“Seven,” I helpfully responded.
Someone clapped their hands, and we turned our attention to the front of the room.
“Listen up, everyone. We’re running behind schedule, but all the individual interviews have to be done today before we start filming tomorrow. Ezra only has time to do about three interviews. Two of our producers who graciously offered to help will conduct all the other ones. I’ve organized you by last name. My assistant, Tammy, has the list, so go see her. You also need to sign another agreement, so our lawyer will catch up with you either before or after the interview.” He clapped his hands again. “Don’t just stand there, move, move, move.”
We all moved at the same time, coming at poor Tammy like a wave. She must have been unflappable, because she didn’t bat an eye and instead read off who was to go to which room.
Mae waved to me, walking to her assigned area. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yup, see you then.”
My room was at the end of a long hallway, and I wondered how many cameras and backgrounds they had to set up to do three interviews at the same time. Charlie and Philipa had been assigned to the same producer, and we all walked down together.
Charlie led the way and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a muffled voice called out.
Charlie gestured to the door. “You want me to go first?”
Both Philipa and I nodded. I was grateful I didn’t have to do the first interview. “Sure, go for it.”
An assistant came rushing up with two chairs, and Charlie disappeared inside. Guess we’d be here for a while if they thought we had to sit down. The assistant also handed us a questionnaire the size of a novel.
I’d already filled out so many forms and answered a million questions. What else was there that they possibly needed to know about us?
This one was all about our knowledge on baking and the industry. I groaned while writing out the answers. After all, there wasn’t much else to do while waiting for my interview.
After about an hour, Charlie came back out. “Who wants to go next?” He looked relaxed, and I hoped that meant whoever was interviewing us wouldn’t put us through the wringer.
I wasn’t even close to finishing my forms but noticed Philipa put her pen down a few minutes ago. “You can go in. I’ll be at least another hour before I fill out this blasted thing.” I picked up the extra forms the assistant had given me and handed them to Charlie. “These are yours. We need to have it back by tomorrow.”
Philipa stood up. “Let me know if you need help with any of the questions.”
I shot her a grateful smile. “I will. Thanks so much for the offer.”
She stayed in the room longer than Charlie. When I finally finished the forms and signed a declaration stating I would do an exit interview, even if I got kicked out early, I spent the rest of the time fretting. I hoped the questions would be easy. I was prepared for multiple scenarios, having watched every baking show known to mankind before coming out to LA.
“Rayna.” The voice snapped me out of my panic, replacing it with anxiety of talking to Grayson for the first time in five years.
I looked up, and sure enough, there he was, 6'3" of male perfection in a suit. “Grayson. Hey.” I clutched the papers in my hand.
“It’s good to see you.” He sounded oddly formal, his velvet voice washing over me, and I lifted my head.
Big mistake.
His eyes were a close second in my fantasies to his voice. It had been five years since I’d last seen Grayson. I couldn’t remember how many times his voice played through my head, his unusual honey-brown eyes flashed through my memories, and his touch ghosted over my skin in the years since I’d last seen him.
I would never forget a moment we spent together.
My face was hot, and my hands were clammy, but I held his penetrating gaze. “You too.”
This felt wrong. We had never been formal with each other. I’d known Grayson since I was thirteen years old, and our interactions had always been natural, born out of years of friendship.
One thing Grayson had never been was polite. He spoke his mind. He was unapologetic and didn’t care what other people thought of him.
Grayson seemed oblivious to my impeding meltdown and continued with the small talk. “How have you been?”
If he didn’t stop, I’d combust on the spot from all the politeness. I was usually a skilled conversationalist, if I did say so myself, but Grayson made me forget the English language. And I hated that this was all we were to each other now. Two people who used to be friends.
