Free Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs Page A

the top it worked rather well for meetings, in fact.
    He kept his eye on the yellow nerf ball as it began its descent . . . and landed right on Gus Simpson’s beautifully coiffed head.
    “Oof!”
    “Oh, Gus, I’m so sorry.” Then Troy grinned. “You make a great defense. Game of Twenty-one?”
    She walked into his office and put down her handbag, took off her wintercoat and shook off a few snowflakes.
    “No, thank you,” she said, looking him up and down. She continued to stand. “You seem a little thin.”
    “Just been working on my six-pack abs.”
    “Uh-huh. Well, the bags under your eyes don’t exactly send that ‘picture of health’ image.”
    “Been working a lot.”
    “You should come to dinner soon. Sunday?”
    Troy stood up and walked around his desk, then pulled out a chair. Gus finally sat down.
    “I’d come by, Gus, but I have a feeling that Sabrina might be invited, just like the last two times.”
    “Oh, I told you that was a mistake.”
    “Once is a mistake. Twice is stupid—on my part.”
    “Well, a mother knows, Troy. The two of you had something special.”
    The black-haired man crossed his arms and leaned in to Gus, his jaw clenched.
    “I’m not in the mood, today, Gus. We’re bidding on a major contract and I don’t have time to listen to the wild and wacky tales of Sabrina Simpson’s romances.”
    “But, Troy, it’s just that she’s dating some Billy fellow who’s completely wrong for her—”
    “Not my problem.”
    “It is your problem. You’re perfect for Sabrina. And you love her!”
    “I stopped loving your daughter the day she handed me my ass in a paper bag.”
    Gus looked startled. Then she laughed.
    “Troy,” she said quietly. “You are a terrible actor.” She gazed at him for a few moments in silence. “Now what about dinner?” she asked.
    “No.”
    Sighing, Gus held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, that’s enough for today,” she said. “I’m actually here for some help.”
    “Gus!”
    “ Not about Sabrina.”
    Troy moved around to take his seat behind the desk. “All right then, I’m at your service. What do you need?”
    “For you to put on your adman’s brain and reinvent my show.”
    Troy made a hooting sound. “I’m an entrepreneur now. And you’re an icon of food television, Mrs. Simpson.”
    “And about to be booted off the air if I don’t make things fresh, accordingto my producer.”
    “You’re kidding me.”
    There was none of her daughter’s smiliness in Gus’s face as she stared directly at Troy. Just worry lines across her forehead. It was clear that the graceful woman in his office was very, very troubled.
    He let out a sharp intake of air. Then he opened a drawer on the right side of his desk—mercifully free of nerf balls—and pulled out a yellow legal pad.
    “Let’s brainstorm. Quick meals?”
    “Been done before.”
    “Rare ingredients?”
    “ Iron Chef .”
    “Okay, okay, okay, maybe we don’t need to be completely original. Just a new take—a twist on what you’ve been doing,” puffed Troy. “What about a live show, Gus?”
    “Emeril’s live.”
    “True. And it’s worked for him. He’s a guy with a famous catchphrase: Shazam!”
    “That was Captain Marvel. Emeril says ’Bam!’”
    Troy nodded thoughtfully. “What’s your catchphrase?”
    Gus appeared displeased.
    “I don’t have one.”
    “Methinks perhaps we’ve isolated our first problem.”
    “So you think viewers will start tuning in because I’m live and say ‘Wham!’ instead of ’Bam’? ”
    He shook his head. “Uh, no. Gus, you’ve gotta stop taking this all so personally.No one said there’s anything wrong with Gus Simpson the person. The issue is Gus Simpson the personality.”
    Gus looked as if she was about to cry.
    “I’m just myself!”
    Troy smiled. “No, you’re not. You’re your best self. You’re too damn perfect.”
    “I’m not understanding what you’re suggesting, Troy.”
    “We need to up the risk.