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Icollapsedintoadirector’s chair in the shade of the oak trees near the donkey pen. The crew was hanging around, waiting for Wilson and Kate to emerge from the RV. Part of me wanted to die of embarrassment. The rest wanted to quit the show. Unfortunately, hiding my face in my hands to avoid the glares of the crew wasn’t an option because of the layers of TV makeup. So I tipped my head back and stared up at the tree limbs.
As my grandma had often reminded me, there was nothing fatal about embarrassment. The way my heart banged in my chest when I recognized him, I wasn’t sure if I believed her because I’d almost had a stroke.
I couldn’t believe my newest and biggest client ever was the renter from yesterday. I wanted to cry, laugh, eat an entire cheesecake, and guzzle a bottle of wine. If only his rental reservation had been under his name. I wouldn’t have done any of what I did.
No way!
No skinny-dipping. Too risky.
No hip swaying. Too bold.
No slow-motion bending. Too outrageous.
My cheeks heated thinking about the desire in his eyes and the sexy, powerful feeling that coursed through me as I sashayed around the patio. This was so bad.
Oh, my God! I flipped him off. I’d almost forgotten that. The twisted oak branches overhead blurred out of focus as I screwed my eyes closed at the memory.
Yesterday’s stunt might have destroyed my big chance before I had a shot at success. My family would be so disappointed. The salty taste of blood filled my mouth as I worried the inside of my cheek between my molars, an old habit from when I would get nervous during beauty pageants. I hadn’t done it in years.
More than my chance at the big time, this was about Bailey and her future. With a commission check from Wilson Phillips’s house, I could pay for my daughter’s college tuition at Vassar, all four years of it. His house budget was that massive. I could give her a clean slate to start her life with. No student loan debt. Paying for my college was one of the greatest non-emotional gifts my parents gave me. I wanted to pass it along to the next generation.
Like yesterday wasn’t bad enough. I added insult to embarrassment by making that crack about his name... on camera. My mother and grandmother would have elbowed each other out of the way to slap me upside the head for that one. It was plain rude.
He must have heard every version of that joke before. Not only was I insulting, but also unoriginal. I went back to chewing on the inside of my cheek, hating that the old habit afforded me a small bit of comfort.
The first time I saw his name in an email, I’d instantly made the connection to the 1990s chick band famous for the songHold On. In retrospect, adding the song to my morning playlist had been a horrible idea.
“I am so late.” A tall, beautiful blonde about half my age extended her hand, skidding to a stop next to my chair. “I’m Tracie Olsen. I’ll be hosting the show. My flight was late, a total nightmare.”
I shook the gorgeous woman’s hand and introduced myself, happy to let her distract me from my internal monologue cataloging the destruction of my career.
“You haven’t missed anything.” Other than the entire show threatening to self-destruct.
“Great. Awesome. I don’t want to get on Kate’s bad side.”
“Kate, the producer? But she seems great.”
“She is, but no woman gets to where she is without having an inner bitch that sometimes comes out to play. You know?” She cocked her head, and the soft breeze ruffled her blond hair.
“Single mom, so yeah, my inner bitch has made more than one appearance over the years.”
“Aww, how old is your little one?” Tracie seemed primed to oh and ah over baby pictures.
I laughed. “Not so little. Eighteen and leaving for college in the fall.” My voice caught on the word leaving. I was such a cliche. The momma bear part of me wanted to grab Bailey and hold on tight and never let her go. Keep her in Elmer safe and secure. But my girl had big dreams, and even if I cried inside, I would support her as she spread her wings.
“Oh, how exciting! You don’t look old enough to have a college-age daughter. Rock on.” Tracie held out a fist for a bump. I obliged. “What is your skincare routine? Are you using Bio-ID’s products? They are revolutionary.”
“My routine is sunscreen and soap. Before yesterday, I’d never heard of Bio-ID.” Another thing I should have done... Google Wilson Phillips—the man, not the band. Such an idiot.
“Wilson Phillips is a genius. All my actress and model friends swear by his company’s products. They are so pricey but worth it. It has like human growth factors and stem cells.”
I repressed a shudder. Pretty sure I’d stick with my sunscreen.
“What is his deal, anyway? Do you know anything about him?” I liked Tracie. My first impression said she was young, and gorgeous, but smart and savvy too. I’d take any inside information she had to share about my client since I’d failed google stalking 101.
“He’s a serious insider in Hollywood. Very connected with the studios and such. All the rich and famous people seem to know each other in LA.” She shrugged. “Plus, he’s got that whole hot over forty businessman in a suit thing going for him.” Her eyes twinkled with sassy appreciation.
I nodded. The man Tracie described seemed like an odd type to buy a house here, even a vacation house. Connected people vacationed in Vail or Palm Beach, not Elmer. Or that’s what I saw on TV and the internet.
