Falling for Her Rival. Jackie Braun

shrugged. “Either way, you’re getting nasty now.”

      But they both were smiling. Their gazes lingered as the silence turned conspicuous. She broke eye contact first.

      “So, what are your plans for the weekend? And just so you know, I’m asking out of idle curiosity only. If I were standing next to Angel or Flo right now, I’d hit them with the same question.”

      “And if you were standing next to Ryder? What would you hit him with?”

      “Funny. So?”

      “Nothing too exciting. I’ll probably just hang out in my apartment, watch a few movies, maybe catch up on episodes of my favorite sitcom on my DVR.” She paused and cast Finn a sideways smile. “Oh, and cook amazing dishes under ridiculously tight timelines to get prepared for Monday. You?”

      That streak of sass would be his undoing.

      “The same. Except for the entertainment. Sitcoms are too fluffy for my taste. I’m more of a crime-drama guy. As for cooking, I have a job Saturday night.”

      “Oh? Is your client having another dinner party?”

      “Actually, this is for someone else.”

      “Moonlighting, hmm?” Her brows lifted, disappearing into her bangs. Finn was sorely tempted to brush the hair aside. Her face was so pretty, he wanted to see all of it.

      “I’m allowed.”

      “Yeah?” She made a humming sound. “That’s interesting.”

      “How so?”

      “I would have thought the setup with your Sugar Mommy was monogamous.” Her lips twitched.

      He chuckled, enjoying himself. “It’s an open relationship. We’re free to see other people.”

      The silence was back. This time it was more potent than moonshine.

      “Chefs!” Tristan called as he came onto the soundstage where they’d been taping their interviews.

      Clap! Clap! Clap!

      The sound of his palms slapping together shattered the mood as effectively as fingernails down a chalkboard.

      “How many times has he done that today?” Finn asked quietly.

      “I think that makes six.”

      “Feels more like sixty.”

      “And every time he does it, he makes me feel like I’m about eight,” she murmured.

      “Before you leave today, don’t forget to turn in your chef coats,” Tristan reminded them. “They will be here, pressed and waiting for you, first thing Monday morning.”

      All of the contestants had received identical crisp white jackets with their names embroidered in black thread on the left side of the chest. Finn noticed that Lara kept running her fingers over the stitching. In fact, she was doing it now. The gesture seemed born of nerves, which made sense. But there was something else going on, an undercurrent that he couldn’t quite figure out.

      “Well, I guess this is it.”

      “The last bit of peace before a full-fledged war breaks out?”

      He meant it to be teasing, but she didn’t smile. “Finn, no matter what happens, I—”

      He stepped closer and stopped her words by laying a finger over her lips.

      “See you next week. Bring your A game. You’re going to need it.”

      * * *

      The contestants who arrived at Sylvan Studios early Monday morning seemed different from the ones Finn had said goodbye to the previous Friday. As they huddled in the greenroom they were quieter, more introspective. Even Ryder was keeping his head down and his caustic comments to himself.