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Welcome to hell, Mr. Phillips.
Our SUV pulled up and parked amid the chaos at The Stubborn Donkey Brewery. My loafers kicked up a puff of red dust as I hopped from the vehicle and took in the activity in the busy parking area. Off to my left, a cool outdoor bar built from reclaimed wood and galvanized steel, surrounded by a scattering of Adirondack chairs, picnic tables, and several large stone fire pits, welcomed patrons. Beyond the bar, an impressive view over a valley reached unbroken toward the horizon.
This was why I wanted to spend time outside LA. A fun independent place like this could never survive there, and the smog would render a view like this impossible. I took a deep breath of the Texas morning air. The scent of cedar trees, wood smoke, and something, er... earthy filled my lungs.
“This place is—“ Whatever Kate stared to say as she exited the SUV with her backpack and cell phone was lost forever, obliterated by a sound I’d never heard before. Half-blood-curdling wail. Half-ear-splitting bellow.
I winced and looked for the source of the racket.
“Oh, that’s Myrtle. Don’t mind her. They said she’ll stop after a while.” A young man with a thick black gauge in his earlobe and a shirt with the TV show’s logo on it hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward an area under the oaks I hadn’t noticed.
Five shaggy-looking donkeys stood in the shade, nibbling straw. A sixth looked annoyed and brayed a second time. We all cringed as the noise reverberated around the parking lot and down into the valley.
“I’m Stephen, by the way. I am doing wardrobe and makeup for the show. Nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips,” he told me after the donkey shut up.
“Same. Quite a set of lungs on that furry little lady.” I shook the guy’s hand, still distracted by the barnyard animals only feet from the bar. How did the health department feel about the situation?
“That’s what I was about to say. This is a brewery and a donkey rescue. How adorable is that? Viewers are going to love it.” Kate looked up from her phone and shot me a smile that was either pure genius or totally evil.
She and Stephen ushered me toward an RV with a sign taped to the door that said wardrobe. After an uncomfortable twenty minutes, during which Stephen applied my TV-ready makeup and forced me into a pearl snap western-style shirt while gushing about Bio-ID’s new drug store price point products, I was ready for the cameras.
“Okay, cameras are going to roll as soon as you walk out there. Your real estate agent is standing by the main fire pit waiting for you. Walk up and introduce yourself. Be charming. Be genuine. You’ve got this.” Kate pushed me out of the RV’s door.
This felt more like a dating show than a real estate one. I longed for a single long stem rose, so I’d have something to do with my empty hands. Looking down, I regretted the loafers. They did not work with the shirt Stephen had forced on me. I shook my head. Focus. Meet and greet. My feet may not even be in the frame.
Across the parking lot, the crew pointed an array of cameras and microphones at my agent. Her long honey-blond hair, arranged in intricate waves, blew gently, teasing the middle of her back over a silky western-style blouse. It was time to get this started and finished. I picked up my pace.
The crunch of gravel under my loafers cued her into my approach, and she turned, a big smile on her perfectly made-up face and a freshly manicured hand stretched in my direction.
The realization hit us simultaneously, and we both staggered back, swamped by mutual recognition. Her hand hung in midair for a few precious seconds before she pulled it away.
Shit. I’d missed the only opportunity to save this from being weird.
It was my water nymph, but my brain hadn’t processed reality fast enough to act.
Staring at her like a slack-jawed idiot, it took all my strength not to utter the one word that ricocheted around in my skull. And that word was boobs. Oh yeah, like all men, on the inside I hid a preteen boy with zero filter. And right now, he chanted boobs over and over again.
She recovered first, probably because an image of me naked wasn’t branded permanently into her psyche. No regrets; I planned to keep that image in my spank bank until I died. Correction, maybe one regret: this moment.
“Hello, it’s good to meet you. I’m Cameron Morgan, your Texas real estate agent.” She didn’t offer her hand, and her voice was as cold as the pool she swam in yesterday.
I needed a new real estate agent. ASAP!
“Nice to meet you. I’m Wilson Phillips.” I held eye contact like my life depended on it. If my eyes wandered down to her cleavage, I knew she would slap me. I was still astonished she hadn’t done it yesterday.
“Hold on.” She smirked, one side of her strawberry pink painted lips quirking up enough that I knew she was making fun of my name.
“You didn’t just say that?” I ground out the words through clenched teeth and prayed the microphones couldn’t pick up what I’d said. I’d give most of my sizeable fortune to obliterate the band Wilson Phillips and the songHold Onfrom the collective consciousness of Generation X. It would be a worthy investment.
“Say what?” She blinked her long false eyelashes at me, radiating a fake innocence I didn’t buy for a second. The same electricity that crackled between us yesterday flared to life, but with more clothing and an audience.
I closed my eyes and counted. One. Two. Three. I exhaled slowly.
“God, I loved that song.” She hummed a few bars, tapping her toes in rhythm.
“Nope. I’m out.” I tossed up my hands in disgust. Kate would have to call Mr. Texas Hill Country real estate and send Cameron Morgan packing.
“Cut!” Kate jerked me away from Cameron and the camera crew.
