Page 71 of The Baking Games

"I think you have some control over that. This is a conversation that needs to be private."

She sighs and talks into her little walkie-talkie, telling them to turn off the cameras where we're standing so that it doesn't pick up the conversation.

"You're not supposed to be talking to us about anything during the competition. Everything has to be fair."

"Yes, I understand that," I say, keeping my voice down. "But I need you to turn off the cameras and the microphones in this bedroom for the night."

"Excuse me?" she says, acting like I'm up to something nefarious.

"Savannah is in no position to be on national television when she's this tipsy."

"Well, I guess she shouldn't have drank so much, should she?"

"Look, I know you think this makes for good television,” I say to her a little too pointedly, "but you could get in all kinds of legal trouble for showcasing this young woman on television when she is in a vulnerable state."

"Yes, and I could get in all kinds of trouble for leaving her alone in a room with a man she barely knows when she's in a vulnerable state."

"Okay, fine. Then turn the camera on but turn the microphone off."

"And how is that supposed to be something that the at-home viewers can watch?"

"Exactly. If this is about Savannah’s safety and you just want to check in and ensure she's okay, then looking at her on the camera will be plenty. She doesn’t need the audio to be aired nationwide.”

"With all due respect, Rhett, you're really not in control of this."

I peek around the corner to make sure that Savannah is still standing there, and she is. She's playing with some wallpaper that is peeling off the old wall in the historic home.

"Again, she is in no position to be showcased on TV when she's tipsy."

"You mean drunk."

"She's not drunk. She's just on the edge of drunk. She's like in the suburbs of drunk."

The producer, whose name I think is Ellen, rolls her eyes. "I'll talk to my boss, but I can't promise anything."

"Listen, I come from a very wealthy family, and I don't like to bring that up often, but there is no amount of money that I will spare for an attorney to sue the pants off of this production company if they showcase Savannah on TV like this."

I don't even know what I'm saying. I don't have that kind of money. My parents certainly wouldn't give me that kind of money, but I hope these people don't know that.

"Again, I'll talk to my boss. I'll come find you in a few minutes."

"Okay, fine," I say, returning to the room.

I don't know why I feel so protective of her, but I do. I just don't think it's right that she had one night of enjoying herself and having some wine, and just because she's a lightweight, she's in this vulnerable position.

"Can we go to bed now?" she asks as I walk into the room.

"Yes, of course. Come on."

“Woo…” she says as she walks toward the bed. I’m afraid she’s going to pass out, so I pick her up like a baby and carry her to the bed. I gently put her down, wishing I could lie down right beside her.

She crawls under the covers, and I pull them up to just under her neck, and then I crawl into the bed beside hers. There's a lamp on between us. Maggie hasn't come upstairs yet. I think she's still enjoying time down in the courtyard. Maggie can hold her own when it comes to wine. I have a feeling she drinks it often.

"Why don't you tell me a story?" Savannah says, her words slurring.

“I don't think so," I say, propping myself up onto my elbow and facing her.

"I like stories," she whines.

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