Chapter 6
After what will go down as one of the worst nights of sleep I’ve ever had, it’s barely dawn, and I’m sitting uncomfortably in the first row of the show’s passenger van, waiting to be ushered to the set.
The other van already left for our destination, but here we sit, idling endlessly. I lean forward, clearing my throat to address our driver. “Hey champ, what are we waiting for? We should’ve left with the others.”
“Apologies, Mr. Harrington—”
“Alex.” I correct him immediately, glancing over my shoulder to see if any of the others heard my last name, but they’re too focused on their phones and coffee to care.
The older gentleman winces as he remembers the confidentiality issue.
“Apologies, Alex. We’re waiting on Ms. Taylor to come down, but I assure you we aren’t behind schedule. Most of you happened to be very, very early. And even if she is running a little behind, like yesterday, I’ll get us there on time. You have my word.”
“Good man,” I say, patting him on the shoulder gently before sitting back against my seat. I crack my knuckles one by one, then jerk my head side to side, popping the tension in my neck. Waiting on people is high on my long list of grievances in this life.
With minutes to spare, Taylor comes barreling into the van and plops onto the only open seat. The one directly next to me.
“Hi, good morning!” she breathes out, smiling warmly. “Almost didn’t make it, but I’m right on time today. Score!”
She buckles her seatbelt and lifts her arms to battle her chaotic halo of curls. Strands poke out every which way, sunlight catching the copper undertones like glowing fire.
She’s so close I can smell the scent of her shampoo still lingering. Something floral but also bright. I scowl, telling myself it shouldn’t bother me how that little detail hits me.
It shouldn’t; it doesn’t.
“Early is on time, on time is late, and late is fired,” I mutter, frustrated by her tardiness—and, begrudgingly, by the way her positivity slams into me.
She tilts her head, smile widening. “It’s a good thing you aren’t my boss, then, right?” She nestles a Tupperware container on her lap, full to the top with cookies.
“Are you bringing baked goods to a baking show? I don’t know if you got the memo, but we’re supposed to do that live for the cameras,” I quip, flicking my eyes from her face to her lap in irritation.
I need to keep my mouth shut, but she grates against my nerves in ways I can’t explain. She’s so bright and bubbly, and damn it, it drives me crazy.
Her head tosses back in a loud, melodic laugh.
Ridiculous.
“Oh, Alex,” she murmurs through the giggle, placing a hand gently on one of my crossed arms. “You are so tirelessly cranky. Obviously, I’m going to bake live today.
These are a peace offering to Joe for his near-death experience yesterday.
I’m making my amends and starting this new day off on the right foot. ”
The muscle in my jaw ticks as I clench my teeth against a response. She nudges me in the shoulder before adding, “Not too late for you to try it, too.”
I scoff, pulling my body away so she can’t make such easy contact, forcing myself to focus on the world beyond the window whizzing by.
It’s way too early for this much of her.
?????????
The van winds up the long driveway, flanked by tall palms and manicured hedges. Early-morning sun glints off the terracotta roof tiles of the manor ahead. The stucco walls glow warmly while arched windows, wrought-iron balconies, and carved stone trim give the house a sense of grandeur.
This place clearly wasn’t built for subtlety.
I lean back in my seat, trying to work the stiffness out of my muscles from the ride. Taylor’s shoulder brushes mine as she settles in beside me, humming softly under her breath like she’s completely oblivious to where we are.
The driver eases the van to a stop at the front entrance, where a small cluster of crew members and assistants move with practiced efficiency, clipboards and walkie-talkies in hand.
The polished stone steps and towering double doors feel almost ceremonial, and the warm air carries faint scents of blooming citrus and fresh-cut grass from the gardens beyond.
Inside, the great room stretches ahead. High ceilings and tall windows let in a soft golden sunlight.
Folding chairs are arranged in small clusters while tables hold coffee, bottled water, and light snacks.
Makeup and wardrobe stations line one wall.
A check-in desk sits near the entrance, where producers greet each of us with quick smiles and last-minute instructions.
Taylor nudges me as we step inside. “This is fancy,” she whispers, eyes darting around in delight.
I glance at her, trying not to let the corners of my mouth twitch. “Too bad we’re not here for the architecture.”
Our group moves to a corner of the room where the pre-show prep is happening.
Producers hand out schedules and explain the morning’s flow, and Taylor leans in just enough for me to catch a whiff of her shampoo again.
My jaw ticks. I grit my teeth, forcing my attention back where it belongs—not on her.
Even in this vast, echoing room, buzzing with full-scale network production, Taylor’s energy is impossible to ignore. I can’t decide if I want to snap at her to tone it down or let it run wild.
Screw her and her infectious positivity, and the way I’m unwillingly, irrationally drawn to it.
“I’m gonna go find Joe and set the world right.” Taylor touches my arm again before hurrying across the room. I don’t know why she bothers telling me where she’s going. I’m not responsible for her, and I don’t care.
The more distance between us, the better.
“Alex,” a familiar voice booms, stealing my attention. “I’ve been looking for you!”
Whipping around, I see Julian making his way toward me. He’s all smiles as he wraps his arms around me in a hug.
“Surprise, asshole! I’m on this journey with you.”
Caught off guard, I stumble back. “What are you doing here? If you’re here, who is handling Prism back home?”
“Hell if I know, man. Your dad just told me to pack my bags and get here. Something about keeping an eye on his spoiled, pretentious son.”
My face contorts, his smile widening at my expense.
I continue toward the door, needing some fresh air, and glance at Julian as he falls into step beside me. His smirk lets me know that he knows he got under my skin.
“What’s the plan here? Are we just… hanging out until the cameras roll?”
Before I can answer, one of the producers, a sharp-eyed woman with a clipboard tucked under her arm, intercepts us.
“Alex, Julian—good, you made it. We need to give you a quick rundown before we hit the live prep.” She gestures to a table piled with scripts and schedules.
“Don’t worry, it’s mostly logistics and technicalities. Julian, just stay out of the way of the contestants. And, Alex… try to look a little less, you know, like that.”
With a wave of her arm toward me, she’s gone.
I snort, crossing my arms. “I don’t know what she means. I look great, totally thrilled to be here.”
Julian claps me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
I don’t say anything as I watch Taylor breeze past again, cookies in hand. Guess she hasn’t found Joe yet.
Maybe he quit.
My attention drifts to the contestants. It’s easier to catalog other people’s nerves than sit with my own. RaeAnn is perched in a makeup chair, a stylist fussing over her eyeliner while she chats animatedly.
Khalil is stretched across a couch, headphones on, scrolling through his phone.
There’s a buzz of quiet nerves and forced excitement everywhere.
I can’t help noticing the micro-gestures though: Jasper biting his lip, Chloe fiddling with one of her many bracelets, Khalil’s incessant shaking of his right foot.
And then there’s Taylor. She’s zeroed in on Joe, who’s seated at one of the production tables. She kneels beside him, offering a cookie with a laugh. He beams at her, running a hand through his hair before cautiously plucking one from the container with a nod.
Her hand brushes his arm. It’s the same gesture she used with me only moments ago. A stupid pang of jealousy twists my stomach. I scowl in their direction, forcing myself to ignore the heat simmering under my skin.
I don’t get jealous.
There’s nothing to be jealous of.
“She’s gorgeous,” Julian mumbles beside me, noticing my gaze. “You’re literally staring, man.”
“Shut up,” I grunt, though my eyes don’t leave her.
The producer from before approaches again and clears her throat, drawing our attention back.
“Alex, Julian, like I said, we need you both over here. We have some last-minute prep notes from the Harrington Group’s HR team. It’ll only take five minutes. Then we can gather everyone and get rolling.”
I didn’t realize we were supposed to follow her.
Casting one last glance at Taylor—laughing with Joe like he’s the most hilarious person she’s ever met—I follow to where I’m needed with an eye roll. Nobody’s that funny in real life.
“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 faded Motley Crüe T-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 of King Mattress commercials and my cameo on SNL. 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 because SNL isn’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.