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He’d hit a nerve.
Harper inhaled a fierce breath like she was gearing up to spew fire, but she didn’t make a sound.
Was he playing dirty? You bet your ass he was.
He was in over his head, and if he was going under, so was she.
He paced the length of the kitchen and caught sight of a framed photo. A young girl, who couldn’t have been much older than Aria, stood with two older adults. It had to be Harper and her grandparents. He concentrated on her grandmother—the woman on the brink of losing her home, the woman who’d left for a musicians’ retreat.
A musicians’ retreat?
It seemed like a strange choice to take off with her home on the line.
Unless the woman didn’t know she was on the brink of losing it.
Christ, that was it.
That would explain why Harper had been so adamant about participating in the reality baking bullshit.
There was his ammunition.
If she could make assumptions about him, he could turn it around and question her motives.
“I’m guessing,” he began, borrowing her words, “you haven’t written anything. But let’s put that aside for a sec and talk about theCelebrity Bake or Bust.”
She shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the unease in her chameleon eyes gave her away.
“You need cash, and you need it fast. You won’t accept anything from your friends or me,” he continued, circling her like a dogged detective interrogating a witness.
She tracked his movements. “Yeah, we’ve established that. So what?”
He leaned against the fridge and glanced at the photo. “What does your grandmother think?”
She went to the sink and picked up a dishcloth. She folded it once, then twice.
He had her on the defense.
“What do you mean?” she tossed back, taking another pass at folding the cloth.
“What happens if we don’t win,bonbon?” he purred.
She abandoned the cloth and closed the distance between them. “We have to win.”
“Does your grandmother know that her home is hanging in the balance?”
Harper’s cheeks burned crimson.
“Look at that. I’m a mind reader, too,” he barked.
She lifted her chin as defiance glinted in her eyes. “She knows there’s an issue with the bank, but I told her I’d handle it. I don’t want her to worry.”
“So, you’ve hidden it from her and lied about the severity of the situation,” he tossed back, raising an eyebrow.
“No, heartthrob, I’mhandlingit,” she repeated, lowering her voice as she pressed onto her tiptoes and glared at him.
He leaned in. “It looks more like you’re flailing.” That was a shitty comment, but she had to see that he wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep certain realities private.
He’d expected her to erupt into a verbal tirade, but that’s not what he got. Instead, she smiled up at him like the cat who ate the canary.
