“Hungry?” That came from Gabrielle, who made everything she said sound sexy.

  Rhett glanced at me. “Starving.”

  My stomach twisted. With his face so serious, I wasn’t able to read his mood at all.

  Mitch O’Dell came into the room next. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes. “Sorry I’m late. Rough night rewriting the schedule.” He pointed at me. “We’ll need you for a few hours today to record different interviews, and I need those signed papers.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Just let me know when.”

  “Suck up.” The words came from my right but were whispered so low I couldn’t be sure from where. I narrowed my eyes. I’d had enough mean girls in my life. That shit was over.

  “Immediately after breakfast, we’ll begin a challenge,” Phil said, and I refocused on him. “In exactly half an hour, you’ll get into one of the two vans outside. You’ll learn more about the challenge when you get there.”

  Vanessa, the makeup artist, panicked, her hands flying to her face. “Wait. What are we supposed to wear? Is this an indoor or outdoor challenge? What shoes do we need?”

  They were valid questions.

  “This will be indoors, and casual is fine. Shoes don’t matter. Wear whatever you’re comfortable in.” He gave us a parting smile. “See you outside in thirty.”

  As soon as he was gone, the other women began peppering Rhett with questions.

  “How did you sleep last night?” Abby asked with a giggle, giving a side glance to Carlie. I noticed that Carlie seemed to be very carefully cutting a piece of sausage into small bites.

  “Actually, I was pretty restless,” he said. I wasn’t looking at him, but I felt his eyes on me.

  “Restless,” Abby said with a giggle, “is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  I did look up in time to see Rhett frown. Apparently deciding to ignore the silly woman, he addressed the group as a whole. “Did everyone have a good night? I hope your rooms were comfortable.”

  There was a lot of gushing about how beautiful the house was, how big the rooms, how soft the mattresses.

  “And the tubs are so big,” Gabrielle said seductively, “the more the merrier.”

  Dang it. The woman exuded sex.

  Beside me, Amy added, “I can’t even imagine living in a home such as this. My room here is bigger than my entire apartment.”

  Rhett smiled at the preschool teacher. “I’ve lived in very small spaces myself. I do love this house, and I’m glad you’re enjoying it. You’re welcome to explore at your leisure. Except for the master wing. It’s off-limits.”

  My breath caught as he looked at me, then past me, focusing on Carlie.

  Amy broke the uncomfortable silence. “That’s very generous of you. I wish it was warm so we could use the pool.”

  Rhett smiled at her again, and I could tell that he liked her. And I couldn’t blame him. I liked her too.

  “The pool is solar heated, so if you can brave the cold until you jump in, you’re welcome to use it all you want. There is also a lap pool in the gym…” his eyes rested on me, “that you might enjoy as well.”

  Daphne, the psychology student, jumped in. “That would be wonderful. It’s important to exercise every day.” She tapped her temple. “Good for the mind.”

  Rhett grinned at her. “Mind and body.”

  Daphne blushed. “Yes, of course. I tend to be focused on things that are good for the mental and emotional state, but they all revolve around each other.”

  I was impressed by her. She seemed a bit giggly on the outside, but she had a calmness about her that was comforting. “Will you be specializing in a particular disorder?” I asked her.

  She practically beamed. “I’m particularly interested in working with children. Especially children who have experienced the loss of a parent at an early age.”

  I shivered and couldn’t keep from looking at Rhett. He took a long drink of his coffee.

  Fully aware of the cameras around us, I forced a smile. “I think that is an excellent specialty.”

  Daphne seemed pleased and also a bit sad. I wondered if she’d also lost a parent and knew the feeling from experience. “Children’s hearts are so wide open,” she said, “it’s like they’re little magnets that attract all the guilt in their lives. They blame themselves for so much, and it affects them so intently and for so long. It’s so very sad.”

  To my right, someone sighed a sound that expressed boredom with the conversation. I didn’t need to look to know it was Carlie. I decided to call her out on it. “Do you have something to add?”

  She rolled her eyes and waved her fork. “I’m just calling bullshit on the whole psycho-babble stuff. Bad things happen, and people just need to get over them. You get what you get in life. You just have to live with it and move on.”

  I tilted my head at her, my eyes dropping to her enormous bust. “It doesn’t appear that you just lived with what you got in life. I find it very hypocritical of you to make that statement.”

  Behind me, I heard Rhett chuckle, then cough to cover it. Amy poked me in the side.

  Red-faced, I watched Carlie attempt to come up with something clever to say. I waited, then raised my eyebrows and waited some more.

  “You’re just jealous,” she cried and looked at Rhett, blue eyes blazing. “Aren’t you going to do anything about this?”

  Rhett leaned back in his chair. “I always enjoy enlightening conversations. Please do go on and share all the ways you suggest kids just get over it.”

  All eyes and cameras turned back to Carlie. “Well…”

  She was saved from answering when Phil Harris called out, “Five minutes, ladies.”

  Rhett stood, and the rest of us followed. “It’s been delightful. I’ll see you soon.”

  Carlie stomped out, Abby fast on her heels. Amy grabbed my arm and squeezed. “That was perfect.”

  Becca Skelton, the real estate agent, grinned. “It really was. I would’ve never had the guts to say something like that.”

  It was funny. Normally, I’d have never opened my mouth. But it was like I was totally over things suddenly. Over mean girls. Over snide jokes. Over crying and losing sleep. Over it all. Maybe Carlie was right.

  “Three minutes,” Phil shouted.

  I hooked arms with Amy. “Come on, let’s go. Let’s see what they have planned for us next.”

  ***

  Well, crap.

  An hour later, I was standing in the kitchen they used for a food challenges show, a pink apron tied around my waist. In the background, Juliette was holding a hand over her mouth, laughing her ass off while I gave her the evil eye.

  “Quiet on the set.”

  My heart picked up speed and started hammering in my chest. I wished I’d paid more attention to the cooking show I gophered at, but I was too busy gophering to do anything but smell the end result.

  “Action.”

  Phil Harris smiled his charming smile, his arms thrown out to encompass the entire room. “Hello, ladies. Welcome to your first Biggest Catch challenge. As the old saying goes, ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and today, we’re going to put that saying to the test.”

  Oh god. Please don’t have him bring out Gordon Ramsay. I might die of fright if he does.

  “You will be judged on both taste and presentation, and you must choose from the items Rhett has preselected.”

  He turned to Rhett, who walked next to him, looking incredibly handsome in a dark chocolate suit and open-necked ivory shirt. “Hello, ladies.”

  I inwardly groaned as we all chorused back, “Hello, Rhett.”

  “At heart, I’m a simple man when it comes to the food I prefer. If it crawls or slithers, or is an internal organ, I’m probably not going to like it.”

  In spite of myself, I laughed at how adorable he looked, then sighed with a measure of relief to know I probably wouldn’t have to cook something disgusting like snails or tongue or brain.

  “I’m a steak and potatoes man, so my challenge for you today is to cook a medium rare filet with sides of potatoes and asparagus using the ingredients available to you.”

  Phil flashed his brilliant smile. “And Rhett isn’t the only one judging you today…”

  Please no Gordon Ramsay. Please no Gordon Ramsay.

  “…his longtime housekeeper and cook, Wanda Williams, will also be tasting your creations. After all, she knows Rhett’s tastes best.”

  I heaved out a sigh as an attractive older woman with gray-streaked hair stepped out, waved, and took her seat behind the judging table.

  “Also joining us at our judging table is Richard Collins, CEO of Infinity Productions.”

  I didn’t know him from Adam, but smiled and clapped along with the others. I figured he signed my paycheck so I could afford to be extra nice.

  “Our last judge is someone near and dear to every heart who knows her. As the matriarch of the Steele Global fortune, Evelyn Niswonger Steele has planned thousands of parties and knows exactly what she likes…” Phil lowered his voice, “and what she doesn’t.”

  The sweet little lady who’d given me the thumbs-up yesterday walked out, looking very high-class in a dark purple suit that probably cost more than my yearly salary. She slowly took her seat at the judges’ table, her face carefully blank. She apparently took her judge job very seriously. Just looking at her made me smile.

  Phil went on to explain that we had forty-five — crap, crap, crap — minutes to cook a filet with a side of potatoes and asparagus however we wished, using any of the spices provided.

  Oh my gosh… I just might be able to do this.

  Steak and potatoes were Ryan’s staple. As a big man, he ate a ton and needed lots of protein with each meal. I racked my brain, trying to remember the one time I’d tried something different. Ryan had loved it, bragged about it for days. I’d gone to the market and bought the ingredients to make it a second time, but never did. He died that night, and I ended up throwing everything away.

  My heart squeezed, and I kissed my palm, releasing it to the heavens. Ryan, thank you. It looked like I’d be making it a second time after all.

  “The winner of this event gets something very special. She’ll receive a one-on-one date with Rhett following…” he drew out the silence in typical talk host fashion, “an incredible shopping spree which includes the purchase of a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes that Rhett will select for you.”

  Holy cow. This just got real.

  “On your mark. Go!”

  It was a stampede of pink aprons heading toward the long counter holding all the ingredients. I selected a beautifully round steak, two potatoes, and a handful of asparagus, plopping them on a tray. Grabbing garlic, rosemary, and thyme. I got them on a tray, and… splat. Before I knew it, I was face down on the floor, the tray of food under me.

  “Oops,” Carlie giggled, trying to look contrite. “Sorry.”

  Murder is wrong.

  Pushing myself up, I peeled the steak off my chest, grateful for the apron and that it at least hadn’t hit the floor. I looked back, and nope, there wasn’t another one. I’d have to deal.

  Saving what I could, I went straight to the sink and washed everything off, then was back to my cooking station minutes later. I was going to win the blankety blank contest then punch that hot-balloon bitch right in the tit.

  Heading back to the counter, I grabbed a bottle of red wine, a stick of butter, Kosher salt, and fresh-cracked pepper. Oh, and cream for the potatoes. Scallops too. My hands were trembling with nerves and repressed rage as I struggled to remember everything I needed.

  Back at my station, I blew out a breath and turned my oven on to 425 degrees. I glanced up to find Rhett watching me closely. He offered me an encouraging smile. Beside him, Mrs. Steele gave me a double thumbs-up.

  With those simple gestures, the trembling stopped.

  I could do this.

  Filling a pot with water and setting it on high, I diced the potatoes and a clove of garlic to add when it began to boil. While I waited, I laid the asparagus in a single layer on a baking sheet, drizzled it with olive oil, then seasoned with salt and pepper, tossing to coat each spear.

  Looking at the clock, I nearly yelped in alarm. Eighteen minutes had already passed. How? Maybe they were pranking us and had one of those clocks that went faster than they were supposed to.

  Glancing around, I noticed that the other women didn’t seem to be in any better shape. Amy was the calmest. I guessed dealing with a room full of three-year-olds every day made anything else seem tame.

  Daphne seemed to be doing well too, while the bimbos of the group were flouncing around. Well, except Gabrielle. She appeared to know what she was doing.

  I snapped back to attention. I needed to hurry.

  Finding a cast iron skillet, I put it on to heat while I sprinkled salt and pepper on the beef. Pouring oil in the skillet, I seared the filet for two minutes on each side. It might have needed three, but I couldn’t remember so two would have to do. As it seared, I tossed in the rosemary, thyme, and garlic, then added a big chunk of butter on top. When it melted, I spooned it over the steak, and it actually smelled quite delicious.

  I might have a chance to win this.

  The water was boiling so I added the potatoes and garlic, letting it do its thing. What was I forgetting? I knew I was forgetting something. I had no idea what.

  “Twenty minutes, ladies.”

  Crap.

  Opening the oven door, the heat hit me in the face, nearly curling my eyelids back. I persevered and got the cast iron skillet into the oven without burning myself.

  Setting a timer for seven minutes because that sounded right for medium rare, I just stood there and stared. There was nothing I could do at that moment to speed things along. Grabbing the bottle of red wine, I tilted it up and took a long drink, cameras and Rhett Hamilton be damned.

  Ding.

  Thank goodness. Time for the potatoes to come off. In a frenzy, I put gloves on and pulled the pot off the red eye. And stared at it. I couldn’t smash them now, or they’d be cold in... sixteen minutes. Time was messing with my mind.

  Taking another swig of wine, I forced myself to relax. Another five minutes for the steak, then I’d pull it out and stick the asparagus in while the filet rested. I had no idea why it needed to do that. Poor cow.

  Ding.

  Rushing to the stove, I survived another wash of heat and pulled out the sizzling skillet and popped a meat thermometer in. Holy crap. 138 degrees. I did it!

  Stuffing the asparagus spears in, I set the timer again for seven minutes. I took the steak from the skillet, tenting aluminum foil over it and then put the skillet back on the hot eye. Tossing shallots in, I was glad for something to do as I sautéed them, then took another sip of wine before dumping some in. Next came the beef stock, stirring until it was reduced.

  Ding.

  Out came the asparagus, and I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my arm and then added a pat of butter to the sauce.

  Please be good. Please be good.

  I took a tentative taste. It was good!

  I nearly tapped danced around my station.

  All that was left were the potatoes. I drained them, then added butter, cream, and the seasonings before pretending they were Carlie’s face and smashing them into oblivion.

  When I was finished, I was sweating but felt more at peace.

  Now… all I had to do was the plate, and I had three minutes to do it. I looked around and snickered when I saw smoke rolling out of Carlie’s oven.

  A huge dollop of potatoes in the center, then a layer of asparagus over that. Finally, the steak balanced perfectly on top of my delicious looking little Eiffel Tower. After spooning the sauce around the perimeter of the plate, I turned the wine up again. A few drops dribbled from the side of my mouth, but I didn’t care.

  I might or might not be getting a bit tipsy.

  “Time. Ladies, step away.”

  Feeling as if I’d just run a marathon, I put the wine down and backed away. Looking over at Amy, she still looked confident, and I didn’t blame her. Her plate looked freaking amazing. Worry began to bubble in my brain.

  Carlie was crying and complaining about what a stupid competition it was. Her sidekick, Abby, looked just as disappointed, and I didn’t blame her. Her steak didn’t look consumable.

  Vanessa’s makeup was pouring off her face. Her plate didn’t look bad, but I thought mine might be better.

  Gabrielle’s plate looked strong, as did Daphne’s. Becca’s looked almost as good as Amy’s.

  I was in trouble. Dreams of thousand-dollar Louboutins began to evaporate.

  The standard judging stuff took place while Rhett, Mrs. Steele, Ms. Williams, and Mr. Collins all took bites and spoke among themselves.

  The waiting was terrible.

  If I didn’t win, I hoped Amy did. Or even Daphne or Becca. I wasn’t worried at all about Carlie or Abby unless they got sympathy votes. If Gabrielle won, I’d be more than a little upset. There was just something about her that rubbed me wrong.

  Gah.

  I was becoming a judgmental, mean girl. We were just day two into filming, and I was becoming someone I didn’t recognize. Someone I didn’t like.

  An eternity later, Phil Harris called us to attention, and Rhett stepped up beside him. “Ladies,” Rhett said, “I was pleasantly surprised with most of the dishes you created tonight, some more than others. The judges and I have nearly come to blows over who the winner is.”

  I looked behind him. Mrs. Steele looked mad as hell.

  “But there can only be one winner, and that winner is…”

  Aaagggghhhhh… the long pauses were killer.

  “Amy.”

  The disappointment was acute, but I turned to the teacher who was standing there with her hands over her mouth, completely stunned.

  “Amy, I look forward to picking you up at six tonight for our date,” Rhett continued, then scanned the rest of us. He didn’t meet my eyes. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll see all of you tonight at ten for our second elimination.”

  And that was that.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN