I pull the door closed behind me. The click of the latch sounds like a lock sliding into place.
“You pulled her in the middle of a bake.”
Hal leans back, propping his hands behind his head.
“We conduct interviews throughout the day all the time.”
“And while she was gone, her oven dropped fifteen degrees.” I continue, stepping forward.
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He folds his hands on the desk before responding. “We tested the ovens this morning, but you know how temperamental technology can be. Glitches happen.”
“You expect me to believe that, Hal? Come on now, don’t insult me.”
I move closer to the desk with measured steps. My palms settle flat on the wood as I lean in just enough to invade his space, but I don’t raise my voice.
“You don’t get to manipulate the conditions of a timed technical challenge because you want better footage.”
His jaw tightens, and he leans forward in an attempt to reclaim some of the ground he’s lost. “Careful with your accusations, Alex.”
I cock my head to the side. A slow smirk quirks into place.
“No. You be careful.”
That’s when the room shifts. I’m not posturing or bluffing, and we both know it. He knows my family and the influence we carry. The connections we maintain.
“You’re very invested,” he says lightly. Too lightly given the circumstance he’s found himself in.
I bark a dry laugh. “You have no idea.”
Images of Taylor flash through my head. Soft, golden curls glinting in the light. Her hand squeezing mine. The determined set of her shoulders. The way she chews on her bottom lip whenshe’s thinking. The musical laugh she uses to cover any hint of her nerves.
They don’t get to mess with that.
“You interfere to see if you can get someone to crack. I’m sure it’s great for editing and ratings.”
I straighten to my full height and step around the desk. I’m close enough now that Hal has to lean back in his chair to maintain eye contact.
His eyes narrow. “No one sabotaged anyone.”
“I checked every oven in that tent, Hal. They were all fine—except for hers. Try again. Maybe the truth this time.”
Tension crackles between us. A beat of silence passes, and then he caves and speaks first.
“Let’s say something was adjusted,” he says carefully, “that’s within production’s discretion. It’s our show.”
That’s the moment something in me goes completely still. Rage doesn’t explode out of me, it simmers into something white hot. Liquid fire coursing through my veins.
“You intentionally altered the conditions of a technical after the challenge was already in progress.”
He doesn’t answer. There isn’t anything he can say to absolve himself of this monumental fuck up.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, placing it on his desk between us with the show’s contract open.
“I know exactly what’s in that contract.”
He scoffs. “You’re just a baker.”
“And because of that, you were counting on me not reading the fine print.” I hold his gaze. “But you must have forgotten who my father is.”
