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If only it could be more than a professional relationship.
Chapter Two
Pryce
Her smile eases the tension in my shoulders. Man, do I need that after today’s show. I feel it in my soul—there will be a meeting to discuss the craptastic filming. I need Kenna’s opinion on something. She might only be an assistant, but she has a keen eye, exactly what Will said I could expect from his little sister if I would give her a chance. A month later, I’m sold.
And, as I promised Will, it’s strictly a business relationship.
Kenna clears her throat, and I almost drop one of the dumbbells as I wrack my brain trying to remember why I called her in here. “Sorry. My mind is racing.” I motion with my head toward the dumbbell rack. “Want to join me? It’s a great way to relieve tension. Helps me think.”
She shakes her head. “I’m a weakling. I might drop it on my foot or, worse, your foot.”
I wink as I motion with my head toward the dumbbell rack. “I trust you. Eight-pounders will be just right for you.”
After a moment of hesitation, she places her tablet on my desk and picks up the dumbbells. She mimics my movements, both of us not saying a word for the longest time. Her gaze ping-pongs back and forth between my biceps and hers.
“Look, Mr.—”
“While I appreciate you not being casual around the crew, it’s okay to call me Pryce when we are in here, remember?”
Kenna nods. “Of course. Pryce, is there something you want me to get for you?”
“Yeah. That mess up today was the last straw. I’m sure the execs are figuring out how to bury the show on the schedule, and then I’ll never move past first assistant director. I need you to think. Your brain is much younger than mine.”
She scrunches up her nose as she does one last rep before she replaces the weights on the rack. After she rubs her arm, she replies, “My brain is only a few years younger than yours, but I think our selection process for contestants needs to be updated. Phoebe is doing the best she can as she performs the job of three people. I don’t know what will happen when she goes on maternity leave. I think we should do a more thorough search of potential contestants’ social media platforms, and don’t get me started on the ever-revolving short list of questions we give the bachelorettes to ask on the show. I’m surprised regular viewers haven’t caught on.”
“If we have any regular viewers left.” I can’t dispute anything in her honest and accurate words. She is spot-on with her assessment, as usual.
“My grandma still watches.”
“Not exactly the demographic we hope to reach.”
Kenna shrugs. “Who else is at home at that time of day?”
Again, she is right. “Small Frye, got any suggestions before I run my harebrained one by you?”
She groans like she usually does when I call her by the nickname. She’s tiny, and her last name is Frye, thus it fits her to a T. “That’s a decision that is way above my pay grade, but since you asked, I would love to help Phoebe in any way possible.”
My phone buzzes, and when I see who the text is from, I growl. Kenna takes a step backward and scrunches up her brow.
“It’s from Jacobs. He wants to see all of the crew immediately to discuss next steps.”
“What about your idea?”
I shake my head. “No time for that. Come on.”
Kenna’s eyes grow huge. “What? Surely, he didn’t mean me too. I’m a lowly assistant.”
“You work for me, and I need you there.”
While I throw on my dress shirt, Kenna swallows, and a flush spreads up her neck. She retrieves her tablet off my desk. With a deep sigh, she says, “Okay.”
From the looks of the crowded conference room, it’s all-hands-on deck for this meeting. Even the camera crew has been summoned. While they huddle together in the back corner, Alan Jacobs, the executive producer, paces in front of us, mumbling to himself. I’ve only seen his face this beet red a few times, and it’s usually because of something his teenaged son pulled. Jacobs is usually an upbeat, easygoing person, though I never want to be in his crosshairs. On a good day, he’s easy to please, but on a bad day, he could make a stone wall crumble under his fierceness.
I sit at the long table with the director, announcer, and other higher-ups while most of the crew hangs back. I motion with my head for Kenna to take the seat next to me, but she quickly shakes her head as she makes her way toward the back to stand next to Frankie. With her tablet in hand, she’s at the ready to take notes for me to refer back to at a later time.
Jacobs claps his hands together, and the room gets deathly quiet. “Let’s get this started. Today’s filming could not have been worse. The board is on my tail, and the station is two shakes from pulling this game show and inserting Friends reruns. It’s that bad. So I don’t want to hear excuses.” He stares at Phoebe, the contestant coordinator. She gulps as she rubs her pregnant belly. I hope she knows that I don’t think it’s all her fault the contestants go off script.
