Huddle With Me Tonight (10 page)

As the refreshments were passed around the table, Chelsea Robert started, “Well, you two have made quite the entertaining pair on your blog. It would make for fascinating television.”

“Which, I assume, is why we’re here,” Torrian interjected. He glanced over at Paige. Her eyes were focused on the station manager.

That soft skin of hers looked even softer this morning. His hand tingled in delicious remembrance of the way her skin had felt.

“We would like to bring your blog battle onto our set in the form of a cook-off.” Chelsea Robert motioned to him. “In your post-game interview after the Tampa Bay game, you issued a challenge to Paige. You said if she had any questions regarding your cooking ability, you would meet her in the kitchen to see who the better cook was. Well, we want to provide the kitchen.”

“You want us to cook together on live TV?” Paige asked, a bubble of disbelief in her voice.

“Against each other.” Excitement danced in Chelsea’s eyes. “Five courses over the next five weeks. The best part is that the people at Meyer cookware have agreed to sponsor the cook-off. The winner of each round gets a $20,000 prize to award to the charity of their choice.”

“And all we have to do is cook?” Paige asked, the same skepticism in her eyes coming through her voice.

“Cook, and keep up the little sparring match the two of you have been engaged in on your blog.”

“It would have to take place before my restaurant opens,” Torrian said.

“Actually, it would have to take place
after
I agree to it,” Paige corrected him.

So they were back to this.

Torrian could only shake his head as he looked over at her. The woman fed off being difficult the way a vampire fed off blood. She just looked much better doing it.

He drilled her with his stare,
So this is how we’re going to play this?

Her answering gaze gave a resounding
Yes
.

“What could be your objection to winning a portion of a hundred thousand dollars for your favorite charity?” Torrian asked. “Unless you doubt your ability to win even one round,” he tacked on with a grin.

“Don’t even go there,” Paige answered. “We all know you didn’t come up with a single one of those recipes. Tell me, Torrian, do you even know how to turn on a stove?”

God, she was sexy when she was being difficult. “Don’t fool yourself, Ms. Turner. I know my way around the kitchen.”

“Just enough to set it on fire,” Paige returned. “That hilarious little story was about the only entertaining part of your book.”

Torrian covered his chest with his hand. “Score one for you.”

“Thank you.” Paige inclined her head.

Torrian remembered the room’s other occupants. Everyone else at the table had become completely silent.

“Please continue,” the station manager begged.

“No need,” Torrian said. “I’m in.” He sat back in his chair and pressed his lips against his steepled fingers, waiting for Paige to make the next move.

She settled back in her chair. Her short hairstyle framed her delicate ears, and those high, regal cheekbones made her seem as if she were a descendant of African royalty. All eyes were on her, but she handled the pressure with aplomb. A slight smile tipped up her delicately shaped lips.

“I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge,” she said.

Chelsea Robert’s eyes beamed brighter than the lights above Sabers Stadium. “This is going to be television gold,” she smiled. She pressed a few buttons on a remote control and a screen on the wall and camera above head lowered simultaneously. She pressed a few more buttons and a calendar littered with colorful blocks illuminated the screen.

“We would like the segments to run as one of our Friday features. With you now being on injured reserve, we don’t have to worry about the games interfering, right?” She directed her question to Torrian.

He nodded.

“Excellent. We cleared the seven forty-two spot. The first segment will run this coming Friday. Is that okay with you, Paige?”

Paige shrugged a shoulder. “My schedule is a lot more flexible than Mr. Smallwood’s. Feel free to plan everything around his.”

“Now that I’m out for the next five weeks, I’m just as flexible as you are. As long as I’m available for the Tuesday afternoon team meetings, it’s all good,” he said.

“Perfect,” Chelsea proclaimed. “We just did a major remodel of our kitchen here in the studio, so this is a great way to debut our new look. We’d like to bring you two in tomorrow to shoot a couple of promo spots, if that’s okay.”

“Is there any way to do them today?” Torrian asked. He had an ophthalmologist appointment tomorrow, and God only knew what shape his eyes would be in after Latoya filled them with her array of drops.

“We could,” Chelsea said. “The sooner the better. I would start the promos during prime-time tonight. Of course, if that’s okay with you, Paige.” They all looked over at her.

“I’m not really ready to go in front of a camera,” Paige said, smoothing her hand over her perfectly styled hair.

This was just for show, Torrian decided. The woman had to know she looked amazing.

“We have a full hair and makeup staff,” Chelsea said. “The spots really won’t take all that long to shoot. We’ll outfit you both in aprons, throw a few pots on the stove, and shoot only one or two close-ups. We’ll be done in an hour tops.”

“Today would be my only day,” Torrian said. “I’m booked up for the rest of the week.”

Paige shot him an indulgent smile. She was up one round in their little game, and Torrian knew she wasn’t about to lose her advantage.

“Fine,” she said. She unclasped her hands and pushed away from the table. “Show me to hair and makeup.”

Chapter 9

P
aige tried to stop her heart’s chaotic beating, but she couldn’t expect to actually be calm at a time like this. She absolutely despised being in front of the camera. That’s one of the reasons she chose to be a writer. Writers were heard, not seen.

Think about syndication,
Paige reminded herself.

She chanted the phrase over and over again as she followed the station manager.

“Hair and makeup will meet you in here in just a few minutes,” Chelsea said. “When you’re done in makeup, John will bring you to the kitchen set.”

As Chelsea left the room, Torrian swiveled the chair he’d sat in and asked, “So, are we back to being mortal enemies?”

His words from dinner had played over and over again in her mind. He’d admitted to being attracted to her, and she was certainly attracted to him. The thought of pursuing anything, even a let’s-just-get-to-know-each-other-better thing with him was more than a little tempting.

But the price was too high.

To be seen on Torrian’s arm just when she was about to be syndicated would cast doubt on everything she’d worked so hard to attain.

“I’ve given some thought to what you suggested over dinner,” Paige started.

“Which suggestion?” he asked, his grin nearly impossible to resist.

“That we…um, acknowledge this,” she waved a hand between them, “this thing that seems to be humming between us.”

“C’mon, Paige, you have to admit it’s more than just a hum. We’ve got a full-blown choir singing around us.”

“Fine.” Paige held her hands up. “Still, I think things should remain professionally courteous between us and nothing more.”

His brow dipped into deep vee. “Why?” he asked, the one word soaked in disappointment.

“For several reasons,” she said, “Most important being that you’re too high profile for my taste. The extra traffic to my blog has been nice, but I’m not looking to become a permanent fixture on
Entertainment Tonight
.”

“So why did you agree to do this?” He motioned around the makeup room.

Paige wasn’t about to tell him about the potential syndication deal, which was definitely her catalyst for agreeing to stand before a camera when there was absolutely nothing she’d least rather do. She decided to tell him a partial truth.

“It was the money for charity that cinched the deal,” she said.

“You’ve already picked a charity?”

She nodded. “The Artist Medical Fund. It’s an organization that provides low-cost medical insurance to artists, musicians and writers, among others in the liberal arts who are self-employed and can’t afford private insurance.”

He nodded his head. “A worthy cause,” he said. “I may have to throw one of the competitions on purpose.”

Paige barked a laugh.

“You really think you can win this competition?” Torrian asked.

“Absolutely,” Paige stated with a confidence she didn’t feel.

“Don’t let this NFL player persona fool you.” He grinned. “I grew up in the South, sugar. Cooking is in my blood. The food you all cook up here in New York is good and all, but it can’t touch the old-fashioned soul food I grew up eating in South Carolina.”

Paige leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Thinking about her family back in New Orleans, which was way farther south and much better known for its cooking than South Carolina, Paige said, “I guess I should be scared then, huh?”

“I think so,” he said. He leaned forward in the chair, and in a hushed voice, said, “Not to give away all of my secrets, but I’ve got a slight advantage here.”

“Oh, really? And what is that?”

“My sister, Deirdre.”

“I’ll take that into consideration, but since you’re the one who has to do the actual cooking, I’m not too worried.”

“You’ve been warned.” His grin was sexy and infuriating at the same time, but Paige had to admit to enjoying the banter. “So, tell me how you really feel about this competition?” he asked.

“Other than being more than confident that I’m going to win?” Paige asked with a sweet smile.

Just as he was about to reply, the double doors opened and two young women came through. Of course, they both fawned over Torrian. Paige was surprised they didn’t flip a coin to see who would win the honor of doing his makeup.

John, the guy who’d first greeted them when they came to the station, appeared just as the makeup artists were completing their task. Paige’s face felt stiff as a board. The most makeup she wore was a swipe of lip gloss and some eyeliner. It was another perk of being the unseen face of her column.

The stylist did a few last-minute curls with the curling iron, and squeezed her shoulders. “Okay, you’re done,” she said.

“We’re all set?” John asked.

“I am.” Paige turned to find Torrian staring. His eyes traveled from the top of her head to the tips of her toes in a blatantly interested perusal. He remained quiet, but that look had said enough. He was not giving up this quest to “get to know her better.” Paige swallowed deep while her blood pressure spiked.

He gestured to the open door. “You first,” he said, his soft voice the equivalent of brushed velvet rubbing along her skin.

They followed John down yet another hallway and onto a darkened set. He switched on a light. Several spotlights shone down on a kitchen set outfitted with stainless steel appliances and contemporary colors.

Clipboard still in hand, John held a finger to his lips. He pointed to a blue partition. “The noon newscast is just next door,” he whispered. “They should be done in a second.” Moments later, upbeat, instrumental music came through the partition.

“Great, they’re done.” John moved to the area between the two kitchen islands, both with stovetops and a single sink. “Paige, you’ll have the one on the right.”

Paige moved around to the other side of the island and trailed her fingers along the range top, feeling like a perpetrator. She grew up in a family full of cooks—her grandparents had owned a Creole restaurant and her mother and aunts all grew up cooking their parents’ recipes. With all those cooks in the kitchen, she had never felt the pressure to join them. Sure, she could throw together a meal when she had to, but a gourmet chef she was not.

“You look as if you’re already thinking of ways to take me down.”

“You’re not the only one who knows something about game plans,” Paige answered.

“Maybe I underestimated you.” He laughed.

He had such a beautiful laugh. It was natural, not the fake chuckle she equated with most celebrity types.

The partition separating the kitchen from the news desk was moved back a few feet.

“Are we ready in here?” A guy wearing a headset came in, followed by two others. They pulled out the large cameras that were tucked away in a corner and placed them about a dozen feet in front of the two cooking stations.

“Your lines will be on the teleprompter,” Headset guy said.

“Lines?” Paige groaned. Wasn’t it enough that she had to be in front of the camera? They expected her to speak as well?

“Only a few,” the director said.

Torrian leaned over, his mouth tipped up in a grin that was too sexy for words. “Don’t tell me you’re camera shy?”

Paige sighed. It’s not as if she could ever hide her stage fright. She still had nightmares over that fourth-grade Christmas play. When you had a hard time reading the script, it only made reciting it that much more difficult. “Public speaking is not my forte,” she admitted.

“The trick is to imagine there’s just one person out there who’s going to see it. I always pretend I’m speaking to my sister when I’m talking about something light and fun, and my old guidance counselor when I need to be serious. Mrs. Green had this personal vendetta against people who smiled.”

“Are we ready?” Headset Guy asked.

They both got into position. The lights along the room’s perimeter were shut off, and at least five additional spotlights shone down on them. The heat was instantaneous.

“You’ll get used to the temperature,” the director called, as if he’d read Paige’s mind. Paige wasn’t sure what caused the sweat: the glaring spotlights, the thought of speaking in front of a camera or the sexy football player standing less than eight feet away.

That he was gorgeous was a given. Torrian Smallwood was one of those sex symbols who’d transcended the football field and had infiltrated other areas of entertainment.