Chapter 27 #4
Candace’s grip tightened on Laurin’s hand as she did her best — failing miserably — to casually ask, “Will you be giving us our own show? Not that I would know how that would even be possible, but . . .”
A devious sort of smile twisted Mike’s lips as she trailed off. “Let’s take care of more pressing matters first, shall we?”
Laurin and Candace remained where they were but watched intently as Mike went to his desk, fished out a few small slips of paper, and scrawled something on both.
From the corner of his eye, Laurin noticed that Candace’s lip was twitching as though she understood exactly what was happening, but Mike was already returning before Laurin could ask.
“You’re lucky I was prepared for the two of you to make this more complicated,” Mike told her as he handed her one slip of paper.
Laurin couldn’t see what was written on it, but even catching only a glimpse of it as Candace tucked it into an envelope, he could tell now that it was a check.
“It’s not like I just have these in my drawer in general. And this is for you.”
Laurin could tell what it was as he accepted the second check — it was made out to Laurin Delavigne, after all — but it was far too much. “The second-place bonus is only ten k,” he argued. “This is first place.”
“You two are disgustingly honest,” Mike chided. “You know that? Candace has asked that I give the grand prize to you. You should thank her.”
Laurin hopped to his feet and thrust the slip at her instead. “Absolutely not.”
She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs neatly, folding her hands over her knee.
She wasn’t quite the Candace the world saw on the semi-annual baking competitions, her trademark stockings black, her garishly yellow and green checked dress hanging all the way to her knees, her black cardigan more utilitarian than stylish, but she looked as prim and proper as ever in the pose.
“It’s my decision, not yours. You need it for the bakery. ”
This cool and collected — had she plotted this all along? — Candace pushed Laurin’s buttons just right that he was the one to lose his head this time. “You need it to live, Candace! I can’t take this from you!”
“Yes, you can,” Candace insisted. “I’m going to take your prize instead.”
“That’s not enough!” Laurin barked out.
“And that’s not all he’s giving me,” Candace said with a tone and a glimmer in her eyes that made Laurin feel like she thought this was really funny, and he was overreacting.
But he wasn’t, and he suddenly felt very trapped, needing to show her she was being ridiculous but knowing she wouldn’t take kindly to it.
“We’re settling the incident with Lucas. ”
“Do I get to punch him?”
“No!” She had the audacity to look at Mike with a roll of her eyes. She did think he was overreacting. “He’s gotten it in his head that he needs to punch Lucas.”
The only thing that kept Laurin from losing his temper was Mike’s sage words of, “He’s not the only one.”
See? He wasn’t crazy.
Candace waved the envelope she’d tucked the check into. “A settlement. A generous one.”
“A million dollars,” he demanded without concern for what it actually was. She deserved a million dollars.
“Laurin,” she said with such admonishment that clearly it wasn’t even close to that million dollars.
He spun on Mike, reaching for his collar as he said, “You give her a million dollars, or I’ll—”
He didn’t get to finish his threat, something he was going to make up on the fly and would probably be dumb and punching-related, before Candace yanked him right back.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she said sternly. “What he’s offered me, without any complaint of my own, is more than generous.
It will be enough to hold me over, whatever I decide to do. ”
Whatever I decide to do. Well, he was going to help her decide right now, because this shouldn’t have been something they were even arguing about. It wasn’t going to matter.
He pulled a box out of his pocket, fumbling it and nearly dropping it, going to his knees to catch it.
“Oh my God, no,” Candace gasped.
“What? I—here it is.” He held the box up for her. “It’s a—”
“Don’t you dare!” Candace shrieked, knocking the box right out of his hand, as Mike said, “This is the show right here.”
“What? Oh! No, I’m not proposing. Sorry I keep doing this.
It’s not a ring, see?” He opened the box, displaying a business card.
“It’s the gift I told you about. Remember?
I needed you to know I already planned to offer this to you before the finale.
Go on.” He nudged it toward Candace, who looked frightened of it, probably because he’d taken a knee again.
She finally did take the card, reading aloud, “Candace Coale, Celebrity Baker At Large, Patisserie de la Vigne. Are . . . are you offering me a job?”
Laurin nodded. “Move down here. Into my place, or get your own, as long as it’s not too far away. Work at my shop, or borrow yourself out to other shops. If you’re wearing my apron, I’ll be happy to let you go out and about, if that’s what you really like. Or—”
“I want a food truck!” Candace blurted out.
Laurin blinked. “A . . . food truck?”
“I don’t know, it was something I’ve been considering since I first lost the bakery.
And then there was that little food truck court we drove by, and-and I want to drive around selling croissants to people!
” She was excited to the point of hysterical, rambling like a crazy person, and Laurin loved every second of it.
“Then once we get you settled here and everything’s up to snuff in the bakery, I’ll make you a croissant truck.”
“Oh, Laurin!” She threw herself at him to hug him, but since he was on the ground, they took a tumble together. He fell on his back, she ended up straddling him, and if not for the fact that they were in another man’s office, Laurin would have had his pants down in about two seconds.
“I hate how perfect you are!” Candace pouted.
“But you love me anyway.”
She sighed. “I probably do.”
Laurin rocked himself back and forth to get upright so he could kiss her properly, but Mike intercepted it with another envelope jammed between them, this one manila and far thicker than the other ones.
“What’s this?” Laurin asked as Candace pulled the sheaf of papers out.
“That’s your million dollars. Two million, technically.”
Laurin blinked, startled, then looked down at what Candace was already reading.
For a split second, his brain couldn’t process the plain English any better than Candace processed the accidental French he occasionally murmured when emotions were running high.
“A three-season contract?” Candace asked.
“For what? I don’t understand this. Nobody gets that much on the Bake-Off. ”
“This isn’t the Bake-Off. This is the two of you, three seasons, twenty-four-episode seasons, five hundred thousand — to be split — per season.
I want you building Patisserie de la Vigne back up, doing your guest spots in other bakeries, some personal life stuff.
We’ll seed some challenging and creative clients in, but it will be otherwise authentic. I’ll even buy you the croissant truck.”
Laurin frowned. This was incredible. His heart was pounding, his head felt dizzy, he had some concerns about game-day vomiting. It was all too much. “There’s a catch.”
“No catch,” Mike said, but the twinkle in his eye begged to differ. “The contract is for three seasons; you can back out at any point after that.”
“You said two million, that’s only one point five,” Candace pointed out as she finally stood back up and helped Laurin to his feet. The lack of emotion in her voice proved she was only processing the math right now, not the ramifications.
“Yes, well, there is a stipulation in the contract. And that’s that Robbins-Hall Communications Network will have full exclusive rights, with your creative direction of course, should you two get married.”
“No!” they both cried out.
“Eight episodes.”
“Absolutely not,” Candace spat back.
“Fully financed by the network.”
“No way,” Laurin protested.
Mike leaned forward and planted his hands on his desk. “Would you like me to show you all the social media posts questioning what you two did while the candy challenge was underway?”
Candace gasped.
“Would you like to see the reel we’ve put together explaining what you two were doing?”
Candace paled. “How do you have a reel on that?”
Mike proudly announced, “The TVs had built-in cameras. A backup in case we had filming issues.”
Laurin narrowed his eyes. “That’s . . . illegal.” Maybe. It was definitely blackmail.
Mike flashed them his pearly whites. “It’s very tastefully edited. And no one will ever see it — or your pasty white ass in the kitchen on Thanksgiving — if you give us the rights to your wedding.”
Laurin and Candace exchanged a look and a defeated sigh before Candace grudgingly said, “Gimme that pen,” and Laurin taunted Mike with, “Maybe we never get married anyway.”
But who were they kidding?