Flustered giggles draw my gaze back around the corner as the crew sets the stage to film the first meet and greets.
“Okay, okay. We haven’t got all night, people. Let’s get the cameras rolling while it still looks like this.” Richard points up at the sky, now painted shades of pink and purple as the sun sets over the valley. “It looks romantic and shit, hear me? We want fucking on the beach at sunset, not lights out so no one can see the action.”
As I usually do around the guy, I clench my molars to keep myself from cringing. He’s just so… crass. And blunt. And rude about the whole show and everyone on it.
I went into this project thinking the vibes would be romantic somehow. But that was naive of me, because Richard makes everything he touches sleazy.
Some people chuckle, other people move faster, but everything falls into place.
And then it’s Emmett’s turn in the spotlight. They’ve been showing B-roll with him all day, peppering him with interview questions, hoping to get the perfect sound bite. But now the introductions start.
When someone counts down and then calls “action,” Riley’s hand shoots out to grip my forearm like she’s suddenly nervous.
“Are you ready to meet your future wife?” Brad asks Emmett, and I almost burst out laughing because Emmett forces the cheesiest grin onto his face and replies with, “Absolutely, Brad.”
“Wonderful, let’s get started then, shall we?”
“Can’t wait,” Emmett replies brightly, and it makes Riley slap a hand over her face as her cheeks flare pink. We both know this version of Emmett is too bubbly to be real.
“You know what?” Riley mutters. “This is too fucking awkward for me. I’m going to go shovel shit or something instead.”
“You enjoy that,” I reply, amused.
She pauses for a beat, gaze appraising. “Are you single?”
She catches me off guard. And for a moment I freeze. I hate talking about this.
“I am,” I reply, forcing my voice to come out light and my shoulders to stay down so that I don’t completely clamp up in front of her.
She smiles conspiratorially. “A friend came by to look at a horse and saw you working here. Was asking about you. Want me to let him know? He’s a really sweet guy.”
I make a show of glancing around us, silently directing her attention to the fact that I’m technically at work right now. “Sure. But maybe we can talk about this later?”
What I really want is to put this conversation off entirely. And based on the way her eyes widen, I think I’ve achieved my goal.
“Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll talk later!” With that, she turns tail and darts off set.
It’s for the best. I force myself to move past the awkwardness of that conversation. Instead, I focus on watching each woman come out and introduce herself. They’re all confident, beautiful, and successful. Yet each one is incredibly distinct from the last.
The women filter through the line around the corner. When they appear to face him, some are suave and confident, some more flustered than others. All of them chat on the other side of the set after meeting him, faces glowing and shoulders twitching with suppressed excitement.
Emmett receives each woman with equal enthusiasm and attention, not leaving a single one of them to think they don’t have a chance.
There are only three daters left in line when I watch Richard pull aside a buxom brunette with olive skin and catlike features. She’s hot as hell.
Richard whispers too quietly for me to hear, but I watch him point in Emmett’s direction. The woman casts a furtive glance that way before smiling brightly and offering my boss a firm nod. She strides back into place, and within minutes, it’s her turn to walk out and meet Emmett. And meet him she does.
He looks her up and down appreciatively as she strides in his direction, and I don’t blame him one bit.
“Hi, I’m Evelyn,” she says with a knowing smile.
Emmett smirks back as he introduces himself. But I think she catches him off guard when she grips the bolo tie around his neck and yanks his face down to hers.
“Camera One, zoom in, zoom in, zoom in!” Richard flaps his arms at the cameraman as Evelyn whispers something against Emmett’s cheek.
Her free hand slips under his jacket, taking a leisurely slide up over his abs and around his waist. When she pulls away, her lipstick smudges his cheek, and her teeth press into her bottom lip. She looks like she wants to eat him alive.
As she struts past Camera Two with a saucy wink, Richard pumps a fist, mumbling into his headset, “That girl is the best kind of trouble. She stays.”
And Emmett?
For some reason, Emmett looks around. Like he’s searching for something or someone.
And then his eyes land on me.
OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 9
Emmett
“WHAT THE FUCK was that?” Richard starts in on me.
After we wrapped filming the introductions, he dragged me back to his production trailer, slammed the door, and started ranting.
I don’t know if he expects me to react in some specific way, which is why I make sure I don’t. I’m not one to cower or apologize—especially not to a tool like him. Hip propped against the filing cabinet behind me, I cross my arms over my chest and stare down my nose at him.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve spent the past two decades dealing with temper tantrums like this, thanks to Carl. Richard and my old man are chips off the same douchebag block. Which means I could settle him down if I wanted to.
But he’s annoying me, so I opt for pissing him off instead.
These are the things dear old dad has taught me in life: how to ride a bull really damn well and how to play fucked-up mind games.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought that went well.”
“Well? Well?” he exclaims, voice growing shriller by the second. “You could say that went well if I was trying to sell a virginal farm boy who’d never taken a girl to plow town before.”
“You certainly have a way with words,” I reply flatly, knowing my lack of apology will do nothing but set him off further.
“You looked like you were on an episode of Scared Straight out there. Like you’d never spoken to a woman before in your life. I’m making TV here, Bush. I’m selling love, but I’m also selling sex and drama and heartbreak and mess. And you’re out there acting like some pink-cheeked altar boy who doesn’t know what to say when a girl offers herself up on a platter to him.”
You’re in it for the money, I remind myself. Because right about now, talking to this fucking worm makes me want to quit without a backward glance.
“Everyone told me you were the guy. The bull rider with a chip on his shoulder. The guy who was bed-hopping every night. The guy leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. So you’re going to have to excuse me for being a little confused by the Boy Scout act.”
You’re in it for the money.
This morning, I went to the main house to check on my grandparents. I let myself in like always and headed toward the dining room where they have coffee together every morning. But today, they had stacks of bills spread out in front of them and were speaking in hushed tones about laying off staff to catch up on the payments. There was even talk of selling off one of Riley’s more competitive mounts. I didn’t know what to say, so I slunk back out, filled with renewed purpose for why I’m doing this show in the first place.
My oma and opa deserve to slow down. They deserve a retirement—or something close to it. I know they’re aging and can’t keep up with the level of physical labor that laying off staff entails. My pride, my morals, they can be set aside for a bit. It’s only six weeks.
