I let out a breath, relieved that there won’t be a viral video of Drew twisting Blaine’s arm. We already have Blaine’s naked disaster to sort out once these spectators inevitably upload the videos and photos they took online.
I glance over at Drew. “A bit of strong-arming did the trick.”
He clears his throat.
I suddenly feel exhausted. That must be the adrenaline of witnessing this fiasco leaving my body.
Haley peers around. “We’d all better get out of here just in case any police end up stopping by.”
Wyatt peels away in his van, and Drew drives Haley and me back downtown.
“I could use a drink after that,” Haley says from the back seat. “How about you guys?”
“Count me in,” I say.
Drew says thanks but declines. “I would, but I promised my sister I’d FaceTime with her and my little nephew this afternoon. Don’t wanna be buzzed for that.”
Haley chuckles, shaking her head. “You’re something else. One minute you’re gushing over your niece and nephew and the next you’re wrangling D-list celebrities.”
She hops out of the car. I roll down the window and call after her.
“I’ll be there in a minute. Get us a table?”
Haley nods yes and walks through the door of the brewery.
I turn to Drew. “Hey, um, thank you,” I say.
He frowns. “For what?”
“For defending me back there, when Blaine insulted me.”
My face heats when I recall the vitriol in Blaine’s voice and expression. His opinion of me means less than nothing, but still. It always hurts to be called a bitch, no matter the circumstance.
Drew scoffs, shaking his head. “Come on, Dunn. I would have done the same thing if he had insulted a stranger on the street.”
“Oh.”
My face heats yet again, but not because I’m angry—because I’m embarrassed. I thought Drew’s defense of me marked a turning point—that he reacted that way because he cared about me in some small way. But no. There was nothing special about his response. He does it for everyone—he said so himself.
My eyes fall to my lap as I gather my bags. “Thanks for the ride,” I mutter as I stumble out of Drew’s car, slamming the door behind me.
I make a beeline for the brewery entrance, annoyed that I thought for even one second that things between us could be different.
7
What kind of show are you shooting there, Alia?” Richard, one of the network executives, asks. His disapproving frown makes up just one of the tiny squares on my laptop screen.
Gritting my teeth, I try to keep my annoyance at bay. “It’s a show about the national parks in Utah. You gave me the go-ahead two weeks ago, remember?”
Richard’s frown furrows deeper at me. I don’t think he was expecting me to be a smart-ass when I answered him.
The half dozen other executives stare back at me from their respective tiny squares on my screen. Blaine’s naked takeover of the Moab McDonald’s yesterday made the rounds on social media. He’s now known as #NakedMoabMan on Twitter and Instagram. Photos and videos of Blaine have been circulating online overnight, which of course made their way to the network. And the executives aren’t happy about this unflattering publicity, to say the least. They decided to hold an emergency Zoom call with me to scold me for my poor management of Blaine.
And now I’m stuck inside my motel room at five in the morning enduring a meeting where every executive is taking turns grilling me on how I let the host of my show get this out of control. I glance at the clock, annoyed that this virtual meeting is how I get to kick off this long day of shooting. I could have caught an extra hour of sleep before heading to the scheduled shoot if I didn’t have to do this.
“You really think you’re going to solve this with that kind of an attitude?” Richard says in a pointed tone.
“There’s nothing to solve,” I say. “The crew and I took care of it. Shooting wasn’t disrupted. We have a full day ahead of us, actually, so if we can wrap this up—”
Byron interrupts me with a gruff sigh. “We gave you the chance of your career, Alia. Your own series. And this is what you do with it? You let your host run around naked?”
Byron’s biting criticism sets me off. I’m sick of taking responsibility for something that wasn’t my fault.
“Hold on,” I bark. Six pairs of eyes go wide. “As happy as I am for the opportunity to shoot this series, what happened with Blaine is not my fault. Byron, you’re the one who made Blaine a nonnegotiable. You refused to hear any other option as host. So technically that means yesterday’s fiasco is your fault. So don’t for one second try to pin any of the blame on me. I asked for a different host. But appeasing your golfing buddy is apparently more important than employing quality talent.” I pause for a quick moment to catch my breath. “You should be thanking us. If we hadn’t intervened as quickly as we did to get him off that roof and back to whatever secret desert oasis he’s staying at, he would have been arrested, and that would have been a much bigger disaster.”
When I finish speaking, all sets of eyes are wide. Except for Byron’s. He’s frowning, his lips pursed. He’s clearly pissed at me.
“So unless you’re willing to do what I wanted to do from the get-go—fire Blaine and get an entirely different host who’s actually professional and doesn’t have a drug or attitude problem—there’s really nothing more I can do.”
“That’s not happening,” Byron says quickly. “Do you have any idea how much Blaine’s contract is? To hire someone else at this point would put this project way, way over budget.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing out at Byron for okaying Blaine’s ridiculous salary while I’m expected to run this show on a tight budget.
I breathe in, hoping one of the other executives will chime in and say that they’ll at least consider a different host. But as the seconds pass, they remain silent. A couple of them shake their heads in disappointment. A couple are clearly looking at their phones off-screen, not caring one bit about my series or this meeting.
I will myself not to scream in frustration. “Are we done here? I have a series to shoot.”
Gruff yeses echo through the speakers of my laptop.
“In the future, if any of you have any other qualms about Blaine’s behavior, I suggest you take it up with Byron. Have a nice day.”
I leave the call, then stomp to the bathroom to take a shower. I’ve never once gone off on a superior before in my career—ever. Fitting that the one time I break, the one time I let my frustration boil over, it’s aimed at the most powerful people at the network.
After a blazing-hot shower, I’m only slightly less worked up. Then I check my phone and see a missed call from Brooke. I call her back.
“Hey, Alia,” she answers. “I just got an email from the execs.”
My heart sinks. Did they call her to chew me out too? To remind me who’s really in charge and put me back in my place?
Or maybe they’re firing me. Maybe my little show of strength and anger pissed them off and they’re pulling the plug—or maybe they now want Brooke to take over things since I’m sure they now consider me a hostile loose cannon.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” I say.
“Don’t be sorry. They’re just being their typical pompous selves. They created this situation by allowing Byron to choose the worst person possible to host the series. And now they’re upset about it and trying to blame everyone other than themselves.”
I swallow, waiting for her to drop the bad news.
“It’s okay, Alia,” she says, seeming to sense my nerves over the phone. “They called to see if I could talk some sense into you.” She scoffs. “I told Richard and Byron to shove it.”
My mouth falls open. “You did?”
“
You bet I did. And I told them exactly what I’m sure you told them too. That it’s their fault Blaine’s naked antics happened and that you’re doing the best you can—the best anyone could in this situation. And that I’m the wrong person to call to attempt to get you in check because I’m on your side. Always.”
I let out a relieved sigh and run my fingers through my wet hair.
“The nerve of those guys. I mean, they don’t peep a word when a male producer legitimately screws up.” Brooke scoffs. “Remember when Dale lost thirty thousand dollars in equipment after he left the grip truck unlocked during that shoot in the Everglades? The next morning it was cleaned out. Someone just came along and stole everything out of it. Or when that executive producer left his lit cigarette in one of the company cars and it caught on fire. Thousands of dollars in damage due to their negligence and the network execs didn’t bat an eye. And you get yelled at because the guy they hired is out of control.”
I huff out a breath of frustration remembering both of those instances.
“Thank you for sticking up for me, Brooke.”
“Always. I told them to back off and leave you alone unless they had something legitimate to complain about. I know what it’s like to have a group of all-male execs breathing down your neck for the most asinine stuff—problems that they caused because of their own crappy decision-making skills. You don’t need to put up with that.”
Once again I’m grateful to work with someone who is such an advocate for me.
“I just don’t want you to get in trouble because you defended me,” I say.
“Don’t worry about me,” she says, the confidence in her voice clear. “You just make the show you’ve worked so hard to earn. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“How are things working out with Andrew?”
It takes a minute before I realize she’s talking about Drew.
“Oh. Things are great. I mean, he’s as great as you said he’d be. He knows how to do everything on set. And everyone loves working with him. I can’t thank you enough for recommending him,” I say, hoping that she doesn’t pick up on the hitch in my voice when I talk about him. “How are things with you? How’s Maine? Are you a sailing enthusiast yet?”
There’s a pause where she chuckles, then stammers.
“I . . . may have met someone while on location. A pretty great guy who loves sailing . . . so you could say I’ve become an enthusiast for sailing in a way.”
I grin as she tells me she hit it off with a guy named Greg, one of the sailing guides she’s been collaborating with and filming for the series.
“I like him. A lot,” she says, the smile in her voice clear.
“Brooke, that’s awesome. You deserve a stud.”
I think back to all those times when the two of us complained about how difficult it is to maintain a relationship, with our unpredictable work and travel schedules. We’ve killed downtime during shoots exchanging endless dating horror stories—bonding over that helped us shift from just colleagues to friends. And I’m so happy that my mentor and friend has met a guy that gets her this excited.
“I never thought I’d meet someone and hit it off while on location.” She laughs. “But listen, if anything else comes up—if the execs try to hassle you about some other ridiculous thing, don’t be afraid to call me, okay?” Brooke says.
“Promise I will.” I huff out a sigh. “We really need more female execs.”
“So very true.” She lets out a sigh and we say good-bye. I quickly get ready, then head out to the shoot, determined to kick ass.
* * *
• • •
“Okay, guys. That’s a wrap,” I say.
I smile to myself and look up at the sun shining bright in the late-afternoon sky. We’ve finished shooting at Arches and are two days into filming segments at Canyonlands National Park.
“I totally thought we’d be here until nightfall,” Haley says, standing next to me and fixing her gaze on the tablet she’s holding. “Glad we’re done ahead of schedule.”
“You and me both,” I say.
Yesterday ran long thanks to Blaine’s usual antics of showing up hours later than the call time, forgetting his lines, and needing Drew to demonstrate every scene for him.
But today Colton somehow got him to the set on time, and then an even bigger miracle happened: Blaine actually performed well for once. He nailed most of his lines and oozed charm while filming. Drew only had to coach him through one scene. As much as I can’t stand Blaine, I finally realize how he’s made it this far in his career—he’s a compelling performer when he’s willing to put in the effort. That’s probably how he keeps getting jobs—for every few times he screws up or no-shows, he delivers one day of top-quality work.
But underneath the relief, frustration simmers. A forty-something man shouldn’t be this hot and cold. He should be able to deliver consistent performances. And he shouldn’t have to be babysat by a personal assistant half his age. It’s clear I’m going to need to have a talk with him about professionalism and his work ethic.
I glance over at Blaine as he stands several feet away at the lookout point for Upheaval Dome, which is where we ended today’s shoot. It’s one of the most popular attractions at the Island in the Sky section of Canyonlands.
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lights one, then takes a long drag. Of course he’s openly flouting the park’s no-smoking policy.
For the millionth time, I think about just how many hours of the day we waste accommodating him. I clench my jaw in frustration, still bitter about the roof incident. Then I take a breath and start to walk over to tell him to put out his cigarette.
But then Drew marches up to him with a frown so fierce, it stops me dead in my tracks. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but it causes Blaine’s eyes to widen. Then he rolls his shoulders, sulks, and hands his cigarette to Drew, who puts it out in the almost-empty plastic water bottle he’s holding.
Drew turns around, catching eyes with me for a moment before I quickly look away.
We haven’t spoken a word about what happened during the roof incident with Blaine. Whenever we talk, it’s only about filming. There’s never any mention of how he twisted Blaine’s arm when he insulted me—or his dismissal when I thanked him for defending me.
My skin heats, and not just at the memory of that embarrassing letdown. But because every night since then, I’ve thought about Drew . . . specifically that feral look in his eye when he unloaded on Blaine.
Every night in the shower, specifically.
My breath hitches at the image of Drew’s long, muscled arm as he overpowered him. At how the veins in his forearms bulged. At how his jaw muscles twitched through the stubble on his exquisitely square jaw. At that caveman grunt he let out. At how lethal he sounded when he ordered Blaine to never, ever speak to me like that again.
It all replays like some sort of slow-motion action-movie montage.
I swallow. Yes, it is very, very unenlightened of me to entertain such a fantasy—and I especially shouldn’t do it when I’m naked and hot water is running all over my body.
But it’s been years since my last relationship, which was a dumpster fire. Months since my last date, not counting the one with Drew. He’s my most recent kiss too . . . and I can’t even remember the last time before that. I guess this is what the dirty part of my brain gets off on when it’s been a while: a hot guy defending my honor.
A beat later, when the heat starts to subside, a new wave of humiliation tumbles through me. Drew isn’t the slightest bit interested in me in that way, and here I am replaying my ridiculous hero fantasy.
I walk up to Blaine, whose eyes are glued to his phone. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Huh?” He doesn’t even glance up from the screen.
“I’d like to talk to you. About your work
performance.”
Seconds later he finally looks at me. “What about it?”
I lightly ball my fists at my sides. He sounds so indignant that it’s taking everything in me to keep a patient, professional tone. But I need to approach this topic with a level of pleasantness.
I force myself to smile at him. “We really appreciate you being the host of this show.”
Crossing his arms, he lets out a sigh.
“Your performance today was excellent,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“That’s the level of work I’d like to see from you consistently for the rest of this shoot. That’s exactly what we need for this series to be a hit. And I really think you can deliver it.”
Holding my breath, I make myself smile once more. I’m hoping my encouragement will be the boost Blaine needs to get himself into gear for the next handful of weeks.
He scrunches his face, like he’s thinking deeply about something. Then he lets out a laugh. “Okay.”
I know I should just brush it off, but there’s a cruel edge to his chuckle that I can’t ignore.
“Is something funny?”
He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Come on. This is a series about the desert. Let’s not pretend it’s anything more than that.”
“What?”
He turns back to his phone. “It’s dirt and sand and some pretty rocks. Whether or not I bring my A game isn’t gonna make much of a difference.”
“Actually, Blaine, your performance makes a huge impact. Every time you’re late or forget your lines, it compromises the integrity of the series. A compelling host can make even the most boring subject engaging. Besides, aren’t you trying to clean up your image with this show? You’re not accomplishing that with your recent behavior.”
He shakes his head and squints at his phone screen. “I’m doing just fine. I don’t need to change anything.”
I open my mouth but quickly clamp it back shut. Because nothing I can say will change his mind. Based on his attitude, Blaine isn’t the least bit interested in making this series a priority.
On Location Page 8
