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.
I offer him a nonchalant shrug. “I hear you, Richard. I do. I just need a bit of camera time to get my bearings. Do you know what I mean? It felt very orchestrated, very forced. I’m not used to being myself in front of the camera and on the wordgo.”
“So what, you need me to pull a bull out on set, slap a belt buckle and a cowboy hat on these girls? What sort of role-play do we need to have happen to bring out the full Emmett Bush experience?”
God, I fucking hate this guy.
I swallow my pride, and it tastes sour going down. “I don’t know, something less structured? We could get off the farm or do something more active sometimes. Standing around in a suit and cowboy hat, it’s not my vibe.”
What I don’t confess is that I’m realizing the entire show is not my vibe. Or it’s not EmmettBrandt’s vibe.
Emmett Bush? He’s fine with this. But he exists on the road—far away from his family, out of sight of his siblings, and certainly not on the farm that has become a lifelong safe haven for a traumatized little boy.
I realize I’ve made the mistake of merging my two worlds. And now I don’t know how to reconcile them.
Richard glares at me, his shoulder propped against the wall. If anybody has ever given off small-dick energy, it is Richard Wadsworth.
Dick Wadsworth.
That abbreviation makes me smirk.
Dick Wad.
Even better.
His head bobs back and forth, and my new internal nickname makes him slightly less irritating.
“Okay, so we get you guys out. Less sitting around. We do B-roll out on-site for those events, but Emmett, some of ithasto happen here. This is where we sunk all our money into sets for ceremonies.” He shakes his head and looks out the small sliding window toward the set. “Such a waste of resources since that new girl, Julie, spent all her time and budget on making this place look good.”
“Julia,” I correct.
His brows furrow. “What?”
“The location consultant who coordinated this set, her name is Julia, not Julie.”
His face scrunches up as though what I’m saying confuses him. “Like I give a flying fuck what her name is, as long as the job’s getting done. Same goes for you. Give me that slutty-boy energy. And whatever you do, don’t eliminate handsy Evelyn. She’s eager. Not afraid of a good catfight. We need her to bring some drama and excitement to this show if you’re going to go all nervy on me. Now get your ass back out there and mingle with the girls. There’s champagne and an opportunity for you to be less boring. Try to give me some remotely exciting closing remarks so I have something to work with for this episode.”
I shrug, fighting back the urge to roll my eyes at the guy.
He looks me over with narrowed eyes. “You do realize we are paying you and your familya lotof money to use this place? I’d hate to have to renegotiate that amount because—”
I hold up a hand, stopping him there. “Nope. I get it. I got it. I’m good.”
It’s a lie, but Richard doesn’t care. He got what he wanted. He beams back at me as I give him a terse nod before turning away.
I remind myself again that I’m in it for the money as I stride out of the trailer and begrudgingly make my way back to the set.
I’m not nervous—I’m embarrassed.
Because in a twist I was not expecting, twenty minutes on camera for this show has made me feel more like a slimy piece of meat than any careless one-night stand ever has.
I’m seated for my final interview with Teri—one of the main producers—and then I’m free until tomorrow afternoon.
I survived the champagne and chatting cocktail hour in the courtyard area outside the bunkhouse. It was a blur of names, hometowns, and awkward small talk. Overwhelming, but reassuring in a way because several of the women seemed just as uncomfortable as me.
In a way, that was the best icebreaker I could ask for.
Now I’m seated on the swinging bench I helped Julia build, around the side of the bunkhouse, away from the main gathering. It’s a spot that’s been meticulously set up for filming B-roll. Easy access to all the production trailers in the field across the gravel road that leads through the property, but still a pretty backdrop for the cameras. All thanks to Julia, no doubt.
