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Chapter28
HARPER
Harper scrutinized her asshat of an ex. “How do you like them apples, Vance?” she crowed because, one, she was a sassy bitch. Two, she’d always wanted to drop that line. And three, it was hella satisfying to watch Vance Vibe squirm under Landon’s hardened gaze.
And speaking of Landon. Her husband stood by her side, a pillar of strength, as they knocked Vance down a few pegs and came to Barbie’s defense.
Did she need a man by her side to dish out a healthy serving of sass and stand up for a fellow woman?
No.
She could fight her own battles. But Landon’s steady presence didn’t carry the air of a protector but rather that of a partner. Her little finger brushed his, and he laced his fingers with hers, strengthening their wall of solidarity.
“It’s my fault,” Barbie sobbed. “We saw the PA go by with your macarons. They look amazing, by the way. Ours look like—”
“—total shit,” Vance seethed and tossed a sharp glance at his weeping wife.
With his jaw set, Landon glared at the douche nozzle. “The only thing that’s total shit in this place is you, Vance.”
She pasted a sugary sweet smile to her lips. “Agreed.”
Vance took a step back and glanced around like a caged rat looking for the fastest way out. “This whole thing is bullshit,” he muttered like a sullen teenager as Barbie wiped her wrist across her dripping nose.
Poor thing.
And Vance wasn’t about to lift a finger to comfort her.
She scanned the backstage area, searching for some tissues, and noticed a slew of Bake or Bust production assistants filming the encounter on their cell phones.
Dammit!
“Put those away. Don’t record her. Can’t you see she’s upset?” she chided, giving them her best Harper Presley stink-eye.
“Yeah, give the lady some privacy,” Landon agreed, backing her up.
The PAs dispersed, and she spied a roll of paper towels on a nearby table.
It was better than nothing.
She released her husband’s hand, grabbed a few sheets, and handed them to Vance’s sniffling wife.
“Thanks,” Barbie sobbed, dabbing at her cheeks with the wad.
Vance paced, widening the distance between them. But Landon hadn’t let up—not yet. He peered at the man as one would regard a steaming pile of horseshit before he joined her at Barbie’s side.
“Are you okay, Barbie? Did Vance hurt you?” Landon asked, softening his tone.
“I’m fine,” Barbie blubbered and glanced Vance’s way. Cast in the red glow of the exit sign, the man sulked next to the stage door as he stared at his phone. “Vance really wants to beat you guys. It’s all he talks about,” Barbie added as she wiped her nose.
The man had already stolen her music. Now he was hell-bent on beating her at a charity baking contest? What a tool!
“From one Barbie to another,” she said, patting the woman’s back, “take care of yourself. Vance isn’t the kind of guy you can depend on.”
“What’s this?” Schuman asked, taking in the scene. The man had said he needed to make a quick stop before joining them at the challenge location, so they’d driven separately. He zeroed in on Barbie and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here, dear, this will work better than those. What are the tears for?”
“My macaron shells came out bumpy, and now my Vancey-Poo is upset,” Barbie bawled, accepting the folded square. “I’m a baking failure.”
In a fatherly gesture, Schuman wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Your sugar cookies were topnotch. I couldn’t have done better with the piping or the icing, and I’ve been a baker since I was eight years old.”
