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.
CHAPTER 9
Emmett
“WHAT THE FUCKwas 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 ofScared Straightout 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 andmess. 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 weretheguy. 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. Buttoday, 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.
