“Don’t get me wrong,” Priya said, lowering her voice to not be overheard. “You have gorgeous skin, Cass. Charlie spends every day in full makeup, so she has these little breakouts that drive us both crazy. Our skin really does need to breathe.” More swishing with brushes, more blending with a little pink teardrop-shaped sponge. Priya stepped back to look at her work, then came at Cass’s face with the brush again.
“But the camera is a cruel beast. No choice but to apply the heavy-duty spackle or you’ll look shiny and uneven on-screen. And no one wants that.” She spoke of shiny, uneven skin like it was a fate worse than death. That made Cass smile, until Priya told her to please keep her mouth “relaxed,” whatever that meant.
Priya cleaned up the mascara mess, then reapplied it to Cass’s lashes while she dutifully stayed as still as possible. “Okay. Close your eyes again. Do. Not. Move. Just a few more seconds. Now, before you open them, you need to know it’s shocking seeing yourself in on-set makeup for the first time. Remember, the camera loves it.”
“？‘For the first time’？” said a male voice. And all of a sudden there were two strong hands on her shoulders. Cass’s eyes flew open. Reflected back at her in the mirror was a man casually rubbing her shoulders as if he did it all the time. He had an inquisitive grin and, for a moment, Cass felt her pulse quicken. He was seriously good-looking—more gorgeous in person, if that was even possible. But then she reminded herself that this handsome but “salty” character could not be trusted. Besides, she hadn’t asked for a shoulder massage. Watch out for . . .
“Austin!” Priya said, covering her alarm quickly. She caught Cass’s eye in the mirror, and Cass knew she should just let Priya handle this one. “What are you doing back here?”
“Really? I’m back for a second powder. You know how shiny my nose gets just before the camera rolls.” Cass stiffened her shoulders, hoping Austin would get the picture, but he just rubbed harder. “You’re super tense today, Charlie.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Cass said through gritted teeth. It bothered her that Austin clearly felt he could treat her sister however he wanted, touch her whenever he wanted. She had imagined Charlie on set in L.A. as someone who was completely confident and in charge—Austin’s brash, towering presence was really messing with that.
“But I can wait until you’re done with Charlie, who looks like she needs more work than usual this morning.” He smirked and dropped his hands, and Cass felt an angry flush move up her neck and into her cheeks. Austin held her gaze in the mirror. “You feeling better after yesterday, Char? How’s the noggin?”
Cass opened her mouth to speak, but Priya jumped in. “Why don’t you sit in the other chair, Austin? Don’t want you to overexert yourself. Your nose is getting shinier by the second, and powder can only do so much.”
Austin kept his eyes on Cass, watching her face as closely as Sasha had in the lobby earlier. Then his gaze swept over the rest of her, and he smiled approvingly. Wardrobe had put her in a ruby-red jumpsuit with a tie neck, and Cass, already uncomfortable with the jumpsuit’s revealing neckline, crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at him.
“Good work, Priya. Charlie made you work for it today.” Cass glowered at him, but he kept his cocksure smile pasted on, even though he had just passively insulted her. “Anyway, I’ll come back when I can be the center of attention.” He sauntered from the room, leaving behind the too-strong scent of his aftershave.
Priya rolled her eyes. “What a pompous jerk,” she muttered.
“？‘Pompous’？” is one word for it.” Cass’s eyes stayed on the now-empty doorway. “Is that what he’s going to be wearing? Those chef’s whites?”
“Yep. He wears the same thing every episode.”
Cass looked down at herself. “Why am I in this, and he’s in that?”
Priya picked up a small canister with a label that read “Stardust” and brushed some of the powder onto Cass’s shoulders. “Because you’re the star of the show,” she said, smiling at Cass.
Cass frowned at her reflection. “Yeah, but so is he.” She knew she looked good, but what she did not look like was a chef. “And, baking is messy.” Cass thought about her usual outfit: yoga pants, a T-shirt, and her favorite white apron with “Woodburn Breads” embroidered in navy blue on the front pocket. She had seven exact replicas of this uniform—one for every day of the week—along with a pair of plastic clogs that were hideously unfashionable but quite comfortable for the hours she spent on her feet.