She tucked the cord of her hair straightener back into the top of the tote where it had escaped. “If you don’t let them, then you’ ll be bright.”
He smirked. “I’m okay with that.”
“You won’t be when you see the show. You’ll be lighting up like Rudolph once you start sweating under these lights.”
“I have no problem guiding a sleigh as long as I’m not wearing makeup.” He shoulder-bumped her playfully, and she bumped him back, momentarily distracted by the memory of those arms being around her in the elevator. His warmth had seeped in much deeper than surface level, and despite the pool water still clinging to her suit, she’d heated right up. How did he not feel it? And if he did, why didn’t he say anything? Maybe he had his own list of reasons like she did.
Or maybe it was just in her head, and she’d ruin everything if she even mentioned it.
She eased away from his playful touch. “We better find the others.” And try to shift her focus to the fact that in a few minutes, she’d be on her way to achieving a lifelong dream—leaving Bayou Bend in her powdered-sugar wake and baking any recipe she wanted for a prestigious bakery. She had to concentrate.
Her future depended on the next few days.
They turned back to the pencil-thin, smiling assistant who’d accompanied them to the studio after they had arrived at the building by taxi. “This way.”
They followed her down a maze of hallways to a door with a giant red cupcake hanging on the front. “Go on in. There will be someone to help with your makeup, and you can change if you want to. Plenty of dressing screens.” The assistant kept smiling. “See you on the set!”
How was someone so perky that early in the morning without clutching a cup of coffee?
As the assistant strolled away, Kat stared at the door. A red cupcake had never seemed so intimidating, and she’d messed up her share of red velvets before. They were tricky to master, especially texture-wise. Hopefully that wasn’t a sign. She gestured to Lucas. “You first.”
He somehow managed to frown and grin at the same time. “You know my mama taught me better than that.”
It was just a decoration cupcake. Yet hesitancy froze her hand on the knob. Somehow, once she opened this door, everything turned real. Stage makeup. Dressing screens. A different world resided on the other side of this cupcake. A world of glitter and flounce and fame. Padded vanity stools. Multibulb, trifold mirrors. Gourmet hors d’oeuvres.
This was a big moment.
“It’s a door, Kat. Not a magic portal.” Lucas nudged her in the back, and she reluctantly twisted the knob.
Chaos greeted with all the charm of a disgruntled hostess. Contestants sat on canvas folding chairs in front of square-cut mirrors hanging on the wall above gleaming white vanity tables. The assistants, wearing red T-shirts, dabbed at contestants’ faces with fluffy makeup brushes, while behind one solid black dressing screen, a pair of sweatpants suddenly flew over the top and nearly landed on a woman rushing by with a curling iron cord streaming in her wake, her left arm clad in a sleeve of tattoos. On a side table sat a tray of pastries and fresh fruit.
Definitely not a portal.
Though if Cinderella’s fairy godmother had a storage room, this might be it. Sort of half-glamorous, half-realistic preparation.
“There’s a chair over here.” A Red Shirt gestured with a makeup compact behind her. “You’ll be next.”
At the moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be at all. Judging by the amount of blush being applied on the blonde contestant’s round cheeks, Kat might be better off letting Lucas do her makeup. She clutched her purse like a shield, ducking instinctively as a button-down shirt flapped over the dressing screen from the corner of her eye. She spun just in time to avoid being blasted with hairspray.
“I’m going to wait in the hall.” Lucas’s voice sounded strangled as he practically shoved the tote bag into Kat’s hands. “Too much . . . you know.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Hairspray?”
“Estrogen.”
He bailed.
Lucky.
She slowly settled into the empty folding chair, pulling out her makeup bag while avoiding looking directly into the mirror. So this was Hollywood. Wouldn’t Stella be surprised? Though knowing her beauty queen sister, she’d somehow manage to wrangle her own room complete with gold sequined star.
Enough of that. She was here, not Stella. And Kat deserved to be.
Or at least Lucas thought so.
It would have to be enough.
“You ready?” A smiling Red Shirt appeared at her side in the mirror, and Kat dared to look at her reflection. A little pale, and a little shiny. She could use the help.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Ready or not.
He’d never been tempted to smoke before, but after leaving that hairspray-ladened, female-crowded dressing room, Lucas suddenly considered the appeal. How did those women even breathe in there?
He shoved away from the wall and began to pace, trying to focus on the upcoming show. He was already wearing what he’d be wearing, sans apron, and he sure enough wasn’t letting anyone near him with that powdery stuff on a brush. Hopefully Kat wouldn’t let the workers make her over into something fake for the cameras. She already shone enough on her own, and he wasn’t referencing the Rudolph conversation from earlier. She didn’t need all the extra.
He couldn’t wait to see her in that apron.
The door opened, and a collegiate-looking girl in a red T-shirt motioned him inside. “We’re about to brief.”
Hopefully, it would be brief.
He followed her inside, sucking in a last gulp of hallway air before succumbing to the inevitable.
He quickly located Kat standing in the back of the room, next to another set of contestants in hot pink T-shirts and jeans. Good, she got next to some of the few Normals. He meandered through the crowd and the haze to her side.
“Coward.” She nudged him, and he nudged her back on instinct.
“Jealous.”
She wrinkled her nose, and he laughed out loud. Man, he knew her.
And he was right about how cute the apron looked. At least they hadn’t turned her into a clown. Besides some extra brown stuff smeared on her eyelids, she looked like Kat.
With glossy lips.
He turned his attention to the suited man in the center of the room—the slick-haired host he’d watched too many times on TV. “Attention, please. I’m Sam Carson—as you all know.” He winked. Lucas bit back a groan. The only thing worse than the dude’s hair was his arrogance.
And that was saying something.
“We here at Cupcake Combat have a surprise for you.” He spread his arms dramatically, the sleeves of his black jacket riding up and revealing a shiny silver watch. “You might have noticed in the studio that this episode’s setup is for six teams instead of four. Well, I can assure you, it’s not because we miscounted.”
A nervous chuckle rose from the group, and something cinched in Lucas’s stomach. He didn’t like surprises—especially not where Kat was concerned. What was this guy up to?
“And as I’m sure you noticed from your itinerary, we’re spending five days taping. What you might not have realized is that five days is not usual for our typical hour-long show.”
Just get to the point, Slick. Lucas shifted his weight impatiently.
“That’s because . . .” He paused for effect, and Lucas swore every person in the room leaned forward an inch. “This is a special, three-hour holiday episode to celebrate our fifth anniversary on the air.”
A collective gasp rose from the gathered contestants. Beside him, Kat stiffened like a coiled spring. An anniversary episode—with three times the airtime. Wow. Well, that explained the change in the grand prize. His thoughts raced with the implications, and he could sense Kat’s blood pressure rising beside him like a rogue hot-air balloon.
She was going to kill him.
“We’ll
be taping over a period of five partial days, ending with the big championship round. And just stay prepared. There might be more surprises along the way.” Sam’s jubilant expression proved he enjoyed freaking out people whose nerves were already on edge to start with. Figured.
Kat’s fingers clamped around his arm and squeezed, her nails digging into his flesh. He adjusted her grip with his free hand, squeezing back to reassure her. She still had this in the bag, if she wanted it badly enough. This new element didn’t really change anything, right? Except, well, he supposed it did up the prestige of the win a little. And it lowered the odds of winning because of the extra teams competing.
Okay, no wonder she was squeezing so hard. He felt like kicking himself in the rear end. How could he have put them in this position? Of all the times for him to miscalculate a play.
But the game wasn’t over. It hadn’t even started yet. They were still in it.
And his ultimate goal still had a chance.
Unless, of course, Kat decided she never wanted to speak to him again after this.
“That said, I’d like everyone to introduce themselves. Just your name, team name, and home state is plenty for now.” Sam rubbed his hands together and waggled his shaggy eyebrows like an overly dramatic, classic movie villain. “And remember, this is Cupcake Combat. This is war. So if you’re inspired to create any friendly—or not so friendly—competition for the cameras, even better.”
Everyone chuckled on cue, voices still shaky from the shock of the announcement. Lucas tried to force a smile and not roll his eyes at Sam’s corny script. He guessed his previous questions about how real reality shows were behind the scenes were about to be answered.
He vaguely tuned in as the team at the front of the room wearing bandanas tied around their heads talked about motorcycles and cupcakes from Florida. They stood next to two women who had so many tattoos that it was hard to determine where the ink stopped and clothes began.
“Here.”
He looked down just as Kat thrust the apron at him, the blue fabric trembling in her shaky grip. How could he forget? The moment of truth. He slowly began to cinch the thing around his jeans and gray T-shirt, almost wishing he could trade it for a tattoo instead.
She smoothed out the front of it for him as she whispered, “Tie it tight. Don’t want to lose it.”
No, that would be tragic.
Though her touch across his chest made the whole apron thing a little worth it.
“So we’ve heard from Chops and Michelle of the team Real Bakers Ride Bikes, and farmers John and Sarah from We Grow Cupcakes, as well as from tattoo artists Hallie and Gemma from Inky Dots.” Sam pointed with two fingers to the ladies in hot pink next to Kat. “Next?”
“We’re sisters from Mississippi.” The ladies spoke in unison, their voices as oversize as their hot pink fingernails. “Tameka and Tonya.” They looked at each other and laughed, white teeth a gleaming contrast against their bright T-shirts.
The larger one nudged the other in the side, probably indicating she wanted to talk by herself. “I’m Tameka, and Tonya’s acting as my assistant for the show. We own an online business called Classy Cupcakes.” The smaller sister then gestured to her T-shirt where the words were printed in a cursive script.
“Welcome.” Sam pointed to Kat. “And you are?”
She sucked in her breath, and Lucas put his hand on her back to steady her. “I’m Kat and this is Lucas. We’re from Louisiana.”
Good girl. Her voice didn’t even quiver.
“Not Your Mama’s Cupcakes.” Sam read the front of Lucas’s apron, and the smile in his eyes seemed to turn genuine for a moment. “Nice. Very catchy.”
Kat relaxed slightly under his touch, and Lucas felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe the guy wasn’t as bad as he initially thought. He probably shouldn’t go solely off first impressions—
“But I guess we’ll let the judges decide that, huh?”
Kat’s smile wobbled, and Lucas wondered what would happen if he decked a host. No, it’d be pointless—his fist would probably just slip right through all that grease in Sam’s hair.
“Hey, Sam? Thanks for saving the best for last.”
The snarky female tone sounded from across the room. Lucas leaned around the guy in the Harley vest and red bandana to see who had spoken. Oh, yeah—the girl with the curly black pigtails they’d seen briefly in the studio earlier. Kat had pointed out then how cute the girl’s hair looked, though Lucas sort of always figured pigtails were only cute on three-year-olds toting lollipops. She was standing next to a thin blonde girl, and they both wore fluffy purple tutus and some kind of weird patterned leg warmers or whatever those things were called. They looked like their combined ages had to be less than his own.
“We’re college roommates, from New York.” The pigtailed girl jabbed her thumb at her chest, the series of neon bracelets on her arm jangling as she gestured. “I’m Piper, and this is Amanda.” The blonde lifted one hand in a tentative wave. “We’re the Icing Queens.”
“Best for last, huh?” Sam sized them up with a dimpled grin and rocked back on the heels of his shiny dress shoes. “You might have to prove it.”
Piper crossed her arms over her sequined black tank top and lifted her chin. She’d have been pretty if not for the too-dark eye makeup and the attitude. “Not a problem.”
The room erupted into whispers as the other teams reacted to the sudden shark among them. Lucas rubbed his hands over his face, wishing he could magically transport both him and Kat back to Bayou Bend where they belonged. How exactly had he ended up here, in an apron, surrounded by baking bikers and cocky college students and colors so bright they shouldn’t be allowed in public?
“They’re either really good, or they are just trying to compensate for being really bad.” Kat whispered up at him, uncertainty lacing her voice. She hadn’t stopped frowning since Sam’s anniversary announcement.
“Nah. Those girls are hardly a threat.” He leaned down to whisper back, grateful for the excuse to be closer to her. “Look—they had to reinvent the 1980s because they completely missed them the first time.”
Kat snorted and elbowed him in the side, a giggle escaping through her nerves.
He straightened with a smile. He’d made her laugh. That was all that mattered.
He just hoped he was right.
eleven
The stage lights threatened to melt her makeup. A drop of sweat trickled down Kat’s back beneath her T-shirt and apron, and she clenched her hands into fists before flexing her fingers and trying to relax them atop her baking counter. This was it. Showtime.
Well, eventually, anyway. The teams were all in place at their stations, waiting on instructions for the first round as Sam held a whispered conference in the wings with a man in frayed jeans, a button-down shirt, and worn flip-flops—a man who apparently held more authority than his wardrobe indicated. The director, maybe?
All around them, cameramen lurked, tinkering with their equipment, downing coffee, and looking bored. So this was showbiz. She’d have to tell Stella, though she sort of had the feeling if Stella were here, the cameramen would no longer be bored.
The judges, perched on shiny silver stools behind a waist-high table at the front of the room, sipped from Coca-Cola bottles and joked among themselves. Easy for them to do—they were about to get free cupcakes and make people cry. The contestants had already been introduced briefly to the panel of judges, whom Kat felt she already knew just from her hours invested in the show.
There was Dave Donaldson, whose belly protruding between his trademark suspenders gave testament to his love of pastries. But the silver mustache and grandpa-type appearance hid a master pastry chef whose opinion had been sought and respected in the industry for decades. He’d started several successful businesses and had his own show a few years back. His opinion mattered, and while he wasn’t as harsh as some of the judges in his comments, he was firm. If he looked Kat in the eye and told her that her cupcakes were
n’t up to par, she might never recover.
Then in the middle of the table was Georgiana Britt, a middleaged famous chef and author of multiple best-selling, gluten-free recipe books, including a weight-loss book that had rocketed off the charts. Her fiery red hair and boisterous voice were entertaining to watch—she was definitely the judge who seemed to have the most fun on the show. But her quick wit and honest opinion could slice deeper than a carving knife. Kat would hate for those clever barbs she usually enjoyed on TV to be directed her way.
And of course, at the end of the table sat Thad Holson, the attractive, pinstriped-wearing, preppy judge in his late thirties whom Lucas had joked about not liking last time they’d watched an episode together at her house. Or maybe he’d been serious. The judge was a little cocky, but he was the best in the business. He owned Bloom bakery in New York, so he’d more than earned the right to be confident.
Could she really be potentially baking for his shop one day soon?
The tension in Kat’s shoulders doubled, and she arched her neck, wishing for a massage. Or caffeine. Or a headache pill.
Or maybe just a flight home.
“It helps to breathe.”
Lucas’s sudden voice in her ear tingled, and Kat jumped, gripping the counter before her. She whirled and pounded Lucas on the shoulder. “Don’t do that.” Her heart thundered beneath her apron.
“You can’t win a competition if you pass out.” He picked up a blank index card they were allowed to make notes on during the show, and fanned her face with it. “You’ve got this, Kat.”
“You shouldn’t lie to your wife.” Piper breezed past, so close her flouncy tutu brushed against Kat’s arm.
“He’s not my—”
“She’s not my—”
Kat and Lucas looked at each other, then at Piper, who raised her dark eyebrows and smirked. “Whatever. Bottom line is, he lied. You don’t have this. We do.” She gestured to her teammate—Amanda, if Kat remembered correctly—who just stood there and spun a strand of her blonde hair around her finger, smiling as if they were all best friends. Apparently Piper hadn’t filled her buddy in on the mean-girl game plan.
All’s Fair In Love and Cupcakes Page 9
