A/N and Disclaimer: Hello all, I hope this will be a good time of year for all of you. I enjoyed all the delicious Samcedes fanfiction over the US Thanksgiving holiday, and I didn't have the motivation or the inclination to add anything during my holiday; now even though I am back at work, in honor of Amber Riley winning The Masked Singer, I am back on this site, and I will try my best to share this Christmas story written by the writing team Maggie Knox and entitled what else but All I Want For Christmas…which meant it was destined to be rewritten as a Samcedes fanfiction and also led to me coming up this title by taking a verse out of the song that The Amber Riley, multitalented artist herself sang on Glee. This will remain on the site for the holidays but come January it may be deleted, since I doubt I will take the time to rewrite it that much while I am working. As with almost everything I post, I own nothing. All the credit goes to the original authors and creators and writers of the songs and the show Glee. I do take things out and add things and that's what make it fanfiction darlings. I hope you enjoy it…
Chapter 1
Sam
Nashville, Tennessee
December 1
What on earth am I doing here?
The question had been nagging at Sam Evans all day. Actually, ever since he'd agreed to join America's Newest Star's. ANS was the latest reality show that promised wannabe artists a shot at a record deal. When he found out the show was going to be taped and produced in hometown of Nashville, he thought it was fate. Now looking around at the other contestants vying for that coveted first place, he wondered if he even stood a chance even though before he agreed to perform he signed a contract with possible guarantees.
Most people who knew his family would think Sam didn't need any of what the winner of America's Newest Star received—not the money, nor the fame. He had grown up in the Nashville celebrity spotlight, thanks to his father, Dwight Evans, who was an iconic country music singer and award winning songwriter. And yet, here Sam was: on a soundstage, trying to decide between a rock-hard chocolate doughnut or a days-old croissant from the craft-services table. He chose neither and turned back to watch the other contestants warming up on the stage.
The room was already decorated in preparation for the upcoming holiday-themed shows, and it did look festive. But everything was fake—from the plastic evergreen boughs, to the cotton swaths of "snow"—which left Sam feeling less than merriness of the season should supply.
He didn't want to be here, but America's Newest Star was Sam's last chance to try to make it in the music industry on his own terms, in his own way—something he had so far been unable to do. Sure, he had released an album, but the record hadn't done well or received any industry buzz other than it's release because he was Dwight Evans' son. There had been no real splash, low sales, no award shows, just one music video, and the label refused to give him a chance at recording a sophomore album.
Since then, he had been singing in bars and clubs around Nashville and was often featured in entertainment magazines ("Who Is Sam Evans, Son of the Great Dwight Evans, Dating Now?" and "How Does Sam Evans Keep His Stunning Six-Pack Looking So Fine?") and waiting for his next great thing so he could prove he had "the it factor," just like his dad. No, he really needed to prove that he was nothing at all like his dad. He was ready to show the world, that he could be a star, too, but not the way his dad had done it—which, in Sam's view, had meant selling his soul for fame. Dwight Evans was as well-known for his drinking, poor money management, and womanizing as he was for his Hall of Fame country music songs that paid for the house that was once in his mother's name, so the IRS could never garnish because of his dad's failure to pay taxes during his early career.
All of this alerted Sam to the fact that it was nearly time—really past time—to leave Nashville, with its suffocating expectations and disappointments, behind.
"We definitely don't need this, that's for sure," he whispered to his dog and constant companion, tucking his energetic body deeper under his arm.
McConaughey, Sam's rescue pup, was a terrier mix and ten pounds (if that) soaking wet. His tiny body had a variety of colorings on his hair, but his ears, top of his head and most of his upper body had darker hair. McConaughey continued wiggling inside the green cable-knit sweater he wore, trying to get closer to the pastries.
"Hey there you idiot! No dogs are allowed near craft services." Sam turned at the familiar voice.
"Why must you always be breaking some rule, Sam Evans?" Tana Lopez added, before pulling Sam into a hug, making McConaughey squeal at the sudden crush.
"Oh, sorry there, McConaughey," Tana said, giving the dog a pat on his head. Sam had known Tana since they were in high school, and she was one of his closest friends. Though she had started out singing in her church choir and then performing pop music, Tana Lopez had fallen in love with country music as well and had been described as being the Afro Latina Kelly Clarkson.
Nashville had fallen in love with the artist, who could sing like Amy Winehouse, Kelly Clarkson, Tina Turner, and Adele. When her oldest brother had signed to play professional football with the Titans, her entire family had moved to Nashville, and she had been living in her childhood home city ever since. With multiple platinum albums under her belt, and at only thirty-two, she was the artist that most up-and-coming musicians wished to emulate. A superstar now, Tana was better at deflecting the negative aspects of celebrity than Sam was. She never apologized for her ambition and knew precisely who she was.
Now she was looking at him and could see he needed more encouragement than ribbing. "Trouty, how can you write songs so freaking effortlessly? I swear you get more and more prolific every day. I wish I was able to write my own songs. That is where the real money comes from." Trouty Mouth was the nickname that she had given him while they were in high school. She still called him Trouty occasionally.
Everyone in Nashville knew his dad was an award winning songwriter for artist from the 80s to the 2000s. Not only had Sam inherited his dad's talent for songwriting, but he had also inherited his father's looks: dark blonde hair that lightened in the sun that looked like he could be a shampoo model, and also his dad's height and frame. There were differences. His dad's eyes were blue, but his were green. Another difference was that Sam wore a five-o'clock shadow that was missing from his dad's clean shaven face.
"You're the only one that is hearing my songs though. I would rather be able to have the world hear my songs like they do yours," Sam replied, to which Tana waved a hand, dismissing the compliment.
"Smoke and mirrors. You know how fake show business is. It is not about true talent. You can go to churches all over the United States and hear way better singers and musicians than the ones who are on the charts. I am just the latest hot commodity willing to show a lot of skin and shake my ass on the stage. There will be an act that will soon replace me. You better believe it."
Tana took a croissant from the craft-services table and then grimaced at its obvious staleness.
"That's what you get for agreeing to be a temporary celebrity judge on a B-level show. This is not American Idol, America's Got Talent, or The Voice," Sam said, looking pointedly at the stale pastry.
America's Newest Star had once been the hottest ticket in Nashville, garnering millions of viewers during its first season. Tana Lopez had a resurgence in her career when she performed a duet with the winner of it's first season by singing the song, "If I Die Young," which catapulted the former teenage popstar into the stratosphere. The country music fans demanded a country album from her, and she came out with a neo Shania Twain sound and videos that had been missing from country music. She was also able to perform with other crossover artists at concerts that made her a mega star. Her duets with Florida Georgia Line, Kane Brown, Chris Stapleton, and Sam Hunt had made her a bonafide Nashville star, so Will Schuester, who was one of the show's creators—had convinced her to return as a celebrity judge. But recent seasons were lagging. Perhaps the show's predictable format was tiresome to viewers, especially in a sea of reality show options, but there had been much talk and anticipation that this year was going to get it back on top of the Nielsen ratings. And from the producers' perspective, Sam Evans was a big part of the strategy.
"Now, come on," Tana replied. "Didn't you hear we have the Sam Evans joining us this season?"
They both laughed, and Tana broke off a piece of the stale croissant for McConaughey.
"Santana!" Sam twisted away, but not before McConaughey got the treat. "You know he can't have gluten."
Tana rolled her eyes, her fake eyelashes so long they hit above her eyebrows. "Sam, you know he can. Look how happy he is. Aren't you, boy? Aren't you Hey Hey?" Tana cooed, giving him another small bit of the pastry despite Sam's annoyed glare. "Nice sweater, by the way. What are you two supposed to be twins?"
"Hardy ha ha." Sam ran his hand over McConaughey's sweater and looked down at his own.
On the stage in front of them, a dozen or so of the other contestants were warming up. Sam had no clue who the contestants were, or what their stories were, because he hadn't met any of them yet—he hadn't bothered to.
It was probably time to pay closer attention because these contestants were his competition. But the white noise of the mingling voices made it tough for anyone to rise above the rest.
Until one did.
The voice that reached him belonged to a woman at the edge of the stage, closest to where Sam and Tana stood. It wasn't just that she was closest to Sam. It was that her voice had that rare quality to it you didn't often hear—even in Nashville.
Tana heard it, too, and nodded at the woman—whose long hair was in dark red braids over her shoulder, a baggy hooded sweatshirt worn over plain black tights.
"That's Cedes Jones," Tana said. "She got sort of a Jazmine Sullivan thing going on, right?"
Sam frowned, watching Cedes Jones pace in a slow circle near the edge of the stage. Then she turned toward them, and Sam got a complete picture: she wasn't just talented, she was cute, too. Plump cheeks and lips, and those eyes. Prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen.
Tana nudged Sam's shoulder with her own. "She is pretty and has a butt like the ripest peach. Makes you wanna reach out and touch it."
"If that is your type, I guess." Sam shrugged. "She looks a bit too sweet and wholesome for me."
"Hmm," Tana replied, giving him a wry smile. "I remember you high school obsession over Sheila Goodwin's ass, you spent more time staring at it than your own girlfriend's, so I am thinking she is exactly your type."
"Don't go there, Tana." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Will Schuester came up to them, a young guy who could be his protégé smiled following a step behind him.
"Tana, my brightest star, I want you to meet someone," Will said, completely ignoring Sam. His curly hair was immaculately styled, but he still ran a hand over it to ensure there were not a strand out of place.
Sam was more than familiar with Will Schuester. Not only was he the producer and top judge on America's Newest Star, Will was the hitmaker in town. At only forty-four, he had produced some of the highest-earning albums in the world and now had his own record label. And despite some unpleasant rumors, anyone he chose to work with became a sensation—including Sam's own dad who was writing more than touring these days.
"This is Jesse St. James," Will said. Jesse stepped forward with confidence that Sam wished he had.
"Ms. Lopez, I'm one of your biggest fan. 'Think You Slick' is my favorite song," Jesse said, shaking Tana's hand enthusiastically.
"Is it now?" Tana said, smiling at him. Sam tried not to chuckle. "Think You Slick" was Tana's most well-known hit, so Jesse using it to try to impress Tana had, in Sam's opinion, the opposite effect.
"Have you met Sam Evans, Jesse?" Tana turned to Sam, her expression suggesting he should engage in this social nicety, especially because Will was looking on.
"Hey, man, good to meet you," Sam said, shifting McConaughey, so he could shake Jesse's hand. "Good luck out there."
"Oh, Jesse doesn't need luck, Sam," Will said, finally acknowledging Sam's presence.
"I think we all need a little luck, Will," Tana said pointedly.
"We sure do!" Jesse replied, grinning like a kid who had just been given all-out access to a candy store.
Will gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "Time to go," he said, nudging Jesse back toward the stage with the others. "See you at the table, Tana?"
"I'll be right there," she replied breezily. She waited a beat after Will left before saying, "Sam, you'd better get out there, too. I know Will can be hella frustrating. But he's the head judge. Don't piss him off before the show even begins, okay?"
Sam took a deep breath. "I will try." Then he looked around for his assistant. His longtime manager, April Rhodes, had insisted that his America's Newest Star deal included an on-set assistant, despite his protests that he needed no such thing. Sam liked to do things his own way.
"Hey . . .," Sam said, pointing to the guy he had met just the other day.
"His name is Mason," Tana whispered.
"How do you always know everybody?" Sam asked, keeping his voice low.
Tana smiled and shrugged, before heading back to the judges' table.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Evans?" Mason said. He kept his eyes on Tana's figure several seconds too long.
Sam gave his fingers a couple of snaps. "Hey, Mason? I'm over here, man."
Mason turned back to Sam, looking slightly stunned, his reaction slower than a tortoise.
"First of all, call me Sam." He handed McConaughey to Mason, who held him at arm's length like he was a poisonous reptile.
"Don't worry, Mason, he's all bark and no bite," Sam said, clipping his leash onto his collar. "Just don't try to take off his sweater—he hates that. And keep him on his leash, at all times."
Mason nodded, looking nervously at the dog. McConaughey gave Sam a look that suggested he felt betrayed to be left in the care of such a novice.
"See you soon, boy," Sam said. "Have fun with Mason."
Neither the assistant nor the dog seemed to think this was possible, but Sam couldn't worry about that. He had to concentrate; it was time to be the Sam Evans people were expecting to show up. As he climbed the few stairs to the main stage, he noticed Cedes Jones watching him. He offered her the Evans smile, which disarmed even the grouchiest of folks, but she rolled her eyes at him, her mouth set in a tight line.
"Whatever," Sam grumbled under his breath, holding her gaze. He didn't have the time or energy for drama. He wasn't going to let anyone, including Cedes Jones, distract him.
Cedes
Nashville, Tennessee
December 1
Cedes Jones closed the equipment locker door behind her and sank down to the dusty floor. She pulled out her phone and opened the calming sounds of waterfalls that played through an app that offered calming sounds. She tried to treat her anxiety by praying and then trying to sit in peace, but peace wouldn't come. Thoughts plummeted her mind. What if I don't win? Am I going to have to go back to Ohio again? If I stay here, what am I going to do about money? How am I going to pay my rent?
Cedes had quit her job as a singing waitress at the BackStage Grill; she had started working there to supplement her income, but the job had become her primary source of income due to the amount she received in tips. She had no choice but to quit her job there after earning a spot on America's Newest Star. Now she had a chance to vie for the seven-hundred and fifty-thousand-dollar prize—including the opportunity to record an album with lead judge and producer, Will Schuester, which for Cedes was perhaps the most alluring part—but that prize was only a long shot. She had now spent a solid ten years of her life working toward her big break after graduating college with a degree in music—and on days like this, even though she was in the middle of taking one giant step forward, she could feel the yawning chasm behind her. If she didn't win, she'd have to go back to playing small gigs anywhere she could find them. Touring college venues and performing at weddings and bat mitzvahs as much as possible was not the most lucrative or dependable source of income.
Or she'd have to give up her dream.
Cedes increased her phone's volume, but it didn't do any good. The persistent voice in her head just got louder, asking how she was ever going to be happy if she gave up on her dream. Plus, the waterfall was now loud enough to remind her of dangerous river rapids. Cedes squeezed her eyes shut against the noise. She was her own worst enemy. As soon as she stopped thinking about failing at this opportunity another unwelcomed thought permeated her mind.
Unfortunately, she found her mind filled with thoughts of Sam Evans. She had seen him talking casually with Tana Lopez earlier. Tana was one of Cedes' musical idols. That morning, Cedes had noticed Tana standing nearby, listening to her practice—and now she imagined Tana had been telling Sam that Cedes was no competition for him, that he had nothing to worry about when it came to her.
What in the hell was Sam Evans even doing on America's Newest Star? He couldn't possibly need the money or the recording contract. He was Nashville royalty already. He was used to getting whatever he wanted—and treating people however he wanted. When their eyes had met as he passed by the soundstage earlier she hadn't seen a hint of recognition in his expression. She really didn't think he would remember her like she remembered him. But they had met, many years ago, the first time Cedes had tried to make a go of it in Nashville—before she had run out of money and been forced to temporarily move back home. Meeting Sam Evans was a memory she tried to suppress, and one Sam had clearly forgotten which was no big surprise to her. Cedes wondered if she was the only person who really knew that underneath his handsome, charming exterior, and despite the fact that he carried the most adorable dog around with him wherever he went, held doors, and displayed his Southern manners, the truth was, Sam Evans was a bonafide jerk.
She slid her phone out of the pocket of her baggy hoodie and turned off the app, then hit the FaceTime icon and held her breath. Soon, her grandmother's face would appear on-screen and she'd have a few moments of being reminded that she needed to believe in herself and her lifelong dream.
But it wasn't Grandma Sadie who answered.
"Cedes! What's wrong with you? You look upset!"
"Mama." Cedes quickly wiped under her eyes, but knew she couldn't magically erase the stress-induced dark circles there. "I'm fine. I'm just . . ." But she knew if she told her mom how she was feeling, Marilyn would insist that the solution was simple: come home. Forget about the dream that had done nothing but cause her years of disappointment. Forget, even, about the exciting long shot that was America's Newest Star. Marilyn spent a lot of time worrying about her only child's well-being and had decided long ago that the music industry was a dangerous place for Cedes. A place where a person could easily get hurt. She could use her degree to become a music teacher and work with their church's choir; just like her mom had been doing for over thirty years.
"Is Grandma home? I called her phone because I wanted to say a quick hi to her, that's all. To see if she's feeling better."
"She's here but she's just lying down," Marilyn said, and for a moment Cedes thought she saw a flicker of sadness cross her mother's face. But then there was a commotion in the background and Cedes smiled as she heard her grandmother insisting she was perfectly fine. Seconds later, Grandma Sadie's face appeared, first sideways, then upside down.
"Hello? Can you hear me? Is this thing on?"
"Loud and clear, Grandma Sadie."
"This thing you gave me so we could keep in touch when you moved back to Nashville actually works!"
"It's just an app on your phone," Cedes said, still smiling. "It's FaceTime. You can do video calls on smartphones."
"Well, it is that. Smart as a cookie." my granny squinted into the screen. "Where on earth are you right now, Mercedes? A closet?"
"Well—"
"Mercedes Jones! Please tell me you aren't having one of your anxiety episodes. What happened with the prayers and affirmations?"
"They aren't working for me," Cedes muttered.
"Well, it's probably because you are in a closet. Come on, stand up. Brush yourself off. Get back out there and do what I know you were put on this earth to do."
Cedes could hear her mother in the background, telling her granny to ease up and not push Cedes so hard, that there were plenty of other things she could do with her life. But Cedes knew this wasn't true.
"Okay, okay, maybe I am having a small episode. Thanks for quickly snapping me out of it, Grandma Sadie."
"Tell me about the other contestants. Who do you need to look out for?"
Cedes decided not to mention Sam Evans. She knew her granny was a big fan of his father, Dwight Evans, and didn't want to hear her swoon about Cedes getting to be one degree from greatness. "There's this one guy, Jesse St. James, who has a pretty good voice, but he's also got this presence. You just want to watch him. He's the one I'm worried about. And he's only twenty-three years old!"
"Are you going to start insisting that at thirty-one years old you're a washed-up old lady again?! Remember who you're talking to."
"Thirty-one isn't that young, especially not in the music world."
"Nonsense," my granny said. "Age ain't nothing but a number. Your beautiful and talented voice is going to be what people notice."
"My voice might not be enough."
Grandma Sadie moved her face close to the screen, pinning her granddaughter with a look. "You're right. It isn't just your voice. It's you. You got yourself onto that show. Your poise, determination, and your gift from God which is that amazing voice. Do you hear me? Now, you go on out there and make me proud." Make me proud was what Grandma Sadie always said to Cedes before she performed, and she had been doing so since Cedes was singing solos in the church choir at the age of seven. Cedes smiled and was about to say goodbye when all at once, her granny's screen blurred, as if she had dropped the phone. Cedes heard her grandmother coughing for a moment, then her mother's voice. Marilyn appeared on-screen once more.
"She just . . . swallowed some water and it went down the wrong pipe." Her mother's expression was full of worry. "Good luck today, Cedes. And don't forget—if it doesn't work out, you can always come home." Ah. Cedes should have known the worry was about her. "I'll really miss not having you home for Christmas this year," she continued.
"I promise to check in later," was all Cedes said. "I should really get back."
Then she hung up and was alone with her thoughts once more, a ball of anxiety still pressing itself against her sternum.
You look amazing," said Kurt, the stylist assigned to Cedes—a lucky break, because he was one of the best, and had come from Tana Lopez's tour crew. He had put Cedes in a red backless dress, gauzy and trimmed all over with frills that should have been too much, but instead were just perfect because he had toned down the look with milk chocolate–brown cowboy boots. The dark circles under her eyes had been concealed by a makeup artist, and her long reddish braids hung loose and wavy down her exposed back. Kurt lifted up her braids and dusted them with some kind of shimmery powder.
"Love the piercing by the way," he said, referring to the tiny diamond stud Cedes had worn in her nose since she was seventeen. Her mom had been chagrined when she came home with it one day after school—but she had been feeling inspired by Erykah Badu, her favorite singer at the time. "It shows that you're adorable—but you have an edge. Now, go get them, superstar."
As Cedes walked toward the soundstage, she tried to calm herself. She was just going to have to breathe in her fear and breathe out powerful music. She wished there was an app for that.
She stepped out onto the stage and sat down at the piano. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lights, then roamed quickly over the ledge of the piano and across to the judges' table, where Tana, Will, and the other two judges—country music icon Quinn Fabray and county, pop, and alternative music icon Darius Rucker—sat, their faces arranged in neutral expressions. The other competitors sat in the front row—but perfectly coiffed Jesse St. James in a bright blue suit, no shirt underneath, washboard stomach on full display, was most noticeable. His posture was casual and relaxed, his long legs were crossed at the ankles.
She'd chosen to sing "At Last," by Etta James. It was a comforting old favorite, one of the first songs her granny had taught her to sing, and a great opportunity to show off the range of her voice. Cedes ran her fingers lightly across the keys, preparing herself. Now her gaze landed on Sam Evans, who was as understatedly hip as Jesse St. James was stylishly alluring. Sam was staring off to the left of the stage, where Cedes knew a large clock was affixed to the wall. It appeared he was counting the seconds down until this torture was over. Cedes felt frustrated just looking at him—but then, as she let her gaze linger on Sam, she noticed there was a surprising benefit to having him in her line of vision. It was making her forget how nervous she was. So she kept her eyes on Sam as she began to play the opening bars of her song. As she sang those first lines about finding love at last, Sam's gaze finally shifted to the stage, and she saw it: surprise.
Sam Evans, I have something to prove to you, she thought. It was a short song, but powerful—and by the closing bars, she knew she'd nailed it. Jesse St. James even hopped out of his chair to give her a standing ovation—but really, Cedes knew, he was just using the opportunity to show off for the cameras.
The judges were in unanimous agreement. "I mean," Tana was saying, "I just knew when I stumbled on this one practicing earlier today that she was going to be someone to watch."
Cedes felt flushed hearing her idol's praise as she sat beaming on the stage, she paused and let herself live in the moment. She let the compliments wash over her, thinking about what her grandma had said to her earlier about this being her life's purpose.
"She definitely has star quality," Will Schuester was now saying, looking Cedes over appraisingly and with interest, as if noticing her for the first time. Cedes was smiling so much it was starting to hurt her cheeks. And her smile got wider still when she saw the scowl on Sam's face. Cedes had just proven that he was going to need to stay on his toes to beat her, and that felt incredible.
Later, after all the performances were over, the day's rankings were announced: underdog Cedes had impressed the judges and come in first place—but Jesse St. James's show stopping version of Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" was nipping at her heels, a close second. Sam Evans's version of Toby Keith's "Red Solo Cup" had somehow earned him third place, even though Cedes could have put money on him choosing a horrible song like that. So predictable.
"Your prize for winning today's competition" Tana winked as she said this—"is that you, Cedes Jones, get first pick of a contestant to partner up with for the duet round of competition. Everyone else will have their partners randomly assigned."
Cedes was about to point to Jesse St. James—he was her stiffest competition, sure, but she'd get more attention if she sang with him—when someone called, "Cut!"
Wait. What was going on?
One of the directors, an energetic man named Artie, approached. "Okay. So, this part is now scripted," Artie said. All the contestants had been told there would be certain portions of the show that were predetermined, but Cedes still felt taken aback. "Pretty simple. You're supposed to pick Sam Evans. Okay? So when the cameras roll, you just point to Evans, bat those pretty brown eyes of yours, and say you choose him."
"You mean I don't really have a choice?"
Artie just shrugged. "We need Evans in the spotlight as much as possible, and if he keeps on trotting out obscure Toby Keith covers, that ain't gonna happen. Ratings. It's that simple. Alright, so let's get rolling."
"But that's not fair," Cedes muttered.
"Whoever told you that show business was fair?" Artie said, dashing back to his position beside camera A1 as if he hadn't just totally ruined her big moment.
"And rolling!"
Tana delivered her line again and Cedes mustered up an excited smile in response. "I choose . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment. Oh hell, I don't want to do this. She opened her eyes and met Sam's nonchalant gaze. "Sam Evans. Like. Who else would I pick? Thank you, everyone!"
The glare of the lights as Cedes made her way off the stage made it impossible for her to see Sam's reaction. But she could just imagine his smug, entitled smirk, and it made her more determined than ever to win it all.
Out in the hallway, she felt a hand on her arm and turned around. Will Schuester, who she'd never spoken to, was standing behind her. "You're one of the top contenders already," he said in a just-between-us voice that gave Cedes a thrill. "All the judges think you're definitely got something special myself included."
"Thank you so much, Mr. Schuester!" Cedes said, feeling her cheeks flush with happiness. He squeezed her upper arm again.
"Please, Cedes, call me Will. And, I will definitely be seeing you around."
As Will walked away, Cedes saw Sam approaching her, his assistant, Mason, in tow. Sam was the only contestant who had his own personal assistant, of course. But not even his arrogant expression as he passed her without saying a word could dampen her mood. She was going to have to figure out a way to work with Sam, but that was a problem she could deal with another day. Today, was for celebrating, and Cedes sang and danced walked all the way back to her dressing room.