Hell's Smitten (Gordon Ramsay x Reader)

*Chapter 118- Palate Cleanse

Sunday, July 21st, 2013

It isn't long before the patio door slides open and Abel makes his way to me, settling into a plush seat beside my chair and placing his hand on my leg. I look over at him with a smile.

"How did it go?" I ask.

"Chef Scott thought some of my ideas might be too hard for the other chefs to manage, so I had to simplify them. I think they improved with simplification, thankfully. You?"

"I had some good ideas, and Christina seemed to like everything. I'm excited to put my menu to the test against you," I say, meeting his eyes.

"Likewise." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "I don't know how long we have until Chef Ramsay returns, but would you like to take off the mics until then since the camera crew has left?"

"Oh God, yes." I take the mic from my shirt with disdain, holding it out to Abel as if it is poisonous.

Abel takes the mics and leaves the patio, returning a few moments later.

"Now that those are gone, I have to say I suspect Janice has hidden cameras around the villa. After all, the camera crew were here before we arrived. We should look for them."

"I should've known. But isn't it suspicious to remove cameras?" I ask, cocking my head.

"I'm not sure if you remember the papers we signed when we first got here, but one line we agreed to was to not tamper with any of the equipment on the Hell's Kitchen set. However, this is decidedly not the Hell's Kitchen set. Besides," he lowers his tone seductively and dips his head so that all but his blue irises are shadowed, "we have plenty of reasons to not want to be recorded."

I feel heat run up under my shirt and flush my skin in a deeper hue. "Y-yeah, alright. I mean, what is she gonna do, call herself out for having planted cameras in the first place?"

"Exactly. We're reality show contestants, but we're a few steps removed from caged animals. Help me look?" Abel asks, standing and holding his hand out to me.

I take his hand and let him pull me up. We then search the house, unplugging electronics as we go along in case they are bugged and removing mirrors, checking behind them for cameras. Strangely enough, we find nothing, and decide to move upstairs to the bedroom.

The elegant white double doors swing open to reveal a California king sized bed in white and gold accents with gold embroidered white curtains tied to each of the tall bedposts. Aside from being a larger room than the one on the jet, this bedroom truly doesn't look that much fancier–a testament to how incredibly lavish the jet bedroom was, and in no way an insult to how extraordinary this room is.

We get to work scouring the room for recording devices. After a while, Abel–who is standing on top of a chair searching in the vent above the bed–grabs something and hops down from the chair.

"Sickening."

He holds the tiny cube camera and attached battery pack out to me, and I take it carefully. "Was this pointed at the bed?"

He nods. "It has a microphone too. She didn't just want evidence, she wanted the whole fucking show." His voice is tinged with disgust. "What a vile person."

My brain hones in on his words, astonished to have heard him curse. Almost as astonished as I am at Janice trying to catch a peep show. "Is this legal?"

"I'm not sure how legalities work here in London, especially for reality show contestants. We'll ask Gordon about it. You keep checking this room, I'm going to go check the other bedroom."