Page 7 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)

CHAPTER SIX

I dab the last little bit of sauce off my plate with a crusty piece of French bread, eying the hovering waiter with the suspicion of a wild dog not wanting to share her bone. If the man even tries to take this plate before I’m finished, I will end him.

No joke.

“Have you ever…” Sadie sighs into a spoonful of chocolate mousse, not even bothering to finish her sentence.

Needless to say, the food here at HBN’s cabin is astounding. Word has it they coaxed Chef Louis Brenard from his diamond-encrusted, multi-million-dollar restaurant empire to create the menu. Lucky us.

“You’re doing it again,” Sadie whispers, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

I rip my gaze away from Mason.

“I wasn’t.”

But it’s a lie—I was looking at him, as I’ve been doing all night. My eyes can’t seem to stay away. He’s seated at a table with the other judges—top chef Alexandra Doyl and Peter Gostinberg from HBN’s Bake It Right.

Tammy was sitting with them as well, but she abandoned their table long before the first course was served. She’s now standing in a corner, murmuring with a man in a suit who looks important. No wonder the woman is so skinny—she cooks, but she doesn’t eat .

Purposely keeping my eyes off Mason, I let my gaze wander over the rest of the room.

According to Tammy’s beloved schedule, this is our only formal dinner.

From here on out, we may eat in the dining room, but only contestants receive their food for free.

Family members and friends are required to pay.

The only exception is the goodies left over from the bake-off challenges.

Whatever doesn’t get scarfed down by the crew will be relocated to a dessert table in the corner.

It’s a first-come, first-served sort of system.

Including the members of the crew and random cameramen wandering about the room, there are around seventy people in attendance. The mood is jovial, and the thrill of possibility is in the air. Any one of us could win—any one of us could take home the twenty thousand dollars.

The gossip mill is oiled and working, and we’ve already learned quite a bit about our fellow competitors.

First, there’s Scott and Misty, a husband and wife team from Chicago.

They own a bakery, and their croissants are supposed to be to die for.

They’re both a little soft around the edges, each wears a huge smile, and Scott’s laugh is crazy loud—but in a Santa Claus kind of way, not like a drunk guy in the corner of the room.

Then there’s Chrissy and Christy—no joke—cupcake bakers from New York.

I’m guessing they’re in their forties, but there’s definitely an excessive amount of cosmetic surgery that’s gone on there, so it’s hard to say.

One of the two, Christy, I think, scans the room like me.

She’s the taller of the two, with unnaturally full lips and a pinched expression that never seems to leave her face.

The two teammates whisper, and I have a feeling they’re sizing up their competition.

Cole, the baking gladiator we met earlier, is seated with his partner and brother. Jerome’s equally as tall and muscular as his brother, and they’re already attracting attention.

When Sadie follows my eyes, she shakes her head. “Can you believe there are two of them? Half of the viewers are going to swoon when they don aprons.”

I cock my head to the side, picturing it. Yep, she’s right.

When Cole notices me looking his way, he flashes me a smirk, acknowledging our earlier meeting. I return his smile, a little embarrassed he caught me looking.

There are eight more teams, excluding Sadie and me. Sarah and her daughter Quinn are from Idaho, and they were the other team selected at the Montana auditions. Neil and Catherine are another husband/wife team, as are Charlie and Susan.

Then there’s Jessica and Anne, strawberry blond cousins, both in their late twenties. They’re from somewhere down south because their accents are thick. All evening, the pretty pair has been giggling over the gladiator brothers. Neither Cole nor Jerome seem to mind.

Eugene and his grandson Max sit at the table with Sheila and Clary, a baking duo from California.

With them are the girls’ husbands and Max’s sister, who’s here to support her grandpa and brother—or to fawn over Mason, which is what I’m leaning toward.

Eugene must be in his late seventies, and Max is eighteen, making him the youngest contestant here.

I got a chance to talk to them earlier, and they’re nice.

I haven’t learned the other competitors’ names yet, but there are two more teams. As I guessed, excluding Max, Sadie and I are the youngest team in the bake-off.

From the looks I’ve been getting, I know more than a few whispers are being exchanged about us.

I can guess what they’re saying too. They think we made it on because of Mason, because of strings he pulled after what happened at our audition at the Harbinger.

But they didn’t taste our cookies. We perfected them, and they won us this spot. Mason had nothing to do with it.

What if he did?

I scowl at the thought and set my napkin aside, finally admitting defeat. There’s no way I can eat another bite, no matter how much I might want to.

Once the dishes are cleared, Tammy steps to the front of the room, mic in hand. She wastes no time getting down to business. After a few brief words of welcome, she jumps right in, occasionally glancing at a list in her hand to make sure she covers everything.

There’s a total of eight episodes, meaning two teams will be dismissed in two of them.

The show is aired on an approximate four-hour delay to give the crew a chance to edit out filming blunders or the occasional slipped curse word.

The viewers get one-third of the vote, and they’ll be judging us on presentation.

“The more the camera loves you, the better chance you have to win,” Tammy reminds us. Basically, the producer is saying they want a show worth watching, so don’t be a wallflower.

“Interviews will be held in the mornings, immediately after you finish a competition, and then again in the afternoons. As the schedule states, we will not be filming on Wednesdays or the weekend. You may use that time at your leisure. The final episode and the winner announcement will air next Friday.”

I shift in my seat, surprised I’m nervous. I should have known it would happen—I’m a competitive person by nature. There’s no way I could enter this and not want to win.

“On a final note, it’s been brought to our attention that we need to set a few ground rules between the competitors and the judges?—”

Every single eye in the room turns on me. My attention is firmly on Tammy, but I can feel their gazes, and my palms grow sweaty. It’s not a good feeling.

“Interaction will be kept to a minimum, and absolutely no fraternizing will be tolerated.”

Chrissy, one of the bottle-blonds from New York, raises her hand like it’s her first day of kindergarten. “Excuse me, Madam Producer?”

Madame Producer?

“What if fraternizing has already occurred?” she glances at me, giving me an apologetic little head tilt that’s anything but.

Tammy straightens her shoulders and narrows her eyes. “I assure you, every team in this room is here due to their baking skills, and not because the media glommed onto a small incident that occurred during the audition process.”

Chrissy, who for some reason still has her fool hand in the hair, falters and slowly lowers her arm, looking properly chastised.

Tammy dismisses her and goes over a few more trivial details that are already in the information packet we all received when we arrived.

When everyone finally goes back to minding their own business, I flick my eyes toward Mason.

As if feeling my gaze, he glances my way.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t so much as smile, and then he moves his attention back to Tammy.

His reaction doesn’t offend me, not after his words in the hall. Besides, I don’t want Mason. It was one thing to react to him when his hands were pressed to my sides and his words grazed my ear, but developing an actual crush on the musician would be insane.

Mason’s here to do his job, and I’m here to win. It’s as simple as that.

Tammy dismisses us, and Sadie and I filter out of the room. It’s late, after ten, and we have to be up and ready for team interviews by nine. We part in the upstairs hall, and I pull out my card key.

Hiding a tiny smile, I watch from the corner of my eye as Sadie jerks the handle, trying to open the fussy door.

Yes, I gave her that room. Do I feel bad about it? No, I do not.

I change into a soft pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, and just as I’m brushing my hair, a knock sounds at my door. My chest clenches, and my pulse jumps. For one brief moment, I wonder if it’s Mason. Then I realize that’s ridiculous. Of course it’s not Mason.

But what if it is?

Another knock sounds, and I hurry forward, skidding across the polished wooden floor in my fuzzy pink tube socks. I flip the lock at the top, take a deep breath to calm my nerves, remind myself that Mason’s eye candy and nothing more, and pull the handle.

Then my shoulders sag.

Sadie frowns. “You should have probably checked to see who it was first.”

I roll my eyes. “What do you want?”

She raises a brow, which is a caramel blond—the exact color of precisely twenty-five percent of her hair. Probably the natural part. “Someone slid a note under my door. Since my name isn’t Harper, I assumed it was for you.”

My confused heart does that weird skitter thing again, acting up just after it calmed down from the disappointment.

Sadie offers the note, and I snatch it from her hand. It’s probably nothing more than another itinerary. Tammy loves them, and she seems to think we’re incapable of keeping track of the fifty she’s given us.

I suck in a breath as I scan the short sentence.

“What does it say?” Sadie demands, her voice bubbly as she presses in close to read the note.

Resisting the urge to put my palm on her forehead and push her away, I turn from her. “Nothing.”

“Come on—let me see.” Like one of those little rat dogs celebutantes carry around, she squirms her way back, refusing to take a hint. I give in and flick the note to her before she crawls up my arm.

Her eyes go wide as she reads it out loud, “ Second floor, suite one. Bring a swimsuit and a poster. ”

She looks back at me. “You don’t think this is from” —she leans forward and dramatically lowers her voice— “ Mason? ”

I shake my head and cross my arms. “No, it was definitely Eugene. He and I had a moment at the dessert table.”

Sadie stares at me for several seconds before she blinks, fluttering her long eyelashes. “Eugene? Isn’t he the?—”

“Grandpa?” I interrupt, enjoying the look of revulsion on her face. “I like older men. Do you have a problem with that?”

It takes her three whole seconds to realize I’m not serious, and then she shakes her head like I’m insane. “You can’t go.”

“Is that right? Are you my chaperone now?”

She bites her bottom lip, looking as if she’s worried I’m going to slap her if she actually spits out the words she means to say.

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“Brandon said I should watch out for you, make sure you don’t get tangled up with Mason.”

“Excuse me?” My blood’s already warming with irritation. “He said what? ”

She gulps and takes a not-so-subtle step back. “He’s worried about you.”

“Is he?”

Sadie nods.

“Have you talked to him tonight?” I demand.

Shaking her head, she edges toward her room. “No, I was about to call, but then I found your note.”

“Well, be sure to let him know where I went. Give him a full update.” I turn back to my room and rummage through my things, glad Riley tossed a swimsuit into my duffel bag while I was packing.

I had no intention of meeting Mason when I first read the note, but now…

Now I have no choice.