“Later,” I called back and before she could shout anything else, I slipped inside the big door and pulled it closed. She wouldn’t come inside, that was my freedom from all things Erin, with her lists and her marketing schedules, and the relief was instant.
I crossed the threshold into a tumble of decorations in tones of green and red for Christmas, with show banners and posters everywhere. Just seeing the show logo again, fancied up for Christmas with extra holly and berries, was a startling reminder of all the hopes and dreams I’d had when I got a place on season one.
I leaned against a pillar and took in the atrium, with its gleaming glass and show banners. The whole place had the feel of luxurious wealth. I closed my eyes for a minute just to listen to the absolute silence. I hadn’t slept properly for the last week and the same worries I carried with me from childhood were milling around in my head. Mostly about how the hell I was going to fit in with the other contestants.
It’s not like I’d know anyone here from meeting them before. We’d all been contestants on World’s Best Baking Show, but I’d missed the WBBS reunions, even though I’d been invited every time. Erin had doubted whether it was worth my time to look back, and she’d convinced me that my life was moving forward, reminding me of how much other people had to tidy up my bakes for my videos. However, that didn’t stop her from wanting me to connect to the show when it suited my profile, like being part of this charity show. I blame her for suggesting I shouldn’t go to the reunions, but deep down, I’d always been relieved. After all, what would I have said at these meet ups? I was better on-screen and Erin and her team agreed, so I’d never gone. Of course, now my association with WBBS was of utmost importance for as soon as news of the charity show was announced, five companies had approached me for endorsements.
Or approached Erin.
It meant that Kleckso was abruptly good for my brand income, and so here I was, out of my comfort zone, but with seriously heavy deposits into my already healthy bank account. Twenty-thousand to mention KlecksoCream was just the tip of the iceberg to what I would be earning if I made it to the finals on the show while sticking to Erin’s rules.
I just had to meet people who could actually bake and have conversations with them.
Embrace the fear, confront the fear. Learn from the fear.
That is what my therapist wanted me to live by, but what didn’t seem obvious to her was that I’d already used my fear as fuel to propel me into being a very rich man. I had my first hundred thousand from winning the show and now at twenty-five, I have almost five million beautiful, sexy dollars locked away. Right now, no one could send me away from anywhere or take anything from me. But the nagging doubt was there all the time, the one that said I should’ve stayed at home, and that I didn’t need to do this show. Yes, I’d pull in endorsement money, but I could do that through my various social media platforms, just at a slower rate. Being here meant possibly exposing me for the fraud I was, but maybe I needed that scandal to stop people from wanting a part of me.
I got the irony. Selling myself and selling products made me rich, people wanted to be me, people wanted to bake like me, use my products, even my hair gel. But if they knew the real me, the scared kid who, more by luck than judgment, had made it to the final of season one and then won it by accident, then they’d run. When I signed up for it, I’d clearly been having an I can bake, I’m a good baker, I can do this kind of day. Or maybe the PR company signed me up for it? Erin and her team tend to over commit me, and I’ve yet to say no to anything they arrange.
Until the new year, when I was done—not that anyone knew it yet. And who would I tell? The marketing company I paid for? Or the next door cat that spent most of its time in my vast back yard?
Shake it off, Justin.
WBBS has six completed seasons so far and there’d be the six winners here, all fighting to be crowned the best of the best. With four rounds run over two weeks and handling various challenges, one person would be leaving each round until it was two people standing for the fifth and final round. Everything would be knit together in just the right way to capture the Christmas market. Some of how I felt was just the very real worry I wouldn’t make it past round one, but the rest of it was a mess of concerns about where I was going next, what I was doing. Nerves gripped tight and wouldn’t release me, and a familiar panic began to grow in my chest.
“Hi.”
I spun quickly to face the owner of the voice, coming face to face with someone stepping out of the shadows of a huge tree, and yelped.
Brody Thomas. Winner of season four, and just as sexy in real life as he had been on television. God, the crush I’d had on tall, dark, and seriously handsome was off the charts, but a proposal by his fiancé at his season finale put to rest any fantasy I may have had about getting anywhere near him.
“Shit! Sorry.” His nose wrinkled as he peered down at me from his lofty six inch advantage. I realized I had my hand over my heart, and that his frown was probably more like he was worried about me.
“No, it’s good. I’m really early, so I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here yet. It’s okay. Sorry.” Go me with the scintillating conversation.
“Brody Thomas, season four.” He held out a hand. With almost black hair, deep velvet brown eyes, and a voice smooth as whiskey, I could lose myself staring at him but instinct kicked in, and I shook his hand. Married. He’s married.
“Justin Mallory, season one.”
Brody grinned and there were dimples. Beautiful, sexy dimples. “I know. I watched your season.”
“I watched yours too.” Was I sounding too eager?
“Cool.”
Brody was wearing the softest cashmere sweater, decorated with a sprig of holly. He caught me staring and glanced down at his chest. “My brother’s idea, something about getting into the season. I just think he’s an idiot. I clearly got all the clever genes.”
“Right.” Way to kill the conversation.
Brody cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m early as well. I just wanted to get in as soon as I could, to familiarize myself with the new place, get a sense of what it was like.” He was filling the quiet, and I was thankful for that as there was no way it would be me guiding a conversation. Not unless it was online—then I was fine. I’d been so lost in memories of the show and consumed with nerves, that I hadn’t had time to put my Brand Justin mask on, and I hated that he’d caught me off guard.
“It’s big,” I offered, even though he was standing right here so he could see how big the inside was.
“It’s very different in here compared to the soundstage we filmed on. Did you go into the back and see the kitchen yet?” he asked and stared at a crystal chandelier above us, suspended from the ceiling and implausibly not crashing to the floor. His lips parted, and abruptly I wasn’t checking out the opulent surroundings but was staring at Brody. Ever since I’d seen him step onto the WBBS kitchen, I’d had this interest in him. When he stayed in week after week, my interest was backed up by frequent views of him being sexy in so many ways.
Sexy as he bent over and stared into his oven with his cute pout when things weren’t looking as good as they should. Sexy with powdered sugar on his face. Sexy as he grinned in excitement when he won. Sexy, always smiling on the show, a little clumsy, funny, fucking gorgeous, and totally gay. I could deny that I’d watched every scene Brody had been in several times over, including the highlight reels on YouTube, but I’d be lying.