When Sadie follows my eyes, she shakes her head. “Can you believe there aretwoof them? Half of the viewers are going to swoon when they don aprons.”
I cock my head to the side, picturing it. Yep, she’s right.
When Cole notices me looking his way, he flashes me a smirk, acknowledging our earlier meeting. I return his smile, a little embarrassed he caught me looking.
There are eight more teams, excluding Sadie and me. Sarah and her daughter Quinn are from Idaho, and they were the other team selected at the Montana auditions. Neil and Catherine are another husband/wife team, as are Charlie and Susan.
Then there’s Jessica and Anne, strawberry blond cousins, both in their late twenties. They’re from somewhere down south because their accents are thick. All evening, the pretty pair has been giggling over the gladiator brothers. Neither Cole nor Jerome seem to mind.
Eugene and his grandson Max sit at the table with Sheila and Clary, a baking duo from California. With them are the girls’ husbands and Max’s sister, who’s here to support her grandpa and brother—or to fawn over Mason, which is what I’m leaning toward. Eugene must be in his late seventies, and Max is eighteen, making him the youngest contestant here. I got a chance to talk to them earlier, and they’re nice.
I haven’t learned the other competitors’ names yet, but there are two more teams. As I guessed, excluding Max, Sadie and I are the youngest team in the bake-off. From the looks I’ve been getting, I know more than a few whispers are being exchanged about us. I can guess what they’re saying too. They think we made it on because of Mason, because of strings he pulled after what happened at our audition at the Harbinger.
But they didn’t taste our cookies. We perfected them, and they won us this spot. Mason had nothing to do with it.
What if he did?
I scowl at the thought and set my napkin aside, finally admitting defeat. There’s no way I can eat another bite, no matter how much I might want to.
Once the dishes are cleared, Tammy steps to the front of the room, mic in hand. She wastes no time getting down to business. After a few brief words of welcome, she jumps right in, occasionally glancing at a list in her hand to make sure she covers everything.
There’s a total of eight episodes, meaning two teams will be dismissed in two of them. The show is aired on an approximate four-hour delay to give the crew a chance to edit out filming blunders or the occasional slipped curse word. The viewers get one-third of the vote, and they’ll be judging us on presentation.
“The more the camera loves you, the better chance you have to win,” Tammy reminds us. Basically, the producer is saying they want a show worth watching, so don’t be a wallflower.
“Interviews will be held in the mornings, immediately after you finish a competition, and then again in the afternoons. As the schedule states, we will not be filming on Wednesdays or the weekend. You may use that time at your leisure. The final episode and the winner announcement will air next Friday.”
I shift in my seat, surprised I’m nervous. I should have known it would happen—I’m a competitive person by nature. There’s no way I could enter this and not want to win.
“On a final note, it’s been brought to our attention that we need to set a few ground rules between the competitors and the judges?—”
Every single eye in the room turns on me. My attention is firmly on Tammy, but I can feel their gazes, and my palms grow sweaty. It’s not a good feeling.
“Interaction will be kept to a minimum, and absolutely nofraternizingwill be tolerated.”
Chrissy, one of the bottle-blonds from New York, raises her hand like it’s her first day of kindergarten. “Excuse me, Madam Producer?”
Madame Producer?
“What if fraternizing has already occurred?” she glances at me, giving me an apologetic little head tilt that’s anything but.
Tammy straightens her shoulders and narrows her eyes. “I assure you, every team in this room is here due to their baking skills, and not because the media glommed onto a small incident that occurred during the audition process.”
Chrissy, who for some reason still has her fool hand in the hair, falters and slowly lowers her arm, looking properly chastised.
Tammy dismisses her and goes over a few more trivial details that are already in the information packet we all received when we arrived. When everyone finally goes back to minding their own business, I flick my eyes toward Mason. As if feeling my gaze, he glances my way. He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t so much as smile, and then he moves his attention back to Tammy.
His reaction doesn’t offend me, not after his words in the hall. Besides, I don’t want Mason. It was one thing to react to him when his hands were pressed to my sides and his words grazed my ear, but developing an actual crush on the musician would be insane.
Mason’s here to do his job, and I’m here to win. It’s as simple as that.
Tammy dismisses us, and Sadie and I filter out of the room. It’s late, after ten, and we have to be up and ready for team interviews by nine. We part in the upstairs hall, and I pull out my card key.
Hiding a tiny smile, I watch from the corner of my eye as Sadie jerks the handle, trying to open the fussy door.
Yes, I gave herthatroom. Do I feel bad about it? No, I do not.
I change into a soft pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, and just as I’m brushing my hair, a knock sounds at my door. My chest clenches, and my pulse jumps. For one brief moment, I wonder if it’s Mason. Then I realize that’s ridiculous. Of course it’s not Mason.
