Chapter 4
I hadn’t talked to Nate since forming the plan at the hospital, which is fine since we’re about to be stuck together for two weeks. Plus, I needed the time to strategize with Brody.
Now Nate is supposed to be here. Is he bailing? After talking me into this ridiculous plan? Not that it was all him. He just had some good points that made it easy to get talked into the rest.
Had he taken a few days to think it over and changed his mind?
Decided two weeks with me is too much, even in Fiji?
It’s not like I want to spend time with him either!
We’re doing this to save Brody’s show, brand, and entire life, really.
My career too, since Brody is the only semblance of a client I have left.
As for Nate, I’m not sure what he’s getting out of this.
He claims to care about Brody, and I didn’t question it further.
Clearly, I should have. Nate has canceled on Brody countless times over the past several months, so what’s one more cancellation on the books? Who cares what the stakes are when you don’t have skin in the game?
Passengers swoosh past, chased by their rolling luggage as I try to figure out a new plan now this one has been axed without so much as a text message. I cradle my head in my hands, letting a curtain of red hair surround my face as my elbows dig into my knees.
I can’t show up to Fiji alone, but staying in Vegas means accepting the true demise of my career because that doesn’t exist without some version of Brody on set.
Even if I could leverage my experience and connections to get an offer elsewhere, BrandMe is the biggest name in branding in Vegas.
The entire west coast, depending on who’s asked.
A comparable opportunity would require moving away from Corina and Brody, and further away from my mom and aunt in Arizona.
Is that really an option? The bitter taste in my mouth suggests not, but I need to figure something out since Nate isn’t holding up his end of the bargain.
It was dumb to think he would.
I’m so focused on figuring out what’s next that I almost miss the one traveler not whooshing past.
“Abigail?” a voice asks, presumably belonging to the person who stopped. Am I imagining it sounds like Nate?
I take in the gray sneakers next to me since it’s the only part I can see of the man without moving.
Could these shoes belong to Nate? Ridiculous question, given how little I know about him.
The man could wear knee-high boots, and I’d wonder the same thing.
How would I know what Nate Bannam wears when I’ve only met him once?
Though for this trip, he should dress like Brody.
I study the sneakers again. Are these shoes Brody would wear?
Sneakers are practical footwear for an adrenaline junkie.
Popular too, given all the sponsor-provided pairs I’ve crammed into one of the two bags I intend to check.
Though these gray sneakers are more well-loved than any I’d seen Brody wear.
Outside of Brody’s lucky sneakers, of course, but he’d never wear those in public now, even to the airport.
“Uh, Abigail?” The Nate-like voice says again. “If you’re impersonating Quasimodo, you nailed it. However, we need to get going.”
I drop my hands and my gaze travels up the man’s body.
The gray sneakers are tucked under fitted dark denim jeans that are looser than what Brody wears (which is fine in this case) and topped with a plain white tee.
The man’s crossed arms display his toned muscles.
When I finally reach Nate’s face, he looks amused.
With Brody’s signature bun in place, it’s almost like looking at Brody himself. If Brody were uninjured.
“Are you ready to go, or are you still checking me out? I thought we had a flight to catch.”
My cheeks heat as I level a glare at him. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was seeing if you can pass for Brody.”
“Keep checking me out like that, and no one will question it.”
I groan, but a switch flips somewhere in my brain. Instantly, I’m back in business mode and ready to salvage this ridiculous plan and my career. I stand to gather my things. “We have to go. Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to meet me 30 minutes ago!”
Nate pulls out his phone to confirm the time. “Thirty-seven, if we’re keeping score.”
“We almost missed our flight.” A lie, given we’re early. Still. We had agreed upon a time, and he blew right through it.
“Almost.” His gray eyes sparkle as a hint of a smile works the corner of his mouth. “Then again, you wanted to get here three hours early. We have plenty of time.”
It’s my turn to cross my arms because Nate doesn’t get it. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
I want the words to hit him hard—smack him like a spiked volleyball to the face that’s captured on a viral video—but the words fall short, sounding sheepish and vulnerable.
“Not coming?” Nate’s dark brows furrow. “How were you going to do this without me?”
“I can’t. That’s my point.” This time, my words are snappier.
The bemused look falls from Nate’s face. “You really thought I was going to blow you off? Leave you to manage this potential dumpster fire of a plan on your own and hope Brody can find it in his heart to forgive me for assuring the destruction of his beloved career?”
I shrug. It sounds ridiculous aloud, but I’m not someone people always show up for. I’m someone who gets let down, including by Nate. So, I put nothing past him.
“Well, I’m here. I just had something to take care of that took longer than expected.”
“You’ve got a story for everything, don’t you?”
“Except for my new book, apparently.” He forces a laugh, then a smile. “Let’s hope Fiji remedies that.”
Of course he’s cracking jokes. He missed our meetup time, and he can’t even take that seriously.
How is this Brody’s brother? Brody prioritizes his career over everything and everyone, while Nate clearly cares about nothing, including the feelings of those he’s closest to.
Can I really put up with this man for two weeks? Do I have a choice?
“Let’s go.” I slide on my backpack and grab the handles of my two oversized rolling bags.
“Think you packed enough?” Nate asks, reaching to relieve me of one of the rolling bags.
“This bag has all your sponsorship items, thank you very much.” I pull the handle away from him, maneuvering the oversized bag behind me while positioning the other so I can push it next to me.
I feel more like a pack mule than a brand manager or Brody Bannam’s girlfriend, but there’s no way I’m relying on Nate for anything, even something as small as this.
Besides, he has his own bag to worry about. Though the way he wheels his suitcase with such ease, it’s either underpacked or he’s in even better shape than he looks. Odd for a writer.
“There you go checking me out again!”
My gaze snaps back to the ground in front of me, my cheeks full-on flaming at the insinuation.
Nate leans over, careful not to let our bags bump, and whispers, “Just remember, I’m not actually Brody. Otherwise, this could get awkward.”
“Trust me,” I whisper back, making sure each word packs a punch despite the low volume, “you may look like Brody, but you are nothing like your brother.”
I get the last word in as we reach the check-in desk and set the wild plan into motion.
We check our bags—a tremendous relief to my arms, which aren’t prepared for this much of a workout—and head to the security checkpoint.
Things are awkward and tense between Nate and me, but we are getting through the required airport process easily enough.
Until it’s our turn to step up at the security checkpoint.
The woman clears me quickly before moving on to Nate.
“Name?” she asks Nate as he hands over his passport.
“I’m Nate,” he greets with a smile. “How’s your day going?”
She flips open his passport. “Says here your name is Brody.”
“It is!” Nate corrects too quickly. “Nate is…the name I go by usually. Better than Brody, don’t you think?”
Is Nate serious? He’s blowing this, and we haven’t even made it out of the airport. If I don’t intervene, this will all end before it really begins, and Nate will land in jail for identity theft and who knows what else. While that last part sounds fun to watch, we have a plan to see through.
The woman is still frowning at Nate (a reaction he’s undoubtedly used to inspiring) when an idea hits me.
“Honey,” I say, cringing at using a term of endearment to refer to Nate, “I told you, it’s confusing when you use multiple names.”
I lower my voice and speak to the woman checking Nate’s materials, though her attention never shifts from Nate. “He’s Brody Bannam, but he doesn’t like to be recognized at the airport. It can bring about a hoard of fans, and we’re just trying to catch our flight in peace.”
A hoard is an overly generous way to describe Brody’s fan base at this stage in his career, but I’m counting on this woman not knowing better.
“Brody Bannam, huh?” The woman looks Nate over and rechecks the passport. “Why would people recognize you?”
“I’m an adrenaline junkie,” Nate says, as if that answers the question.
Does he not know how many people fancy themselves adrenaline junkies?
Has he not seen the millions of videos online of people skydiving, failing at tricks on their dirt bikes or skateboards or whatever wheeled thing they’re riding, and doing other downright stupid things for the sake of a rush and some video views?
Brody had taken it further, turning his passion into a lucrative career.
Count on Nate not to realize the distinction.
I force a laugh, shooting Nate a look to convey to please stop digging us into a deeper hole. “He always undersells it. His show, Rush, has had two successful seasons and is about to film a third. Before that, he was on Just Jump.”