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Chopin’s Funeral March played on Harmony’s phone, and Lyric shot her a look of sympathy. It was Momma and she wouldn’t be happy. Come to think of it, she was never happy.
Harm slid her finger across the screen and held the phone to her ear.
“Harmony Marie Wright, you are a disgrace and a disappointment. I expect this of Lyric, but not you. What on earth—”
Tre grabbed the phone from Harmony. “I don’t know who this is, but you will never address Harmony or Lyric in that tone of voice or spew such vile words at them ever again. When you regain some composure and common decency, feel free call back. Until then, don’t call this number.” He hit end.
Silence cut through the car.
Lyric leaned over and kissed Tre on the cheek. “That was our mother. I doubt anyone has ever spoken to her like that before in her life. You really are our fairy godmother.”
Harmony didn’t know what to say. She knew she’d have to talk to her mother at some point, but for now, she didn’t have to take the verbal abuse. It was safe to say that Harm’s reputation was finally tarnished beyond repair. The fact that she’d done it unintentionally was neither here nor there.
Harmony’s phone rang again, and Tre turned the
screen so she could see it.
“It’s not Momma this time.” She didn’t recognize the number. She slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“It’s Holly Braeburn from Food Network. Please tell me you didn’t do it on purpose.” She didn’t sound happy.
Talk about kicking Harmony when she was down.
“I really didn’t do it on purpose.” Harmony could feel her dream slipping away.
“It’s not a total loss. We can find a way to spin it, just don’t ever do it again.” Holly sounded like she was swigging something. Was it Jack Daniels or Pepto-Bismol? Or some weird mix of both?
“I won’t.”
“What was with the gold-lamé bikini? I said badass baker, not badass streetwalker.”
“I know. Sorry.” She wasn’t one for apologies, but if it kept her dream alive, she’d say sorry a hundred times. After the last few days, she knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t to run back to San Angelo in shame with her tail tucked between her legs.
“Why don’t you lay low for a few days. Stay out of the media while I do some damage control on this end.” Holly sounded like she’d aged ten years.
“I thought we were going to tape a practice show before the pilot?” Considering what had just happened and Holly’s current level of anxiety, she didn’t want to bring up any more bad news, but she really didn’t have a choice. “We can’t film at the bakery in San Angelo, but I have a better idea. My twin sister Lyric is married to the Fort Worth Wranglers’ own Heath Montgomery. They’ve invited me to tape the show in their kitchen.”
She sent Lyric a pleading look.
Lyric gave her a double thumbs-up.
“Fort Worth is a much bigger market, and we have the tie-in with the Fort Worth Wranglers we can exploit.” Now Harm was practically begging.
“It’s not a bad idea. I guess we could tape the pilot there.” Holly didn’t sound convinced. “Since we’re scheduled for next week, it’s kind of short notice to change the location, but it can be done. As long as you swear that you’ll keep all of your clothes on.”
“The pilot? I thought we were shooting a test show before the pilot.” Harmony wasn’t sure what the difference was, but from Holly’s tone, there was a huge one.
“Plans change. The higher-ups at the network have decided all you get is one shot.” Holly paused like she was collecting her words. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you. Everything is riding on the pilot—for you and for me.”
No pressure there at all.
“I understand.” Harmony wanted to crawl back in bed and hit rewind on the whole morning. “I won’t let you down.”
“I hope so. Talk to you soon.” Holly hung up.
“So?” Tre asked, eyes wide and handkerchief at the ready. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict is I better not mess up again or I’ll be stuck hocking brownies out of the back of Cherry Cherry.”
