Face it Julian, you've had more peace and better sleep over the past few weeks than you have since childhood.

"Yeah, but whose fault is that?" I muttered under my breath. "John Castelbon's dumping of Mom did a lot more than just get him some fresh *. And you know, like father, like son."

The voice in my head didn't have anything to say to that, and I looked down at my bag of food again. Still, I was trying, and talking with Kimberly was one of those things that I didn't just tolerate, but I was kind of looking forward to.

I searched around for the buzzer box at the front door for a good two minutes before I realized the building didn't have one. It was that sort of place. I pulled out my phone again, and re-checked Kimberly's text messages. I saw I had missed one. Third floor, apartment 304.

Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I tried the front door to the building, finding it open and unlocked. I made my way up the stairs, not trusting the elevator that looked like it had last been maintained maybe sometime around the time I'd been born. It was more difficult than I'd imagined, I'd stopped by Quads before coming over. The staff was nice, and the manager was willing to let me get a workout in. Since I was coming off of nearly two weeks with no weights, I knew I'd be sore the next day, but that didn't stop me from blasting a squat workout. The endorphin rush of getting that last squat when your back is on fire and your legs feel like they're going to explode is better than any of the so-called recreational drugs I've sampled. Not that I was ever a drughead or anything. I actually hadn't touched anything for over two years.

Either way, by the time I reached the top of the stairs, my heart was thumping and my calves were burning again. Oh yeah, I'd be using the bathtub back at the apartment for a good soak, that was for sure.

I found the door to 306 and knocked, waiting for a response. It took Kimberly a minute to respond. "Yes?"

"It's Julian, Kimberly," I said, trying to stand in front of the fish-eye security peephole. "I've come bearing chicken and shrimp."

"And fortune cookies?" Kimberly asked through the door. I heard the chain and locks on the inside disengage, and the door opened a few inches. "Because if you don't have a couple of fortune cookies, I'm locking you out and calling the police."

"I have four cookies, you can have them all," I replied, laughing. "But I'm only giving you halfsies on the shrimp."

"Deal," Kimberly said, opening the door wider, letting me inside. I walked into what I could only describe as a computer geek's paradise. The small living room was dominated by a huge four panel workstation, along with a tower computer that glowed like a Japanese street racer's car. "Wow, this setup is insane." I said, looking at the custom made case. It was big, around the size of a small refrigerator, and was made of brushed aluminum. "This thing looks like it should be powering the U.S.S. Enterprise" I said, as I squatted down to take a look.