Текст книги "Fever dream"
Автор книги: Elsie Silver
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
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CHAPTER 7
Emmett
I’M STROLLING DOWN the gravel driveway toward the barn, minding my business, when I see her.
Julia Silva.
Every morning, I have to walk past this building that she’s prepping, and every morning she greets me with a happy hello. I wish there were another route to the barn, but there isn’t. I’ve considered driving, but parking is already tight enough with staff. And to be frank, driving a distance that takes me five minutes to walk is just lazy and bad for the environment.
So this is my new normal. Fucking everywhere I look. I swear the woman works twenty-four hours a day. Some sort of overachieving keener.
Just like her brother.
Irritating.
Nearly as irritating as watching her struggle with bags of dirt the size of her body with no one to help her.
She grins as I approach, the plastic seam of the bag dragging across her chin as she turns to look my way. “Good morning!”
My brow furrows. She sounds chipper. Just as chipper as Oma when she talks about how lovely Julia is.
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Which makes me wonder if she’s mocking me.
This must be a cosmic joke that everyone is in on. I’m just trudging around, putting in long days on the farm, waiting for the next shoe to drop, and they’re all laughing at me.
Ha ha, look at Emmett having to face his annoying rival’s little sister every day while preparing to do the dumbest thing he’s ever done.
Sure, everyone on staff has signed NDAs. Hell, I’m not even allowed to publicly date anyone else until this farce airs—over a year from now.
I can’t even put my finger on why I’m so agitated by her presence. If she spills this secret to her brother and all the other guys on tour, then she does it—I’ll survive by crying into my piles of money for having done the show.
“Morning,” I grumble back, sounding more surly than I intend.
She turns away, dropping the bag with a loud “Oof” on the ground near a wine barrel that’s been cut in half. Then she turns back to her car, drawing my gaze with her as she goes. Which is when I notice the trunk of the small, white Subaru loaded to the roof with bags of dirt. I can’t even see through the windows, which means I have no idea how she managed to drive safely.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving bags of soil from my car to these planters,” she replies simply, while pointing at the barrels.
She says it as if I’m the idiot.
“Your car is full to the brim, Julia. How did you even check your rearview mirror with all that in there?”
“Oh, it’s very simple.” She dusts her hands off on a pair of shorts while turning to face me. “I didn’t.”
The muscle in my jaw ticks as I imagine her driving down the highway through Emerald Lake. The road is busy with international tourists and out-of-town summer yuppies who have no idea where they’re going.
She’s already heaving another bag out of her car when I get around to talking again. “You know you can order a load of soil and they just deliver it, right?”
Julia looks back up at me with mock alarm on her face. “You can?”
I cross my arms. “Is this going to be how the next couple of months play out between us, Julia?”
“I don’t know, Emmett. Is it?” She huffs, tossing the bag on top of the other. “I’m minding my own business, trying to make a good impression and complete the tasks I’ve been assigned without asking a lot of questions or eating up the budget. So you can carry on doing whatever you came here to do, or you can help me. But this whole concerned father figure schtick has gotta go.”
My tongue pops into my cheek as I regard her. All fucking sass.
But without another word, I move in her direction.
And I start unloading bags of dirt.
Like I said, irritating.
We finish unloading in silence.
“Thanks for pitching in,” she huffs, wiping the dirt from her tight bike shorts and matching crop top. I try not to let my eyes wander, watching for no longer than is strictly necessary.
Instead, I toss her a tight smile and a quick, “You bet,” before turning to leave.
I’m not even ten steps away when I hear another car door open, followed by a dragging sound, then a metallic crashing sound. And then an “I’m okay!”
She said she doesn’t need my help. But when I glance back over my shoulder, I see her awkwardly trying to handle a box about the same size as her body. One corner of it is crushed.
My eyes flutter shut for a beat, and I groan. I can’t escape her; she’s truly everywhere. And it’s only been a week.
“Julia,” I say, exasperation bleeding into my tone.
“It’s all fine!” She waves me off. “Nothing to see here.”
I turn and watch for several seconds as she pulls a mishmash of tools out of her car and scatters them on the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“Building you a looove seat,” she replies with a teasing flourish. “So you can sit and talk to the camera about your deepest thoughts and feelings.”
The back of my neck itches at the mere mention of talking about my feelings. And she can tell. She’s teasing me, and she knows it.
“A dream come true,” I quip, deciding not to let her get under my skin. Even as she opens the box.
“Right?” she gushes as she lifts the manual and flips it toward me, pointing at the line drawing of the love seat with an excited grin. “And look. It swings.”
I almost laugh. Almost. I can’t help myself. There’s something about Julia that puts me at ease even though I don’t want to be. When I look at her, my brain tells me do not trust when every other part of me seems so ready to let my guard down. “Why would I need it to swing?”
“I thought it might be my little way of helping soothe your bad moods. You know, like rocking a small child.”
My bad moods? I look her over, eyes slipping from her face, down over her bare legs and back up.
“I’m not in a bad mood. And if I wanted you to soothe me, I wouldn’t ask you to push me on a swing.”
My lips tip up in a slow smirk, and her eyes widen for a beat. But the innuendo doesn’t fluster her in the way I hoped. Instead, she just huffs out an amused laugh and crouches down to reach for the screwdriver. “Save it for the cameras, Bush.”
Immune.
She directs her attention back to the instructions, turning the booklet as though she’s held it upside down.
It makes me wonder why she’s here doing this by herself. Surely there are other people on the payroll who should be building these parts of the set. But if I’ve learned anything about Julia in these early days, it’s that she’s eager to prove herself to Richard and the rest of the crew—and if that means going above and beyond her job description, then so be it. And to her credit, she’s been extremely productive. The bunkhouse and surrounding yard have come together over the past week.
But that doesn’t prevent confusion from touching Julia’s features as she stares down at the sheets.
Her brow furrows.
Her nose wrinkles in that same way I’ve noticed before.
I prop my hands on my hips and let out a weighty sigh. “Do you want help with that?”
“No,” she replies a little too quickly, eyes slicing up to mine for a beat.
“All right,” I say, resignation in my tone as I trudge toward her and swipe the manual out of her hands.
Because she may not want my help, but she looks like she might need it. And apparently, I have some sort of affliction when it comes to helping Julia Silva.
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CHAPTER 8
Julia
“WELCOME TO ROMANCE RANCH! Where ten lucky ladies are going to be courting our cowboy, professional bull rider Emmett Bush. Right here on a picturesque farm in Canada. I’m your host Brad Nelligan…”
The man with the too-tight face carries on introducing the show, but I find myself taking a long look around the guesthouse as the sun sets beyond it.
Quite frankly, I am brimming with pride.
I stand with the crew, our backs to the rest of the farm as we face the bunkhouse where the contestants will live for the next month. The building is unrecognizable from the first day that Leon and Tina gave me a tour of the place and fed me freshly baked cookies. The main set is several minutes down a gravel road and much farther into the sprawling property, which has helped to maintain privacy up at their home.
When we started here, it was… rustic, to say the least. An old spot for staff to live while working the farm that had fallen into a serious state of disrepair. In the weeks that have followed, I’ve made a point of creating a lookbook and shopping around for simple fixes that would spruce the place up.
A fresh coat of stain on the cedar siding. Wine barrels from local wineries, cut in half and filled with planted lavender. String lights zigzagging over the bricked-in patio, where Richard decided most of the interviews and elimination ceremonies will take place. The inside was in desperate need of a deep clean too. But now, each room is fresh and tidy. One long, dorm-like hall of bedrooms attached to a communal living and dining room means all the women get private sleeping space, but they must share social areas. Which—according to Richard—is where all the magic happens.
And though I felt out of my depth with the project at first, I’ve managed to stay afloat and create a usable space for the show.
Earlier this week, Richard pulled up in his silver Cybertruck and strutted around the property—frantically dusting off his loafers. After he’d inspected every corner of the place, he’d finally turned to me with a firm nod and said, “Not bad, kid.”
So, I’m taking that as a big win, considering I’ve seen the man lose his shit at several crew members over the past couple of months.
My presence isn’t essential—until something goes wrong. Then, anything on the set or location falls on my shoulders.
Which is why I work quietly and plan to always be available for any issues that might arise during filming. Something broke on set and needs to be replaced? I’m here. Need to pivot to a different backdrop? I’ve got ideas. Someone is boxed in where the crew parks? I’ll find the offending driver.
I’ve kept my head down, slipped under the radar, and worked longer hours than I’m paid for, completing tasks beyond what any established location manager would tackle. But as the new girl, I don’t mind. I’m not above grunt work. And if it gets me to where I’m going, I’ll put that time in without complaint.
My only complaint is that Emmett keeps popping up. Every morning I see him. And every so often, he insists on helping me, even though I don’t want it.
Needless to say, he is always around. Helping. Watching. Working.
Often shirtless.
I’ve tried hard to keep my distance. To not overstay my welcome. To conduct myself as staff and not as a neighbor.
But unfortunately, his family has made it more awkward than necessary. Leon and Tina are constantly inviting me in for snacks and drinks when I’m on-site, and I’m a jerk for turning them down. They’ve begun trying different food and beverage combinations as though that’s the root cause of why I’m never available.
Cookies and coffee?
Tea and banana bread?
Beer and potato chips?
Wine and cheese?
My answer is always no, but I worry they’re starting to take it personally—which I don’t want, because they are genuinely the sweetest people.
I don’t interact with Emmett much. Save for the odd time when he stomps past and feels the need to make my business his own. But I do see him. Driving a tractor. Stacking hay bales. Setting jumps for his sister in the outdoor arena. He’s… everywhere. Inescapable.
“Cut!” someone calls, and Brad’s fake-ass smile drops instantly as the crew goes from quiet and still to bustling.
I look toward the driveway where a flash of movement catches my eye. It appears the women have arrived, and my stomach twists into a knot. Casting wasn’t part of the prep that I was included in—my predecessor was still on staff for that. So this is my first time meeting them.
They exit their limos and line up around the side of the house, out of sight for Emmett, but perfectly in view for me. Each woman who joins the line is physically different from the last. Varied ethnicities, different hair colors, and bodies that range from lean to curvaceous.
The thing that ties them all together is that each one is beautiful in her own right.
My stomach turns over, and my palms sweat. I can’t help but wonder if Emmett is feeling the same now that it’s finally go time. I scan the people dashing all over the place, searching for high, stubbled cheekbones and sandy waves.
When I find him, he’s impossible to read. Face blank, eyes straight ahead, posture straight. He looks as though he belongs in a wax museum. Stoic. Possibly even nervous?
I frown as I take him in. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to appear as though he’s about to walk the plank into shark-infested waters.
“Heyoo, don’t eye-fuck the bachelor if you aren’t on the show.”
I startle and turn to see his younger sister, Riley, sidling up beside me with a wide grin plastered on her face. Her brown hair falls in a thick ponytail from the back of her ball cap. She’s wearing a T-shirt and navy-blue riding jodhpurs with black paddock boots and colorful socks pulled up to her knees.
I’m no equestrian, but I know the socks make it easier to slide tall leather riding boots on and off.
I shoot her a droll look and scoff. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting all the Brandt siblings since I started on location, and they are all incredibly likable. Down-to-earth, funny, warm. And nothing like I expected.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t do cowboys. I just wasn’t expecting him to look so…” I search for the word to describe Emmett’s face and body language.
“Constipated?” Riley provides, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Yeah, that.”
“Not much makes my brother nervous. But the prospect of traditional dating might be the one thing to do it. He’s probably got hives underneath that dorky suit.”
I swallow and smile tightly. I saw enough on the cruise ship to know that thinking too much about what Emmett Bush has under his suit is dangerous territory.
The suit they forced him to pair with cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.
Oh, and a bolo tie.
It had been a whole thing. And Emmett had not been pleased.
“I’d never wear this around the farm. Like… ever. Hell, I’d never wear this anywhere except at a rodeo as a sponsor or if I was being a cowboy for Halloween. Because this is a costume,” he’d forcefully complained to Teri, one of the head story producers, as he sat in hair and makeup a mere hour before.
“Exactly! We’re putting on a show here!” had been her exuberant answer. Like her positivity might trick him into being equally enthused.
I don’t know what he was expecting from a dating show called Romance Ranch, but it was evident to me that the forced cowboy attire was only adding to his discomfort in front of the camera.
“Did he ask you to be on set?” I ask Riley, attempting to make small talk.
She looks around, her hands propped confidently on her hips. “Oh, hell no. He specifically told me he’d kill me if I showed up.”
Then she turns and hits me with a grin. “But you know Em. All bark, no bite. Biggest fucking softie I know. Plus, I have so little blackmail fodder to use against him, whereas I’m the one who’s always fucking up around here. So I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m not waiting a year for it to be on TV.”
I try to keep my brow from furrowing as I glance back at her brother. He’s scowling right in our direction. Riley may be confused about his persona, because he looks primed to commit murder.
My brother, Theo, is a softie. A big goofball with a smile for pretty much everyone. Emmett, though? Emmett has a dangerous edge to him, a permanent “fuck off” sort of twinkle in his eye.
Riley waves at him, but his hands stay in the pockets of his silvery-gray suit pants. The muscle at the back of his jaw flutters in response, and that’s it.
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.
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