I was still mourning my only semi-stiff peaks instead of paying attention to what I was doing, and somehow the lid came off. The icing exploded out of the blender and covered me in sugary goodness from head to toe.
Licking my lips meant I was even more annoyed at myself, since the icing was perfect and now I had to do it all over again.
“Rayna, get changed,” one of the assistants called out. “We’re filming at your station in ten minutes.”
I wiped the icing out of my eyes and surveyed the damage. I was wearing a cap sleeve white dress—seriously, guys, a white dress for baking?—and my apron over it. We still had half a day of filming ahead of us, and I’d have to wear the same outfit I had on the first half of the day since viewers would notice if I mysteriously changed clothes.
“Follow me,” Wynona said, steering me to the end of the room. We went back to the makeshift dressing room, and she pushed me behind a screen.
“Take your clothes off. I’ll get you something to change into.”
A few moments later, a short white dress appeared in my vision. “No way. This is little more than a top.”
“It’s all you’ll get. Doesn’t matter what it looks like underneath your waistline. Stay behind the counter and nobody will be the wiser.”
I grudgingly admitted that the top closely resembled the one of the dress I’d ruined.
Wynona snapped her fingers from the other side of the screen. “We don’t have all day. Put the dress on, wipe your face, and let’s get back.”
Resigned, I pulled on the dress made for someone shorter and slimmer than me. I felt like a stuffed sausage and probably looked it too. Thankfully, there were plenty of aprons to go around, and I snagged one on my way out of the dressing room.
When I got back, Mae gave me wide eyes, and I shrugged. Nothing to be done about this now. And it was my fault for not paying attention.
Wynona left me at my station without another word, and I continued screwing up a recipe that I could recount backward while drunk.
The mixer flicked batter at me. The oven seemed to take ages to heat, and when I finally had semi-presentable cupcakes, all I wanted to do was throw them in the trash.
Since nobody knew what they were supposed to look or taste like, I prayed I’d get away with it.
Someone clapped their hands, drawing everyone’s attention to the front of the room. “That’s a wrap for today. We’ll be doing the judging tomorrow. It’ll take a few hours, and since it’s already 10:00 p.m., there’s no use starting now.”
My body, which had been running on adrenaline and coffee for the last few hours, slumped in relief and exhaustion. I was ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed.
“Did you forget to put on pants this morning?” Grayson asked, the amusement in his voice evident.
“Shut up. I had a little incident earlier, and this was the only dress that had the same top as the one I was wearing.”
I turned to the side to dare him to say anything else, and his gaze that had been studying my legs snapped up. Raising an eyebrow, I crossed my arms over my body, pushing my boobs up. Grayson’s attention diverted from my face for a split second to my propped-up cleavage.
His hazel eyes looked more golden than their usual whiskey brown, the green flecks gone. The reaction surprised me, and I stared right back at him.
I sensed eyes on us, and when I searched the room, I noticed Wynona staring at us with a scowl on her face. Dismissing her, I turned my attention back to Grayson.
He hadn’t noticed my distraction and smirked at me. “We usually have a few of the same clothes for cases like this. It’s a cooking show, after all, so it’s expected that contestants need to change.”
Interesting.Wynona probably made me put on the skimpy dress on purpose. But what would it get her? I hadn’t moved out from behind my station all afternoon, and my apron covered me up anyway. Yes, it looked like I was only wearing a top underneath, but I wasn’t a blushing teenager anymore.
It took a lot more to embarrass me. I’d grown up in the Sweet family, after all. It was either grow a thick skin or drown. And I had the best teacher in Belinda, who had made sure I had the tools to deal with the hand life had thrown at us.
“Have you eaten yet?” Grayson asked, now casually leaning against the workbench.
I wiped down the surface, having cleaned up all the cooking utensils while the camera was busy filming other parts of the room. “We haven’t had a break since lunch.”
“I’ll give you a lift back to the hotel, and we can grab something on the way.”
I smiled at him, despite all my muscles shrieking in protest. It had been a long day of smiling for the camera, and my face wasn’t used to so much cheer.
“That sounds—”
