“I want to make sure you’re properly caffeinated for this,” Remi said. “Just don’t kill the messenger.” Her eyes cut to Reba, who hadn’t relinquished her hold on the top of the laptop. “We’d rather show you before you found out from someone else.”

Cherisse lowered the cup. “You’re scaring me now. What. Is. It?”

Remi steered her over to the couch, where she sat next to Reba, who passed the laptop over to her. The ENTertainment site was up. Cherisse vaguely remembered the woman who’d made the rounds doing brief interviews with the winners. She’d cornered Cherisse to ask about last night’s dessert display and what they could expect from Sweethand next. The woman, Carol, she thought her name was, had tried to bring up Sean, but Reba had swooped in and nixed that immediately.

She scrolled the article. Seemed normal enough. It spoke about the awards, and the night’s big winners, then a sub-headline jumped out at her: Is there a mini-feud brewing between the Sugar Queen and the Mixer King?

What in the hell? The article that followed was no better than that clickbaity headline:

While last night’s show was all about the music, no one could deny the presence of the delectable dessert towers at the cocktail function. Guests were seen practically razing the towers to get at the delicious desserts, courtesy of the Sugar Queen, aka Cherisse Gooding. Although, not everyone seemed enamored by the sugary goodness. Keiran King, one half of the dynamic music duo from DK Productions, said: “She probably has everyone fooled and just pops these frozen in an oven a few minutes before she leaves her house. I mean, come on, mixing music's gotta be way harder than mixing pastry batter...”

We at ENT think those are some fighting words. Sounds like a challenge to us. Which do YOU think is harder? Tell us in the comments.

And to Ms. Gooding, we say: Your move, Sugar Queen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” If the article had been on paper, Cherisse would have crumpled that shit. No. She would have torn it to shreds, lit it on fire, then swept the ashes into the bin. She gently pushed the laptop to the side so she wouldn’t be tempted to toss it. “That asshole!”

“Granted, he probably did say that,” Remi said. “But Carol is known for this gossipy type shit. She’s trying to escalate what was admittedly a foolish joke. A feud, really? That’s a reach.”

“I’m sick of him belittling what I do. I don’t care if he was just joking,” Cherisse fumed.

She’d worked hard to make Sweethand the success it was today. Last year’s loss had been a big blow to her confidence, especially knowing she had no one to blame but herself. Yes, Sean, the asshole, had cheated, but she’d let it get to her. Making it to the finals of the Pastry Wars had been stressful enough. She had the entire weight of her island on her shoulders. Or so she’d felt. Then the news had broken the night before the finals, and she’d gotten zero sleep. Her phone had been buzzing constantly with family, friends, and random media trying to get at her. Her head hadn’t been in the game. The morning of the competition, she’d totally crashed and burned. Everything had gone wrong. She’d broken down and had just quit the entire thing.