“Stupid,” I mutter under my breath. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”
Julian grins, clearly catching my internal spiral, biting his lip to hold back a laugh as his shoulders shake.
I grit my teeth, trying to focus on my father’s instructions filtering through our producer, but my attention keeps snapping back to Taylor and the way she leans into Joe like he’s the only person in the room.
Too bad he didn’t quit.
Maybe I should get him fired.
The producer claps her hands, and a hush falls over the great room. “Okay, everyone! Let’s get together for a final rundown before we head outside to the tent for the first time.”
Contestants shuffle into the center, some chatting nervously, others barely looking up from their phones. I lean casually against a table, arms crossed, with Julian at my side.
“We’ll go segment by segment,” the producer begins. “You’ll walk down the lawn and into the tent in pairs. Cameras will move in this pattern…” she continues, motioning with her hands to illustrate.
“Leave space between you and the pair in front of you. Don’t block anyone. Don’t touch anything at your stations until instructed, and please, no commentary during the hosts’ introduction shots. Timing is key.”
Just as she’s finishing, the front doors swing open, boisterous laughter ringing through the room. “Hello, my darlings! The talent is here!”
In walks Judy Rhodes, and early-2000s sitcom star turned C-list celebrity whose career has been entirely sustained by appearances on shows like this. Her deep auburn hair is cut in a blunt bob at her shoulders, and she’s wearing a fadedMotley CrüeT-shirt tucked into perfectly tailored pinstripe pants.
A man who is very much the opposite of her steps in beside her. He’s awkward; dressed in ill-fitting khakis and a plain navy-blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“And that talent is all me, folks. Theo Courtman, at your service. You probably recognize me from a handful ofKing Mattresscommercials and my cameo onSNL. The pleasure is all yours.”
His deadpan, bored delivery still manages to pull a laugh from a few of the contestants.
“We are so excited to be here as your hosts this season. It’s going to be a blast. I know we only have a few minutes, but we wanted to pop in and introduce ourselves. Get out there, do your best, and we will be right there to cheer you on!” Judy says, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
“Unless you suck, then we’ll just send you home!” Theo laughs, waving as he and Judy head out the side door.
More laughter.
I roll my eyes. This man isn’t funny. But then again, that tracks becauseSNLisn’t funny either.
Fuck. What have I gotten myself into.
“Now that that’s over with, find a partner and let’s get you all out to the tent.”
“Go pair up with her,” Julian teases, bumping my shoulder as he heads toward the snack table. “You know you want to.”
My face tightens, but my eyes instinctively search for Taylor. She’s chatting with RaeAnn. For a brief second, I imagine walking over and telling her to walk in with me just to see how she’d react.
Then I remind myself I don’t give a shit about her reaction to anything.
“C’mon, kid.” Diane loops her arm through mine, tugging me toward the back door. “Let’s get in there and show ’em what we’re made of, yeah?”
I blink at her, thrown by the contact. Then I straighten, nod once, and let her escort me into the next ring of Hell.
CHAPTER 7: TAYLOR
The towering peaks of the tent glint white in the bright early morning light, looking more like part of a circus than a TV baking competition.
RaeAnn, my partner for the entrance scene, looks at me with wide, sparkling eyes and we squeal together as we practically skip our way across the lush, green lawn.
Inside, dual rows of workstations line a wide central aisle that slices the tent clean in two. Each station gleams—utensils, ingredients, and appliances perfectly aligned, everything dazzling and new.
For such a plain exterior, the inside bursts with cool blues, rosy pinks, vibrant oranges, and minty greens. A soft breeze drifts through the rolled-up windows, carrying the scent of sugar and vanilla tangled with the unmistakable promise of hope.
