We were in the studio, going through the agenda for today. Every season would have a theme, and the studio was decorated to resemble an old mansion.
Not sure what we were going for exactly with this one, though. Gold-plated cupcakes? Diamond icing?
Everything matched the aesthetic of an old mansion. Each oven looked a hundred years old. We’d been told everything was new but made to look antique. Even our counters appeared old and worn, though they were anything but.
The chandeliers and wall carvings dotting the room gave it a ballroom-like appearance.
Mae ignored the sigh, her attitude as cheery as ever. “Is today an elimination round?”
The assistant released another drawn-out exhale and answered with a tortured expression on her face. “As I mentioned twice already, nobody is going home today. You’ll be divided into teams of three. Since there are twelve contestants, we’ll have four teams.” She shooed us away. “We’re already running behind. Everyone, set up at your stations. Then the judges will come out and reveal who is on each team.”
As soon as everyone turned away, she ran out of the room like we were trying to force-feed her burned muffins.
“I just wanted to make sure,” Mae mumbled behind me, then made her way to her assigned station for the duration of the show.
They hadn’t told us in advance who would be on each team because they wanted our surprise to be genuine. Not sure what we were supposed to be surprised about, though. I hardly knew the other contestants, so it wouldn’t matter who they teamed me up with.
I surveyed my workstation, taking stock of what I had to work with. The equipment they supplied made my baker’s heart sing with joy. Everything was new and top-of-the-line. My hands itched to reach out and touch the shiny new pastry wheel. There was even a blender and food processor.
I can’t wait to start baking.
The chatter stopped as soon as the judges walked into the room. I recognized two of them. The woman was Nina Davigne, a socialite who’d recently inherited her family’s baking empire. One of the guys, Hans Backmeister, was a world-renowned chef who made cakes that were as much art as they were food. I didn’t know how they tasted, since I’d never had the pleasure.
I couldn’t believe I recognized one of the judges, let alone two. Guess the rock I lived under wasn’t as big as I’d thought.
They lined up in front of the contestants, and it was showtime. Ezra introduced them to the audience—and, in turn, to us—and as his grand finale, he produced four envelopes with a dramatic swish of his hand.
They read out names, and I found myself in a group with Charlie and Karl, the latter I’d successfully avoided since we’d all gone for a drink at the hotel bar.
We were all given a golden envelope and the camera filmed as each team opened it to learn what dish they were tasked with.
Charlie was quick to take the envelope and then make a big production out of opening it and reading out what we were meant to bake. “Crème brûlée macarons.”
As soon as the camera left, Karl wrinkled his forehead and snatched the paper out of Charlie’s hand. “Macarons? Really? That’s so basic. Ridiculous. Do they think we’re amateurs?”
I didn’t think macarons were all that basic, but I sure wouldn’t voice my opinion. And what did he think we were going to be baking on our first day? Croquembouche?
An assistant brought all the ingredients over, and I pulled out measuring cups and mixing bowls.
We would only have two hours to make whatever they asked of us, since the whole point of the show was to find recipes that didn’t take much time and could be converted into cake mixes.
Not sure how easy that would be for macarons, but I was game to try. I’d never shied away from a challenge, and I sure as hell wouldn’t start now.
Charlie ignored Karl and helped me set out everything we’d need. “Rayna, you want to make the crème brûlée?”
“Sure. You on shells?”
He winked at me. “They’re my specialty.”
Karl huffed. “And what am I supposed to do?”
“Take a deep breath and not get us kicked out of the competition,” Charlie grumbled under his breath. Karl was standing too far away to hear him. I swallowed the snort fighting to escape.
Charlie took pity on Karl, who was looking a little red in the face. “Let’s make two different creams. One regular crème brûlée and one lemon.”
Karl’s offended expression didn’t fade. “Fine. But next time, I get to decide who does what.” He pushed in next to me, causing me to stumble to the side.Rude. “And you can do the lemon crème brûlée.”
I rolled my eyes at his back and waited for the bell to sound, announcing the start of this round.
