I bite my tongue and focus on not exploding or running from this trailer in horror.
“So chop-chop, make it so.” He claps his hands at me, a puff of nail dust catching in the light.
“I know you didn’t just clap your hands at her.” Emmett’s deep voice booms behind us. The trailer shifts as he steps up into the doorway, blocking the light with the bulk of his broad shoulders.
Richardlaughs. I stand frozen, willing myself not to turn around. Because if I do, I might kick Emmett in his shins for throwing me under Dick Wad’s shitty bus for some unknown reason.
Part of me also doesn’t want to face him. I’ve been dodging him for the past few days because I turned into a sappy loser in his arms, and he just stared at me like I was a dodo bird come back from extinction.
It’s been easy enough to steer clear of the set or show up in the mornings when I knew he was busy. The rest of the time, I buried myself in emails, application forms, and prep work. Plus, according to today’s schedule, Emmett should have been busy showing the women how to mend fences around the property.
Thrilling.
“Ah, if it isn’t our very own cowboy Romeo! Ready to spin some girls around the dance floor on Saturday?”
“I’d rather go back to talking about—”
“How you’re going to be thinking about the women I’ve carefully selected for you and not the help?” Richard’s eyes narrow over my shoulder, his persona slipping from carefree to venomous.
My stomach flips, and my throat burns. I feel like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t, and nothing has even happened.
Still, I need to cover for us, so I scoff and shoot a dirty look over my shoulder, the first attention I’ve given Emmett in almost forty-eight hours. “I can assure you that Emmett doesn’t think about me.”
“Well, obviously. You’re no Evelyn.” Richard spreads his hands in a gesture that implies he’s settled this conversation. “Now, both of you get out. I need to make some phone calls.”
I give him a firm nod and spin on my heel to depart the trailer. I turn my body to edge past Emmett, careful to avoid all contact with him. Which includes keeping my eyes trained on the metal steps that lead down to the grass.
“Jules,” he hisses, his heavy footsteps following me across the pasture where the crew has set up.
I don’t look back.
“Jules, wait.”
“Sorry! I’m busy!” I call back, sounding as unaffected as I can. Really, all I want is to go to the gym, put my headphones in, work out some aggression, and go home. Maybe have a pity party while I fertilize my plants because Ihatedropping the ball at work. And I’m not in the mood to unpack whatever transpired between Emmett and me.
I round the back of an equipment trailer. Hoping Emmett will give up if I weave through the trucks where the crew likes to find a sliver of shade, flip open a lawn chair, and kick back with a drink.
But I’m shit out of luck, because as I turn, a hand clamps down on my arm, pulling me to a screeching halt. Forcing me to turn and face him. Stubbled jaw clenched tight, curls mussed after a morning spent pounding fence posts, eyes brimming with concern.
“Are you okay?”
I yank my arm out of his grip and step back, spitting the word back in his face. “Am Iokay?”
He pops his tongue into his cheek, regarding me through narrowed eyes.
“You tell me, Emmett. How am I supposed to be after you went behind my back and told my boss that I scouted the wrong bar?”
He says nothing, which aggravates me even further.
“You are infuriating. You know that?”
“You weren’t on set yesterday.”
That’shis response?
“No shit. I was busy wastinghoursprepping that location. And you told Richard that you’dnevertake the girls there?” I step closer, poking him in the center of his chest. “You made me look bad at my job. And I’m not. That might be the worst part.”
“You are very good at your job,” he confirms, voice stern and sincere.
