Chapter 6
Nate and I spend the rest of the morning getting settled into the bungalow while snacking on the delicious muffins, fruit, and coffee delivered by the resort shortly after our arrival.
It could have been a peaceful introduction to Fiji if Nate and I didn’t take turns shouting at each other to stay awake and fight the jet lag.
We have to at least make it through our meeting with the crew this afternoon, and even the “quick nap” Nate begs for after napping the entire flight risks being too long a slumber.
Between our not so friendly reminders and the snappy quips that follow, we both stay awake until it’s almost time to meet the core crew at the outdoor bar.
Since neither Nate nor I know what the Rush team looks like, we head over an hour early to wait for them to find us.
It’s a solid suggestion from Nate, who then admits it was a ploy he had figured out for one of his novels.
“Let’s sit here.” I point to a shady picnic table with a bright white umbrella. “It’s away from the footpath, so we’ll have a good excuse not to wave them over.”
“Good thinking. Better than admitting we don’t know what they look like.” Nate sits across from me at the table. “Do you want a drink while we wait?”
“God, yes.” There have already been some bumps with our charade, like at the airport security checkpoint and when we first arrived at the resort, but that was all the warmup.
Meeting the crew Brody works with day in and day out on the show is the major leagues Nate talked about.
If my fluttering nerves are any indication, I’m not sure we’re ready.
That or I had too many cups of coffee to fight the jet lag. Is five too many? Or has it been six?
“Great, could you also get me a drink while you’re up, Gingersnap?”
“What?”
I mean, “What the heck are you talking about?” Nate takes my question to mean, “What would you like?”
“Whatever you think Brody would get, I guess. Hopefully, I don’t end up regretting that.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t put it past Brody to order straight whiskey or, worse yet, a matcha mocktail or something.”
“You expect me to get your drink?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t you be offering to get the drinks for us?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but the crew is going to recognize me. It’s going to be much harder for them to find us if I’m waiting in line.”
I glance at the bar where two people are finishing ordering, with no customers behind them. “Yeah, it’s a really long line.”
Nate feigns shock at the sight. “You’d better hurry before it becomes a long line!”
“We’re an hour early,” I mutter, even though I’m already standing and walking toward the bar. I won’t get him anything. That’ll show him!
Then I see the drool-worthy food menu and the specialty cocktail list, and a better idea blooms.
“Bula! What can we get you?” an employee asks, ready to jot down my order.
I smile brightly. “I’ve got a few things in mind.”
“What’s all this?” Nate asks as I return to the table with a server carrying a full tray. The server sets down three plates of finger food, followed by two blended fruity drinks in coconuts, each topped with a straw, a tropical flower, and a slice of mango.
“Sustenance.” I slide a coconut to him with a smile, feeling even better about my plan given the confusion on Nate’s face.
Then his expression morphs into a smile as he takes a long sip of the blended coconut and mango beverage. “Joke’s on you. I love all forms of tropical drinks. Umbrellas, coconuts, and all.”
“Seriously?” The real Brody would never drink such a beverage, especially in public. He’s more of a whiskey or IPA guy. Maybe the matcha mocktail Nate made up. Nothing with a straw or anything resembling garnish, and never something as whimsical and unnecessary as an umbrella or flowers.
Nate takes another long sip of his drink before plucking off the mango slice and taking a bite. “Seriously.”
That backfired, but there’s still time to recover.
Then an idea strikes me. We need to get content of “Brody” in Fiji to engage fans and tease the show on social media—something Nate is now responsible for doing.
I pick up my phone, pointing it at Nate. “Time for a quick video for social.”
The BBQ chicken skewer he grabbed halts in mid-air. “What?”
“We need to get some content for social media. Brand building, remember?”
“Can’t Brody do it? He’s lounging in bed. There should be some stale content he can repost for the next couple of weeks, right?”
I shake my head. “We need content of Brody in Fiji. Besides, this will be good practice for when the big cameras are on you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Don’t remind me. I’m not thrilled with that part of all of this.”
“I’m not thrilled with any of it.” Fiji is nice, but I’m supposed to be here with Brody. With Gnat, the trip isn’t the same. “We agreed to the plan, and this is part of it.”
Nate sighs. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to be Brody.”
That earns me an eye roll. “I mean, what do you need me to say or do for this content?”
Nate takes a bite of the chicken skewer as I snap a photo.
“Hey, you said you needed videos!” he says between chews.
I slide Nate’s coconut drink, which is very off-brand for Brody, out of frame and snap the photo again. Nate’s brows pinch together as he chews.
“I also need some candid photos and such. Things that make you relatable but also inspirational. I’m thinking shots of you enjoying Fiji, embracing the culture, doing the usual excursion stuff for the show. A delightful mix.”
I pop a piece of calamari into my mouth as Nate stares at me. When he speaks again, his voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, so that’s all we’re doing.”
“It’s easy enough. Once you’re done chewing, let’s get a quick video of you saying you made it to Fiji and are excited to film season three. If it feels natural, add in some details around when and where they’ll be able to watch it.”
I produce a paper from my bag where I’ve typed out all the show info and hand it to Nate. Highlighted in purple is the show’s release date, and the bullet points below list where to stream it.
“You want me to say all of this?”
“Not necessarily. Just do what feels right. You won’t know until we try it.”
“Fine.” Nate slides the paper back over to me.
I pick my phone back up and point it at him, triple-checking the frame includes nothing to suggest the man on camera isn’t Brody. “Ready?”
Nate nods. “As ready as one can be.”
I raise my free hand, holding up three fingers that I drop one-by-one before pressing record.
For someone who isn’t used to creating social media content, Nate nails the video in one take.
He is warm, friendly, and informative, getting in all the show details despite barely glancing at the list. Not to mention surprisingly charming.
Not that I’d admit it aloud. Even though the first take is perfect, I make him do a second, so it doesn’t go to his head.
“I can make one of those work,” I say, slipping my phone back into my bag before reaching for the breaded shrimp. “You weren’t as awful at this as you seemed to think you’d be.”
A laugh escapes Nate. “I wasn’t as awful as you seemed to think I’d be. Books have release dates, plus author events, promotions, and special edition releases. All that information takes up a lot more space on a page than Brody’s show details.”
The similarities in their professions hadn’t occurred to me before. I’m about to ask him more about his own brand-building endeavors, or at least reply with something witty, but I’m interrupted by a shout.
“Brody!” A man in cargo shorts, a Hawaiian-print shirt, and sunglasses waves as he weaves through the tables toward us.
His light brown hair is tousled, like he had raked his hand through it too many times since brushing it, and his beard and mustache are scruffy.
There’s a twinkle of enthusiasm in his deep brown eyes as he reaches out to fist-bump Nate.
“It’s been too long, man. You had me worried there when you weren’t returning my calls. ”
That had to be when Brody was first in the hospital, and we were still figuring the twin-switch thing out. Brody always prioritized this show, to the point he had once halted things mid-sex to answer a call from the show’s director, leaving me frustrated in more ways than one.
Nate bumps Dave’s fist. “Just been busy. Preparations and all.”
“You must be Abby.” The man extends a hand for a normal handshake. “Brody has told me so much about you. I’m Dave, the director and Brody’s co-producer.”
“Abigail,” I say, shaking his hand. I don’t have to look at Nate to tell he’s fighting back a smirk at my correction. “Nice to meet you finally.”
“Likewise.” His attention snaps back to Nate. “This is going to be the season. I can feel it.”
Nate nods. “Totally.”
A second man, who looks to be in his mid-20s with dark skin and a lean frame, sneaks up next to Dave. I extend a hand to him, and there is a pause before he grabs it, as if realizing he had forgotten to pack his manners for the trip.
“Corbin,” he says with a limp shake. “Lead cameraman.”
I smile and introduce myself.
Dave leans over and adds, “The girlfriend.”
I am about to say, “And Brody’s brand manager,” but Nate jumps in unexpectedly.
“Abigail is also my brand manager.”
My brow furrows. Did Nate defend me?
“Corbin will ensure we get all the footage we need to make Rush a success,” Dave explains.
That makes sense. What doesn’t is how there are only two men here when Brody always talks about the core crew comprising at least three people. Surely this isn’t another change to deal with because I’d never hear the end of from Brody. “Are we missing someone?”
Dave nods. “Our AD—assistant director. Jamie is nailing down some last details for this week.” He shoots Nate a knowing look. “You know how Jamie is.”
Nate laughs along as if he knows exactly how Jamie is. At least that part of his act is convincing.
Once we are all seated at the picnic table, Dave walks us through the plan.
“As we’ve done for the previous seasons, we’ll have one excursion-free day where the crew will shoot b-roll, confessionals, interviews with locals, and so on and so forth,” Dave explains. “We’ll tell you when and where we need you. Otherwise, you’ll get to rest and enjoy Fiji.”
Enjoy Fiji. It’s easy to imagine doing so with Brody, although he likes to wake up early to work out on vacations and can be picky about what he eats. Still, we’d have fun.
With Nate? That’s not a guarantee. In fact, I’m almost positive I’m about to experience two weeks of the opposite. The best I can hope for is ample alone time. Given the schedule Dave breezed through, that sounds promising.
“This goes without saying, but no activities that can cause injury. I don’t need to tell you two how high the stakes are this season with the chance to double our viewership and secure another season on one of the biggest streaming monsters out there.
We can’t risk cutting filming short. This needs to be nothing short of the best season yet. ”
My mind jumps to the real Brody, and a glance at Nate confirms his mind wanders there as well. Danger is part of the game—a part I’m not sure Nate is ready for.
“Hello, hello! Or should I say Bula?” A petite woman with deep tan skin, a toned physique, and a beaming smile greets us.
In a lined crochet sundress and wedges, she looks too dressy to be part of the crew, but she walks up to our table and slides in next to Nate.
She pats his leg in greeting. “Hi, Brody. How was your flight?”
Nate’s clearly as surprised by her arrival, or her contact, as I am. Though, perhaps for different reasons. Who is this?
“Great, no complaints,” Nate says, maintaining his cover. “I even got some sleep.”
“That makes one of us,” I mutter to myself, but Dave overhears.
“No sleep for you, huh? I can’t sleep on planes either, but I get a lot of work done.
No better productivity hack than being strapped into the same seat for over ten hours with limited places to go.
Plus, sit next to this guy,” he juts a thumb at Corbin, “and you’ll have some nice quiet time. He devours novels the entire time.”
“Got through two on the way out here,” Corbin confirms before reverting his gaze to the picnic table.
“Magazines for me,” the woman says. “Saw your ad for that electrolyte drink in two of them. You looked good! Definitely made me thirsty.”
Nate clears his throat. “Uh, thanks.”
Are Nate’s cheeks flushed? Sure, the woman made a comment about the ad making her thirsty, but either she really wants to rehydrate with electrolytes or she’s flirting with Brody. My Brody.
“I’m Abigail,” I say, extending a hand in her direction. “Brody’s brand manager and girlfriend.”
The woman’s eyes widen. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Jamie, Assistant Director and wearer of many other hats.”
She shakes my hand with a smile that isn’t nearly as bright as the one she reserved for “Brody.” If anything, it seems a little forced, but it’s the least of my concerns at present.
I’ve never been on a Rush set before, but the way Brody talked about the crew sounded like a group of guys hanging out doing stupid shit while somehow getting the show done. Never once had he said anything to suggest Jamie is a woman.
Not that I would have cared. Women could work in any career!
But everyone knows Brody Bannam is a bit of a playboy—or had been.
Now, it’s hard to tell if concealing Jamie’s gender is an innocent oversight, something he did out of consideration for my feelings, or an intentional rewrite to hide a truth he didn’t want me knowing.
Dave’s booming voice interrupts my thoughts. “There are a few more things we need to nail down before tomorrow, but you two don’t need to hang around. Just rest up so we can make this the best season of Rush!”
Nate and I stand to leave, and Jamie jumps up to make room for Nate to slide out. Then she throws her arms around him in a hug and whispers something in his ear. I strain to hear what she says, but I only catch the sound of Dave and Corbin chatting about the filming schedule.
When Jamie lets go, I reach for Nate’s hand. Brody is my boyfriend, and it feels both vital and ridiculous to solidify that fact. My hand collides with Nate’s, bumping twice before he catches onto what I’m doing and wraps his hand around mine.
I wait until we’re far enough away from the crew to whisper, “This is just to sell the idea that you’re Brody, and that we’re together. Brody and I.”
I squeeze his hand so there is no confusion about my meaning.
“Of course it is.” Nate returns my squeeze and then, when we’re out of the crew’s sightline, lets my hand drop.