Page 27 of Quarterback Sneak

Alice uncrossed her legs and tented her fingers, a large engagement ring flashing in the low light. “We’re having a 3Square championship tournament.”

“You are?” Her comment sparked Ivy’s interest. Being on the show was the highlight of Ivy’s career thus far. Not only had it triggered recognition and subsequent awards for cooking but it appealed to her competitive side.

“Yes, we’ll be bringing back sixteen previous winners that will compete on four shows. The fifth show will be the winners from each round.”

“That sounds like fun.” Ivy was thrilled that she sounded composed, while inside her head, she was fist pumping with joy.

“Yes, the best of the best will be competing against each other. The grand prize in the tournament is fifty-thousand dollars to the charity of your choice. These tournaments are always a blast, but there are limited spots available. While I’d love to say all competitors are invited back for their talent, but the studio head wants people with human interest stories to take precedence, something to set them apart.”

Like having a professional football player for a boyfriend. Ivy’s stomach dropped, anger rising to the fore. They only wanted her on the show because of Sam, not for her own talent. “I’m up for a James Beard award.”

“Three of the other contestants that I’ve already cast are past winners.”

Ivy said nothing—couldn’t say anything with her jaw clenched— while she waited for Alice to continue. Her accomplishment weren’t good enough to get her on the show. She’d cry if she wasn’t so infuriated by the entire situation.

“Sam is a renowned humanitarian and if you played for his charity, it would be a win/win all around. Women like cooking shows; men like football. It might benefit both of us if he agreed to make a special appearance in your segment.”

“I see, but you’re assuming Sam and I are dating.” Deflect and deny. Ivy crossed her arms, wanting to tell her to fuck off and walk away from the whole project. Pride kept her rooted to the spot.

“From what I saw in the picture that my assistant took with you and Sam in the kitchen, you’re definitely more than friends.”

She curled her hands into fists, unsure which emotion took precedence at this moment, horror or righteous indignation. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“I’ll be straight with you. I want a strong female presence in the championship show and you proved already that you’re up for the task. I’m not discounting your nomination for the James Beard award, it is an impressive accomplishment but in this case, it’s not enough. A commitment from Sam to do a cameo on the show will go a long way in convincing my boss to let you be the chef to fill that last spot.”

It sounded simple enough. In Ivy’s mind, it was anything but simple. She wanted to be on the show; deserved to have that last spot. But she wouldn’t be considered on her own merit. “I’ll need some time to think about it.”

“Chef Ivy, the photographer needs you,” the assistant said, phone in hand.

“What about the picture she took?” Ivy narrowed her eyes and pointed at the phone.

“Consider it gone.” Alice stole the phone from her assistant and tilted the face toward Ivy. Ivy reviewed the picture of herself at the stove with Sam holding her close. Thankfully, the picture wasn’t too racy. Given what happened at the very same stove the night before, this was positively tame.

Alice hit the button and it disappeared. Ivy wanted to do the same except the day was just beginning. Shoulders back, she inhaled. Time to suck up and get through this.

Sam poured the mixture of whisked cream, egg yolks, sugar, vanilla extract, and green tea into the ramekins and cursed when he missed the side of one. The liquid landed on the baking pan where the ceramic bowls were nestled.

Beth walked around the corner, yawning. Circles rimmed her eyes and her face was devoid of makeup. Without her signature red lips, she appeared pale and haggard. “Well, good morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Beth said.

“Ivy had a little mishap and ruined the dessert. I’m making a new batch. Does it look right?” He mopped the spilled mixture with a bar towel and indicated the index card sitting on the counter. “I followed the directions. I wouldn’t want Ivy kicking my ass for screwing this up for her.”

“No, you wouldn’t want that. It looks good.” She dipped her finger into the pot and tasted the yellow custard, her ring flashing in the light. “Tastes good and it’s the right consistency. Good job. Although it looks like Ivy did a little self-sabotage. And here she is, accusing me of screwing up.”

Sam added hot water to the bottom of the baking pan until it reached half-way up the side of the ramekin and ignored the comment. The last thing he wanted was to be in a position to pick sides in a fight between close friends. “You look tired. Did you stay here all night?”

“I left here when Aaron finished his gig.” Beth stepped over to the ruined dessert and raised the cherry drenched cellophane. “Did you turn the oven on?”

“275 degrees like it’s written here.” He lifted the pan and, careful not to jostle the contents, brought it to the oven. “Now we wait 45 minutes if we’re lucky.”

Beth opened the door and allowed him to slide the pan inside. “Hopefully we’ll have enough time to cool them. My coffee should be done. Want some while we wait?”

Sam followed Beth into the pass through. The long, narrow space was devoid of the camera crew who’d taken up residence in the upper level of the restaurant. Coffee, rich and fragrant, teased his nose. Beth poured them both a cup.

She lifted hers and chanced a sip. “Damn, this taste good. I need a pick me up. I can’t stay awake all night drinking like I used to.”

Her comment echoed the words he’d heard for what felt like a million times from his mother. During his early childhood, she’d worked two jobs and although she was gone most evenings, she made it a point to take him to school and pick him up in the afternoon. Until Patrick charmed his way back into her life. After that, she’d stopped her routine in lieu of staying out all night with Patrick, drinking too much, and changing into a person he hadn’t recognized. “You said you left with Aaron.”

“I did but we went to an after-hour party at some guy’s house on Queen Anne to celebrate our engagement.” She accented the comment with a yawn.

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