Austin and Cass had to come on camera a few times during the baking race, to make it seem as though they had been carefully watching and scrutinizing the process from beginning to end. Soon they were down to the last five minutes on the clock. Cass and Austin moved back to their marks to get ready for the frenzy they were expected to whip up as the timer counted down.
“And . . . stop!” Austin said. “Step back from your towers, bakers.”
Now Austin and Cass were on the move, the cameras following them as they walked from one taped X on the floor to another, in front of the workstation of the first contestant, a twenty-five-year-old named Dani who had a custom cake shop in Idaho. Cass and Austin evaluated the croquembouche—a valiant effort, though it leaned ever so slightly to the right—and offered first impressions of the confection, which were already prepared and on the teleprompter.
Dani looked petrified, though she tried to hide it behind a wide smile as she moved to serve the dessert on the gold-plated dishes that were used for judging. Except Dani didn’t get to serve anything. Cass, who swept her hand in front of the pastry tower as she delivered her line, did not feel her bracelet release from her wrist until it was too late. The bracelet crashed into the top of Dani’s slightly short and somewhat leaning tower of pastries. For a split second it seemed the bracelet might only have taken off the top two rows, which meant they could edit out the flying bracelet and Cass’s loud gasp. But then the already leaning tower toppled sideways, and the entire dessert ended up on the floor on top of Cass’s too-high heels.
Austin laughed and clapped Cass on the back, wheezing out, “Good one, Goodwin!” Dani stared at the mess on the floor, her hands holding a few of the croquembouche pastries she’d managed to catch before the tower collapsed. And Cass, horrified, felt she might throw up. Especially when Austin pointed to her arm—glancing at her smooth, clear skin on her wrist—and said, “Hey, where’s your tattoo?”
Cass’s eyes shot to Priya, who looked stricken.
“Wrong arm,” Cass mumbled, reaching down to retrieve the bracelet, which she quickly secured on her other wrist.
Sasha was barking orders, a few of the other contestants were comforting Dani, and the assistants swept in to clean things up and try to salvage the dessert so a judging scene could still be filmed. Cass wanted to cry as she watched everyone clean up her mess. So much for not ruining Charlie’s career.
* * *
? ? ?
“I don’t know about this, Priya.” Cass stopped a few feet from the store’s front door, trying to stall.
All Priya had said to her after the show wrapped for the day was, “Come with me and don’t ask any questions.” She was so glad to be off the set that she followed Priya without another word. Until they had arrived at their destination and Cass realized what Priya had in mind.
“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Priya said, opening the door and gesturing for Cass to go inside. With a sigh Cass stepped into the shop, where tattoo art lined every wall and the constant low buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room.
Near the back of the room a guy was seated on a stool, bent over the upper arm of a young woman where a half dozen deep black swirls peppered her otherwise unmarked skin—the beginnings of an octopus, it seemed.
Cass did not want to get a tattoo. Yes, she was doing her best to play Charlie, but this was taking things too far.
“Hey, babe,” the guy said, looking up at Priya from the tattoo he was designing.
“Hey, Jason,” Priya said. “This is my friend Cass. The one I called about.”
Jason, who had tattoos on nearly every visible part of his body from the neck down, grinned. “Nice to meet you, Cass. I’ll be ready for you in a few minutes, okay?”
“Oh, okay. No rush. At all,” Cass said, squeaking the words out.
“Relax. Take a breath.” Priya led Cass to a chair, then sat beside her and patted her knee. “I won’t let Jason get near you with that gun. I have your back, remember?”
“But . . . then why are we here?” The buzz of the tattoo gun was back, the sound like mosquitoes circling Cass’s head.
Priya picked up a magazine on the table in front of them. “To get you a tattoo.”
“Priya, what is happening?” Cass was frustrated now, her patience waning with every passing second.
“Jason is an amazing artist,” Priya said. “He did Charlie’s tattoo. And a few of mine.”
“You have tattoos?”