Page 90 of Christmas with the Denton Billionaires

Filming began, and Chris fought to regain focus. He was used to high-pressure situations, filming schedules, and being surrounded by cameras for more than eight hours a day. So why couldn’t he get his head in the game in Glenford?

His mind darted back to Mara, even though he kept his eyes off her. He directed his crew through the preparatory items on his to-do list for the day: setting up the different stations, prepping the mise en place, mixing dough, greasing pans, arranging the tools they would need. But Mara sizzled at his periphery. The more he tried not to look at her, the harder his thoughts about her accelerated.

Focus.

He scraped together the shreds of his concentration and powered through the day. Over the years, he’d finetuned his TV persona to such a degree that it became second nature. So much so that it didn’t even feel like work—he could transform into his television-ready self at a moment’s notice. And that happened on the set as well, knowing that the cameras were filming, shouting and barking commands the way his audience had come to expect.

Cooking with Chriswasn’t an international success because he was a good-looking guy. No, he’d crafted a fine cocktail of arrogance blended with intellectual know-how. He’d criticized more than a few guests for their sloppy kitchen manners and schooled even more experts on their weak areas. That was part of the appeal.

Which meant thatGingerbread Head to Headwas relying on his infamous Chef Chris-ness. And he was going to deliver.

A slight commotion near one of the cameras caught his attention as he and the team brought out the first batch of cooked gingerbread. The director snapped his fingers.

“Say that louder, Mara.”

Mara glanced up at him, a smirk on her face. “What?”

“Say what you just said, but louder. We didn’t catch it well enough the first time.”

Mara’s smirk turned mischievous. “Chris wouldn’t know a good gingerbread recipe if it was garnished with lavender.”

He flattened his lips. He loved garnishing with lavender. The lavender cake served in all Denton Hotels was his recipe and it was one of their more popular desserts, but hell if he’d let her know how annoyed that made him.

One thing was clear—the woman had shown up to compete. He’d considered going slightly easy on her in the verbal arena, but now? All bets were off. He was going to treat Mara like she clearly deserved. As an absolute foe.

“You wouldn’t recognize a good gingerbread recipe period,” Chris snapped back. He sent an accusatory glare over to her prep area. “Not even a culinary degree to speak of.”

“Your degree means squat when it comes to flavor,” Mara said without even flinching. “Everybody knows culinary school is just a way to overpay for presentation lessons. Spend a year in a good kitchen—that’s all the culinary school you need.”

“Spend a year in a good kitchen. You might want to see what your helpers think about a comment like that given that they’re presently attending culinary school.” Chris lifted a brow and barked out a sharp laugh as he eyed the helpers. Some were grinning but a couple of the others were frowning. Directing his comments to them, “Trust me, going to culinary school will teach you what you need to step into most any professional kitchen.” Turning to the director, he said, “Can we call the competition already? I don’t have time for amateur hour.”

Pure sound bites, and the satisfied grin that spread across Paul’s face told Chris he was hitting all the right marks. More than likely they’d use that as a promotional teaser. If the cameras caught Mara’s darkened face in response—which surely they did, with the ten cameras positioned around the multipurpose room—then they were well on their way to a tense showdown and great ratings.

Hours chugged by, interspersed with bathroom and meal breaks. They were set to film until five, and at four thirty Chris was already craving the delicious smokiness of a good whisky, a drink preference he’d picked up from his cousin, Mitch. This first day of filming deserved a celebratory visit to the local watering hole. Not to get drunk—he couldn’t afford to have a hangover tomorrow—but to be seen and take the edge off after the intense first day around Mara.

A piercing scream echoed through the multipurpose room. It seemed everyone took a collective gasp.

“Holy shit! Guys, fire!” Davis, one of his team members, jumped back, pointing at the oven. The hair on the back of Chris’s neck stood up, and he raced over to the scene.

“Get the fire extinguisher!” Chris shouted, his heart pounding.Fuck fuck fuck.What a way to inaugurate the competition. A crew member appeared a moment later with the extinguisher in his hands, and a punishing plume of white dust enveloped the kitchen space. After a few moments, the fire was out, and Chris’s entire workspace lay covered in an inch of unappetizing gray residue.

“What the fuck happened?” Chris demanded, with his hands on his hips.

“I don’t know! I had just taken out the last batch of gingerbread and was about to put in the next…”Davis replied, rubbing the back of his head and looking around helplessly.

Chris ran a hand through his hair, surveying the absolute shitstorm around them. Frustration bubbled up around the edges of his composure. The most recent batch of gingerbread lay completely caked over with fire extinguisher innards. It was a disgusting mess.

“We need to get this cleaned up by five,” Chris said, checking the large clock hung between the two workstations. Turning to the director, he added, “And what about a replacement oven? I need to redo all of today’s work, and fast. What’s the game plan here?”

Paul worked his jaw back and forth as he came forward, inspecting Chris’s oven. “I’ll get a crew to determine if it’s salvageable. But until then, our best bet might be to share the remaining workspace.”

“Oh, hell no,” Mara interjected.

Chris shot her a glare. “Director’s orders. Unless you have a better suggestion?”

“I’ve already got everything set up here. I don’t have room for a second baker,” she said, crossing her arms.

Paul checked his watch. “How about we sleep on it? We can reorganize in the morning.”

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