That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 9

Destiny

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Despite the waves oflonging surging through my body, I fell asleep easily. Satisfaction can do that, and I was well satisfied by Jorge’s touch and the feel of his cock against my lips. Satisfied and wanting. A unique combination that led to some interesting sexual dreams.

The alarm is half an hour from releasing its harsh tone when I wake, roll out of bed and grab a quick shower. With our new director calling a production meeting so early on a day when the whole team hasn’t arrived yet, I’m sure he’s attempting a power play. Probably centered on Jorge. Chavez, I remind myself. For now, in public, he’s Chavez.

And I plan on covering his back. Pederson’s not going to ruin anything, except maybe his own reputation.

That thought makes me smile while I survey my wardrobe. Even though we’re not in production, I decide to wear what’s become my professional uniform. Form fitting jeans, a tee with the Destiny Designs logo, a vest with multiple pockets, and my favorite custom work boots in the color to match my tee. Today, that’s a dark purple.

A text from Alice reveals her displeasure with the latest arrival. And like me, she’s not going to let him push us around. She’ll be at the meeting with breakfast burritos. I don’t want to wait until then for coffee, so brew a pot and fill two thermal mugs. I don’t want to admit even to myself, but I’ve been trying to hear movement from Chavez’s side of the building. When his door opens and closes, I grab the coffee and hurry to meet him on the porch.

His expression is wary but when all I do is hand him a mug and wish him good morning, he relaxes and nods his thanks.

“Did Alice text you about breakfast, too?” I ask.

Another nod then he points toward the ranch house with his coffee. “Here she comes.”

The four-wheeler stops in a cloud of dust. “Sorry,” Alice calls. “Let’s get this over with.”

There’s a thermal container strapped in the front seat so Chavez and I settle in the rear. It’s not a long trek to the pool site, in fact we could have walked there in under two minutes. Standing shoulder to shoulder, we present a united front that works and a flustered Pederson stumbles over his prepared welcome speech. Before he finishes, a cavalcade of vehicles rumbles down the road.

I nudge Alice’s side. “Did you know?”

She grins. “Got a call yesterday. Entire crew was in the area. When that guy called an early meeting, I double checked with the assistant director—who had no idea about this meeting. He’s really nice, by the way. Pederson should have arrived with the rest of the crew. Now I’m sure he wanted to pull rank. Instead, he’s just rank.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Chavez mumbles.

“Give me a hand, would you? I’ve got burritos for everyone. I’m sure Georgia saw the dust and she’ll be down with coffee, juice, and her famous coffee cake.”

“When did you have time to get all this organized?” I ask.

“I’m a Virgo. Organization’s my thing.”

Chavez chuckles. “This early everyone’s going to be starving. You’re going to have the crew’s devotion.”

“Counting on it. A happy, satisfied crew, whether they’re cowboys or camera wranglers, will help ensure success. Ah, here comes Micah, he’s got another surprise for our director. I apologize in advance. You’re going to get caught up in this whirlwind.”

While we hand out steamy, paper-wrapped burritos that smell heavenly, Micah parks next to us and climbs from his small utility vehicle. With his new baby, I’m surprised he’s here and not still in town with Dilyn. He looks tired and limps heavily as he crosses the uneven ground to where Pederson is berating a pair of young men.

He shakes hands with Pederson who calls for everyone’s attention. “Crew, one of the ranch owners wishes to speak with you. Mr. Taylor.”

He gives Micah a half bow and Alice snorts. “Pretentious.”

Micah’s voice carries easily in the still, morning air. “I received a call late yesterday from the excavating crew who needs to make a scheduling change.”

Chavez glances at Alice. “That true?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s not true.”

“They need to dig the pool tomorrow. Unfortunately that means you’ll need to take any needed footage of the undisturbed area today. I apologize for the inconvenience this may cause.”

“Alice?” Chavez plants his hands at his hips. “What’s going on? What did you do?”

“While I’d love to take credit, the network actually has a hand in this. Seems your Mr. Pederson hasn’t been completely honest with us.”

“Not my Pederson,” Chavez growls. “I could have gone the rest of my life, of eternity without seeing the bastard again.”

“From what I gather, there are a couple executives who’ve been on the receiving end of his manipulations. I’m dying of curiosity to know what happened. So he’s on thin ice here. They’re hoping he fails so they can get rid of him.”

I add my agreement. “I’m willing to do whatever I can to help. He gives me serious creeps.” I glance toward Pederson and see Micah has finally escaped and is headed toward us. “Micah, how’s Dilyn and your baby?”

His tired expression brightens and he pulls out his phone. “Pictures,” he says and hands me the phone before sitting in the ATV and rubbing his knee.

“You okay?” Chavez asks.

“Yeah, just need to take off my leg.”

“Say what?”

He offers us a tired grin. “I lost my lower leg in the service and unfortunately I’m prone to pressure sores if I wear my prothesis too long without a break.” He points at the phone. “For some reason, I just didn’t have an opportunity to uh, put my leg up yesterday. Dilyn sent me home to rest before we bring the baby home.”

Alice hands him a burrito. “Eat this then rest you will, brother dear. As soon as we finish oohing and ahhing over the photos of my new nephew.”

For the next hour Pederson stomped from truck to trailer interrupting the crew as they prepped for the day’s filming. From what I see, his shouted instructions are ignored and everything appears to be coming together smoothly. Chavez and I walk the construction area, using a long measuring tape and a can of spray paint to mark the corners of the pool area. After the first round of filming, we’ll add stakes to show the pool dimensions. I scribble down our ideas for the voiceovers we’ll record later.

Working beside Chavez is comfortable, almost as though we’ve worked together for years. That undefinable something just clicks. It’s more than the vibration of sexual tension surrounding us that we both try to ignore. Hopefully when I turn on my designer personality, I won’t melt if we happen to brush against each other. My voice won’t soften with desire when we discuss pool tile or filtration systems.

Not loving Chavez is going to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Loving? I don’t love him.

The roar of a diesel engine announces the flatbed carrying a skid loader interrupts my thoughts. Pederson rushes toward us with a line of camera operators and technicians in his wake.

Chavez touches my hand and his fingers linger a moment. “Ready, Des?”

Squaring my shoulders, I straighten my vest then tug the hem of my tee shirt. “As much as I’ll ever be, Chavez. It’s showtime.”

For the rest of the morning, Pederson directs shots of the land and surrounding buildings from every conceivable angle. Then repeated the shots with either Chavez or me, or both of us, pacing off the area or pretending to discuss the future pool.

In between shots, I make more notes, munch on fruit or chips from craft services, and tolerate the attentions of makeup and hair. Occasionally Chavez joins me, but more often when I can’t help searching for him, I see him chatting with the crew and actively avoiding our director. I’m thankful that for whatever reason, Pederson avoids me.

Finally the skid loader moves into position. I hurry toward the huge machine, stopping for a moment to talk to a pair of camera operators. “Want to have some undirected fun?”

They glance at each other then nod in unison.

“Follow me and roll film.”

The machine operator sits on one of the large wheels looking bored and ready to work. “Hey, I’m Destiny. Can I get this digging started?”

He frowns and shakes his head.

I’m attempting to get my way without the usual Destiny flirting. “I know how to run a back hoe. My dad taught me. Come on. Let me show you.”

He’s bored enough he’s interested. “I don’t know...”

“We do this all the time on shows.” I indicate my camera toting companions. “See, they’re already filming. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of waiting around. Let’s get this pool dug.”

A slow grin stretches his lips. “I know you can work this machine, Ms. Dawn. I’ve watched your show.”

“Then you must call me Destiny. So I can get us started?”

He stands and holds out one hand to assist my climb into the operator seat and secures the safety bar. Once I explain the machine’s operation to his satisfaction, he points to where I need to start digging.

I motion to the cameras and receive acknowledgement we’re filming. A couple other cameras have moved closer filming from different perspectives. Finally I look for Chavez. He’s standing behind Pederson’s position. And he’s grinning. That’s the only encouragement I need. With the machine up and running, I shout at the cameras, aim the backhoe, and hit my mark perfectly.

Scoop. Turn. Drop. I complete two digging cycles and am returning for the third when Pederson runs across the field waving his arms and stops at the edge of the hole. I jerk the controls, turn off the loader, and wrestle with the safety bar. Exiting the cab, I’m gearing up to give the idiot a piece of my mind when Chavez reaches him and grabs him by the shirt front.

“You fucking idiot,” Chavez shouts.

Pederson shoves at him. “Back off, Chavez. This is my show. You’ll do things my way. Or not at all.”

I leap from the loader and join the men. “What the hell were you doing? Never enter a construction area like that. There’s safety zones for a reason.”

He turns his anger on me. “I’ll do whatever I like, girlie.”

“Oh no, you did not just call me that.”

He snorts. “You’re only here to look pretty, sweetheart.”

I can’t help myself. Maybe if I’d thought about my actions I could hold back. But I don’t. The satisfying smack of my palm against his face is loud in the sudden silence. I cross my arms. “Do. Not. Call. Me. Sweetheart.”

He brings his fingertips to his cheek with a grimace then glowers at me. If he’s trying to frighten me, it’s not working. Then he grins maliciously and points over his shoulder at Chavez. “He’s here only because the network feels sorry for the old guy. I’m here to make good television.”

Shaking off his surprise at my actions, Chavez grabs the man’s shoulder and jerks Pederson to face him. “It wouldn’t be a big loss, however getting mangled or killed by a back hoe isn’t good television.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Moving to Chavez’s side, I poke my finger repeatedly against Pederson’s chest. “Something as big and heavy as that machinery doesn’t slow or stop instantly. If I hadn’t seen you in time...”

“And you’d be up on assault charges, missy.”

Missy? Girlie?When and where did this dickhead come from?

Disgusted and not trusting myself not to do something even more stupid than slapping my director, I turn and stomp away. There’s a rustle of movement, a heavy thud, and a harsh expletive. I glance back to see Pederson flat on the ground and Chavez stomping in the opposite direction. I bite back my grin and as I pass my two camera guys, I hear one say, “Now that’s good television.”