Page 88 of Holly Jolly Cake Fight

“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 sellingcroissants 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 besplit — 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?