Sweet Talk Ch. 04

The whole competition was broken up into three rounds—today's Round One, Round Two on Wednesday, a day off, then the Final Round to take place on Friday. Today, they had three hours to create their finished product. He'd decided to make a rhubarb-apple tart.

One of Anna's favorites.

Usually, tarts were made with a less sweet, more biting apple, but ever since Anna had, a few years ago, asked him to make one with Washington Red Gold apples, he'd been using a mix of those and Golden Delicious apples in this recipe.

Which was why he'd named it the Rhuby Red Tart, in deference to the rhubarbs and red golds.

Having already prepared the fruit, he was meticulously constructing the base of the tart. A large, square piece of puff pastry rested on the upturned bottom of a chilled, wax paper covered-cookie sheet. The cool metal helped keep the delicate dough from warming too quickly but, with how sweaty his palms were right now, Jason was pretty sure he might be fighting a loosing battle.

It wasn't that he was nervous about the baking, really, he thought, sprinkling the dough with sugar before pricking it all over with a fork. It was more the combination of stresses—the judges, the camera crew circling the room, the loud, buzzing noise of dozens of other chefs working on their creations—all of it was adding up to a big knot of tension in the center of his shoulders.

So far, the only thing that had kept him calm was Anna's voice in his head but, at this point, even that wasn't helping as much. Right now, he was really concentrating, one-hundred percent on the tart he was forming.

Minutes ticked by as he brushed an egg wash on the outer edges of the bottom layer of dough. He pressed a few thinner strips of pastry along the edges, ones that, during the baking, would rise and form a sort of wall around the fruit filling.

The fruit came next, a fresh, summery-smelling mix of rhubarb chunks and diced apple tossed with white sugar. Spooning the mixture into the center of the dough, he topped the tart with an interwoven roof of pastry dough strips, completing the presentation by brushing the whole thing with more egg wash that would turn the dough a glossy, golden color as it baked.

Sliding the whole creation into the preheated oven, he breathed out a sigh of relief and, finally, let himself glance up, toward the bleachers. Looking for Anna.

They'd set the competition up in the hotel's huge conference room, which was now filled with row upon row of cooking stations with counter-space and ovens. The perimeter of the room was lined with bleachers for spectators to watch the competition unfold. Scanning the crowded metal seats around the room, he felt like he was in a damn fish bowl.

Then he saw Anna, barely visible behind two tall men seated in front of her.

She was already looking at him and her eyes lit up when he waved; she waved back and, letting out a tense breath, all he wanted to do was go up there and talk to her. It bothered him a little that he seemed to need her pep talks to encourage him along, but that didn't keep him from wanting to go up to her, either.

Still, he couldn't leave the floor until he'd presented his entry. So he forced himself to turn away, back to his station. He stood there for a few minutes, staring at the oven where his tart was baking. It took everything in him to keep from opening the oven to peek in at it.

Shit, he was driving himself insane.

Running a hand along the back of his neck, he wandered through the crowded room, trying like hell not to notice what the other chefs were making. If he started comparing and contrasting, he knew he'd just make his nerves worse.

He made his way to a refreshment stand the competition organizers had set up in one corner and got some water from a huge water cooler. Standing there, sipping out of the small, paper cup, his eyes were glued to his station as he mentally calculated the time left before he needed to check on the tart.

"Kind of makes you feel like an expectant parent, doesn't it?"

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in a tall, pretty, Hispanic woman with a wide mouth and nearly black eyes. Her long, curly, dark brown hair fell across her shoulder as she smiled up at him.

Jason returned her smile. "Yeah, if being an expectant father feels like you wanna go throw up somewhere from shot nerves."

Chuckling, the woman walked over to stand next to him, sipping her water as she stared out at the competition floor. "Itispretty tense out there," she said. "It's worse than the SATs, actually. At least with that, you could take it more than once. But this is all or nothing."

Jay laughed. "Actually, I never took the SATs, so I've got nothing to compare this with."

"No SATs?" she asked. "What're you? Canadian or something?"

Grinning, Jay knew she was flirting with him and, damn if he wasn't enjoying it. "Nah, I just went to culinary school right out of high school. The Culinary Institute."

"Oh, a fancy pants," she teased, throwing away her cup. "Verynice. Color me intimidated."

He laughed and leaned slightly toward her. "Hey, feel free to spread the word. The more people I freak out, the better."

Laughing, she pushed her long hair over her shoulder. "Too bad for you, I work well under pressure. But," she said, stepping around him, "I think I hear my five-minute timer going off, so I'd better get back over there." She glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Oh, I'm Carmen."

"Jason Blake," he returned. "Nice meeting you."

"You, too," she said with a lingering smile. "Good luck."

Jay watched her leave. After a minute, he turned around and was refilling his empty cup when, yet another voice addressed him. But this one had his back stiffening up.

"I'm surprised, Jason," Andreas Giordano said. "I always thought you preferred blondes."

Straightening, Jay turned to face Andreas' mocking gray eyes.

This bastard had some goddamn nerve talking to him. It took all of his concentration not to crush the water-filled paper cup in his fist. Instead, he glanced away, squaring his tense shoulders. "Can I help you with something?"

Andreas' short laugh grated on his nerves. "Well, I saw Anna sitting up in the bleachers and then you, over here...shamelessly flirting." He tsked at Jay. "Just trying to offer some man-to-man advice—why play with fire when you've got such a pretty little brunette waiting for you up there?"

Jason could literally hear the blood rushing through the veins behind his ears. He turned toward Andreas, his expression cold and closed. "You don't know a damn thing about Anna, so don't mention her again."

Folding arms across his chest, Andreas raised one eyebrow. "You do have a point, but I must confess to hoping to get to know Anna better this week.Muchbetter."

Jay's eyes narrowed and two involuntary, fury-filled steps had him practically chest-to-chest with Andreas. "Listen, you son of a bitch—" he gritted out through clenched teeth, but Andreas' cut him off.

"Easy, Jason. All I'm saying is Anna's a lovely girl. Big, brown eyes, that soft-looking hair. And those breasts," he cupped both hands in front of his chest. "I can see why you—"

"Shut thefuckup," Jason spat. A loud, angry buzzing filled his head as he fought the overwhelming urge to deck this asshole. "And stay the hell away from Anna."

Before Andreas could say anything else, Jay shoved past him, knowing that if he stuck around any longer he'd end up planting his fist in the middle of that bastard's face.

Once he made it back to his station, he sat there for a minute, staring at the timer counting down until his tart was finished baking. But even that wasn't enough to distract him. All he could do was sit there and seethe.

That asshole loved to push his fucking buttons. It'd always been like that. All through school. Andreas had been a year ahead of him and Sam, and, from what Jay knew, he'd been the reigning hot shot in the baking and pastry school before Jason had come along.

And his conceited, vindictive pride hadn't been able to take sharing the spotlight.

Jay never really liked him one way or another; they constantly got into it but it wasn't any big deal. Or, at least, he hadn't thought so. Until his junior year, which was Andreas' last year at the CIA, when Jay found outexactlyhow far Andreas would go to fuck with his head.

"Shit." Jay swore, quietly, trying to push the thoughts aside.

His timer went off. He shut if off and opened the oven to check on the tart. Pulling it out, he scanned an eye over the golden-brown dough, inhaling the sweet aromas of the hot fruit filling.

He rolled his neck, putting all of his effort into not thinking about Andreas, so he could focus on these last few minutes of the competition. Looking over the tart, he pressed a finger into the now-crisp edge and decided there wasn't much left to do—plus, he wanted to get the fuck out of this conference room and away from Andreas.

He was on auto-pilot as he walked over to the entry table, gave his name, contestant number, the name of his tart and handed it off to one of the contest organizers.

That was it. He was done with Round One. He should've been excited, or relieved at least, but all he wanted to do was find Anna and get the hell out of here. Scanning the bleachers again, he walked toward where he'd seen her sitting, hoping she'd seen him turn in his entry and was coming to meet him.

Suddenly, he was really anxious to talk to her. In his head, being with her seemed like the perfect antidote to his current shitty mood. She was simple, familiar and, most important, completely devoid of drama—exactly what he needed right now.

Then he saw her bounding toward him down the metal stairs on the bleachers. He grinned, quickening his pace to meet her. But when she emerged from the small crowd of people milling around the bottom of the bleachers, the smile froze on his face as he took in her appearance.

She had on a yellow sundress that ended just above her knees, flared over her hips, clung to her waist and...much, much too tightly against her breasts.

What the...?

Thisdefinitelywasn't the Anna he'd been expecting to see just now.

Out of nowhere, he heard Andreas' voice in his head.

Anna's a lovely girl. Big, brown eyes, that soft-looking hair. And those breasts...

Jason knew Anna was pretty. Hell, she was actuallyverypretty; he just always avoided letting himself think about her that way. But now, with Andreas' mocking voice in his head—and the breasts in question partially exposed to his eyes—he couldn't help but stare.

And growrealuncomfortable with what he was seeing.

As Anna stopped in front of him, he had a much better view of the valley between her breasts, visible because the dress was one of those tube top things. Strapless. The only thing holding it up, apparently, was some hidden elastic banding.

For a second, he just stared at her. She almost always wore jeans and casual tops. But in this dress, she was showing off more skin than he was used to. And why did his goddamn eyes keep going to the place where it hugged against her breasts?

"Hey, how'd it go?" she asked.

"New dress?" he said at the same time.

Anna wrinkled her nose and peered down at herself. "Yeah...I'm still deciding if I like it, though." As she spoke, she self-consciously smoothed her hands across her stomach in an action that he inexplicably felt tugging somewhere low in his own belly.

What...the...hell?

When he didn't say anything, Anna tilted her head, her brown hair brushing against one of her bare shoulders. "So...how'd things go?"

Jason seriously had to blink to bring his attention back to her eyes. "What? Oh...good, I think." What the hell was his problem? He shouldn't be... "Uh, where's Sam?" he asked. Truthfully, he didn't give a damn where Sam was; he was just trying to get her talking so he could pull himself together.

They were walking out of the conference room. "He said he had something to take care of," Anna said and Jay, for some reason, was distracted by the sound of that dress brushing against her bare legs. "He didn't say when he'd be back, though."

Jason didn't respond. He was too busy staring off into the lobby, trying to get a fucking grip on himself.

"Wow, you're real talkative," Anna said, laying a hand on his arm. "You okay? You're sure everything went well out there?"

He wanted to look at her, smile at her, reassure her but, honestly, he couldn't.

He kept hearing Andreas' voice—and looking down meant taking in her breasts, the pale skin of her shoulders. And, right now, he really didn't want to do that because, as fucked up as it was, he was kind of...attracted to her.

What. The. Hell?!

He swallowed and managed to say, "Yeah, I'm good." They came to stop in front of an elevator and, in his agitation he jabbed at the button half a dozen times.

Anna was still looking up at him. "Well...do you want to get something to eat or—"

"No, not right now." He cut her off, his tone a little gruff. "I kind of just want to take a shower. Maybe grab a quick nap..."

"Oh. Okay." Anna said.

He barely registered her reply, because he was too busy trying to think.

Whatever he was feeling right now...whatever it was that kept making him want to steal glances at Anna's breasts...it was because of Andreas.

It had to be. That asshole had a talent for poking at his weak spots. And, clearly, Anna was one of them. That was all this was: Andreas messing with his head.

And, fuck, Jay thought, taking in Anna's silhouette as they stepped into the elevator, it was working.

***************

"When are you going to tell me why you're here?"

Sitting across a linen-draped table in the middle of one of Chicago's most exclusive country clubs, Sam leveled a questioning look at his father.

Now retired, Dave Wyatt had been a prominent bank president in Boston, a career that merely supplemented the vast Wyatt family wealth. But after his most recent divorce, and subsequent remarriage, he now lived in Chicago's affluent Gold Coast neighborhood.

"What? I can't visit you when I'm in town?" Sam asked.

He waited as his dad studied him with blue eyes that were exactly the same color as his own. "Visiting me is fine," Dave said. "I'm just wondering to what I owe the pleasure of thisunexpectedvisit." He took a sip of water. "Not that it's not good to see you, son. Because it is."

Sam smiled. "Same to you...even if youaregetting old."

Dave let out a dry, raspy laugh. "You're only as old as you feel. And I don't feel a day older than...oh, I'd say, forty."

"Forty?" Sam chuckled. "You're being a little optimistic, aren't you?" Then he pointed his fork at his father's plate. "Is that all you're eating?"

Dave looked down at his plate. "Yeah. What's wrong with fruit salad?" At Sam's skeptical expression, Dave added, "I might onlyfeelforty, but my heart's definitely fifty-eight years old. Doctor keeps telling me to eat more fruit." He paused, taking a sip of water, then casually said, "So, tell me more about...Anna, is it?"

Sam resisted the urge to grimace. He'd told his father that he was in Chicago with Jason and Anna and that he'd just come from shopping with her. But, his dad...sometimes he was worse than a bunch of gossipy high school girls.

Putting his fork down, Sam schooled his features into a neutral expression. "What do you want to know?"

"Nothing much. How long have you been seeing her?"

Shit, here we go, Sam thought. He cleared his throat. "We, uh, it's not like that with us. We're just friends," he answered, avoiding his dad's eyes.

"Hmm."

Sam looked up. "What do you mean, 'hmm'?"

"Translation?" Dave asked. At Sam's nod, he took another drink of water and carefully replaced the glass on the table. "Son, you know I love you, but you're absolutely full of it."

Leaning back, he stared at the older man. "How, exactly, am I full of it?"

"You like this girl. Anna." Dave paused. "A lot. A man only goes shopping with a woman he's interested in. Believe me, I know."

"No...I..." Sam started, then tossed his napkin on the table. "Damn."

Dave laughed. "See? I'm old but I have the perceptions of a thirty-year-old."

"A thirty-year-oldwoman," Sam muttered.

"I'll choose to ignore that," Dave returned, staring at the top of his son's down-turned head. "But I'll drop it since you obviously don't want to talk about it."

"Thank God," Sam muttered.

"So," Dave said after a moment, "if you're not here to talk about your love life, what else is there?"

Looking up, Sam met his dad's eyes, knowing he wasn't going to like what he was about to say, but needing to broach the subject anyway. "I wanted to talk to you about Claire."

At the mention of Sam's younger half-sister, Dave let out a heavy sigh and eased back in his chair, two worry lines appearing in the middle of his forehead. "Sam, we've been over this. I've talked to my attorney about it. There's nothing we can do."

That old, familiar frustration bubbled up inside Sam's chest. "Are you really okay with her living there?" he ground out, his voice rising. "With her being around all of that shit—"

"Lower your voice," Dave murmured, his tone even and controlled. "And no, you know I hate the idea of her in that house with Faith. But unless she, or someone else, comes forward with some concrete allegations, Faith retains primary custody."

Sighing, Sam stared past his father's shoulder. Claire was almost eleven years old and had been living in Boston with his witch of a former stepmother full-time for the past four years.

As time went on, she was slowly pulling away from him and his dad and he knew without a doubt that Faith had something to do with it. The idea of Claire living under the same roof with that woman literally made him sick to his stomach.

He looked at his dad and said what he'd been thinking over for the past few months. "I want Claire to come live with me."

A few seconds of silence passed, then Dave asked, "You've talked to her about this? She wants to move to Seattle?" He sounded a little hurt and Sam knew it was because two years ago, Dave had asked if she might want to come live with him, but she'd chosen to stay with Faith.

"No. I haven't asked her yet, but I know she's got to be miserable. And, given the option, she'll want to leave. She has to."

"Sam..." Dave started.

"No," he raised one hand as if to deflect his father's words. "I know what you're gonna say and I don't care. You and I both know the only reason why Claire's...the way she is, is because of Faith. I want her out of there."

Dave sighed, eyeing his son sadly. "YouknowFaith's not giving her up easily. She'll fight you on this, Sam. It'll get ugly. Really ugly."

Sam knew his dad was thinking about the messy, two-year long divorce battle that he and Faith had gone through. It was, without a doubt, one of the worst experiences of both his and his father's lives.

Dave had lost the wife he'd loved and who—he'd thought—loved him. And Sam had slowly started to lose his sister who he was afraid, the longer she lived with Faith, would start turning into a younger version of her mother.

A manipulative, self-destructive gold digger.

He wouldn't let that happen.

He pinned his gaze on his dad. "I don't care how hard Faith fights it," he said. "There's got to be a way—and I'll do whatever it takes." He'd never meant anything more in his life.

**********************

"So, what're your big plans?" Jay asked.

He was sitting across from Anna at their table on a touristy, five o'clock cruise of the Chicago River. An hour after he'd wrapped up the competition, Anna had gotten tired of waiting for him to wake up from the nap he'd pretended to take.