Page 21 of My Irresistible Enemy

“You seemed to find the article pretty fascinating until thirty seconds ago,” Tate countered. “Come on, what does it say?”

“Nothing,” Em protested, sliding his phone farther over on his chest as Tate tried to grab it from him. “They just say his bakes went well and he—no, Tate, don’t!”

He’d stretched his arm out, trying to keep the phone from Tate, but Tate was taller and had a much longer reach. He snatched the phone from Em’s hands, then stood up so Em couldn’t take it back.

Tate paced a bit while he scanned the screen, then found the place where Em had broken off. I felt like I was going to hurl.

“Okay, here we go.Nolan McAllister, a twenty-eight-year-old restaurant manager from Washington, DC, looks to be this season’s first recipient of the villain edit. He’s equally as attractive as Omar, but the similarities between the two men end there. Where Omar is jovial and open, Nolan seems set on making himself appear as unfriendly as possible.”

Tate looked over at me. “Jesus, what did you do, murder someone on camera?”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I fucking knew it.

Tate went back to reading.“It’s too early in the show to know what will happen, but Nolan seems to be daring voters to like him. Perhaps he’s just uncomfortable on camera, but he comes across as cold and curt. While Vivian and Tanner praised his shortbread as technically skilled, there’s not a lot about Nolan that screams, ‘Vote for me.’ Based on what I’ve seen, I’ll be surprised if America wants him to stick around in the tent for very long.”

“Wait, what?” Mal jumped up off the bench and walked over to Tate, frowning down at the phone like he thought Tate had misread something.

My stomach sank through the floorboards. I knew doing this show was a bad idea. I was too uncomfortable, too weird. Viewers could probably smell it on me, even through the TV.

Mal’s eyes widened as he took the phone and scanned the article. He looked at me in consternation.

“Why would they say that about you? They’re making you sound like an asshole. That’s so unfair.”

“It’s not unfair,” I said heavily. “It’s true.”

“It’s true that you’re an asshole?”

I sighed. “That’s probably how I came off. I’m awkward on camera.”

“Yeah, but they’re making it sound like you were deliberately picking fights. Listen to this.” Mal held the phone up again. “About the only thing Nolan can hope for, aside from people who are into the whole cold-fish thing, is maybe getting the LGBTQ vote, but the show has changed things up this year by casting not one but two queer contestants. That’s right—in addition to Nolan, who’s bisexual, although he’d apparently rather it not come up, A Piece of Cake has also cast Aiden Hastings, a twenty-one-year-old actor-slash-barista from Los Angeles, California, who doesn’t know his eclairs from his elbows, but at least knows how to smile.”

“Aiden,” Deacon said, his brows drawing down. “He’s up on the third floor, right?”

“Yeah, right next to Nolan,” Mal said. “They share a bathroom.”

They both looked at me, a silent question in their eyes. It wasn’t accusatory. It’s not like they knew what had happened in there. But I squirmed anyway.

“He’s annoying,” I said, hating how defensive I sounded. “But I’m not going to put poison in his toothpaste or anything.”

“You sure about that?” Mal quirked an eyebrow, then went back to reading. “A Piece of Cake fans live for the drama as much as for the fabulous bakes, and though this episode is the first of the season, it doesn’t hold back. Aiden simpers and snarks his way through the challenge, and at one point, Nolan loses his temper with him entirely. When asked if he thinks other contestants on the show rely on style over substance, Nolan snipes that he’s there to bake, not perform regressive stereotypes. The comment is clearly directed at Aiden, who retorts that he would expect any member of the LGBTQ community to know how harmful surface-level judgements can be. He brings up a good point, and one does have to wonder just what kind of representation Nolan thinks he’s providing.”

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” I said.

Though I should have known better. Tanner had as good as promised that they would edit our words to sound however they wanted. Why wouldn’t they make me look as shitty as possible? It made for better TV.

Mal looked over at Em. “Was it really as bad as it sounds?”

Em shrugged. “I mean, no. Aiden is kind of—well, he’s…a lot. Can’t bake at all, as far as I can tell, but he’s good at playing to the camera. His personality is just…an acquired taste. And it sounds like they edited that interaction for maximum drama.”

Mal frowned. “I still think this is biased against Nolan.” His finger flicked along the screen as he scrolled more. “Okay, here’s a commenter who agrees with me, though—It’s not anyone’s job to provide representation, good or bad. If you’re a contestant on this show, your job is to bake. At least Nolan knows how to do that.”

It was nice to hear, but unless everyone agreed with that commenter, I was probably screwed. Viewers could vote until midnight tonight, and we’d find out the results tomorrow. On camera, of course. I was already dreading it.

“Here’s another,” Mal said. “Aiden said in his confessional that his luggage got sent to Kansas City by mistake, and I think his baking skills must have gotten lost too. The guy’s a walking stereotype in the worst way, and I will not be voting for him.”

“That’s good,” Tate said, flashing me an encouraging smile. “People are smart enough to see through those editing choices.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But how many comments has Mal had to scroll past where people call me an asshole and hope I go home?”

---