“Please,” Cass murmured from beside him as the assistant scrambled to plate a fourth portion of the dessert.

Austin turned to her. “What was that?”

Cass put her hands to her hips, faced Austin and said, loudly, “Please. ‘Please, can someone get me another plate?’ ”

He was speechless for a moment, and it seemed everyone on set held their collective breaths, and then Austin burst out laughing. He slapped Cass on the back, continuing to chuckle. “I’ll say please the second they earn it, if that’s okay with you, Goodwin?”

Sasha told Austin to knock it off. He held his hands up and did his best to look wounded. “Sorry, Sasha. I didn’t know Charlie was so sensitive.”

“Are we ready?” Sasha was impatient, disinterested in the spat and wanting to get shooting wrapped up for the day.

Cass smiled at Sasha, ignoring Austin’s quip. “Ready, Sasha.”

They picked the banter back up as they dug into Justin’s dessert. But the second it touched her tongue Cass knew three things: Justin had made a grave error; his messy bench was the least of his problems; and she could not swallow the dessert.

Being as discreet as possible she grabbed the napkin in front of her and spit the dessert into it. But Austin, who thrived on drama, made a show of coughing, then bending over and gagging as he spit the dessert onto the floor. A stunned Justin, his eyes wide, watched in disbelief. A gasp came up from the rest of the group.

Cass took a sip of the water beside her and swished it around her mouth to remove the awful taste. “Justin, how much sugar did you use in the cake?” She took another sip while they waited for Justin to answer.

“Uh . . . two cups.”

“Are you sure about that?” Austin asked, still coughing as though he had been poisoned.

Justin looked back at his station, and the camera zoomed in on the containers littering the counter. The salt and granulated sugar canisters were side by side. The audience, when they watched this section of the show, would realize at the same time as Justin that he had used salt in place of sugar in his dessert—which had made it, obviously, inedible.

“Oh my God,” Justin wheezed out, panic settling on his sweaty face.

Cass felt terribly for him. The clear canisters and their contents looked identical, the labels barely legible. In a rush, you could easily mix the two up. And Cass had learned sometimes the show counted on this. It was no accident that all the canisters looked the same. It made for better television, even if it was incredibly traumatic for the contestants who didn’t remember to double-check everything.

“You added two cups of salt to your cake, man! Quite honestly, I didn’t expect this from you. But looking at your station, well, it makes sense. This is an amateur’s mistake, and this competition is not made for amateurs, so, Justin, your time in the Sweet and Salty kitchen is—”