Chapter 12
Between lingering jet lag, taking part in Rush, and reading late into the night, I don’t sleep well. Given Nate’s snores and the fact he got up early to run, he didn’t have the same issue.
Nate pulls out his wireless earbuds when he sees me sit up in bed. “Breakfast?”
I manage a nod.
“Everything okay?”
“Fantastic. I just don’t wake up ready to run marathons.”
He smirks. “If you think I run marathons, then you do think I’m in good enough shape to pull off these excursions as Brody.”
I grab a pillow from the bed and lob it at him, watching as it falls a foot shy of hitting him.
“Nice aim.”
“I need coffee.” There may be a few more hours before our call time, but there’s no way I can go back to sleep.
“Got it,” he says, grabbing the clothes nearest him and heading to the bathroom. “Hurrying up.”
We are halfway to the breakfast buffet, walking in a pleasant silence, when a couple strolling nearby halts.
“Oh my gosh! Are you Brody Bannam?” The petite blonde woman drops the hand of the man she’s with to rush toward us. Her partner, a man with brown hair and the beginnings of a sunburn, follows in her wake as she smiles brightly at Nate.
“I’m Margie McKay—Garroway!” The woman continues, waving her left hand with a sizable diamond ring and matching wedding band. “Sorry, still getting used to the new name thing. You are Brody Bannam, right? I’d recognize you anywhere.”
“I am,” Nate confirms, reaching down to give my hand a squeeze as if to reassure me he can handle this. Then he doesn’t let go. If he’s worried I’ll pull us away, it’s needless because Brody would never pass up an opportunity to interact with a fan.
“I knew it! I work on a sales team with lots of bro-types, and they’re always playing your show.
There’s even a version of our sales pitch that has a clip of you diving off a cliff for when we’re talking to a lead about taking a leap of faith.
What are the odds I’d run into you on our honeymoon?
” She gestures between herself and her husband.
“Second honeymoon,” her husband corrects, extending a hand toward us. “I’m Ray Garroway. We’re from Seattle.”
I reach out with my free hand, giving him a firm handshake. “Abigail Adams.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” the woman continues, “but would it be possible to get a picture with you? The guys at work would eat it up.”
It’s my turn to squeeze Nate’s hand because there’s no way Brody would pass up a photo opportunity like this.
Nate barely agrees before Margie squeals in delight.
After Ray takes a picture of his wife with Nate, I take several of the three of them together because everybody loves options.
“Look, this is a huge ask,” Margie says as I hand her phone back, “but were you two going to breakfast? We’re headed that way and would love to dine with you! If it’s not an imposition, that is. No obligation!”
Nate looks at me, giving an almost imperceptible shrug. The couple is nice, and they’re the sort of demographic Brody is trying to reach more of. As I tell my clients (back when I had more than one) every fan counts. Here are two in the making.
But can Nate pull off being Brody under these circumstances?
He managed it during jet skiing yesterday after failing to be a convincing Brody the day prior on the hike, but filming is easier.
He has the activity to talk about and no one asking him personal questions.
Yes, he made it through the crew dinner, but those were people who already know Brody and have no desire to pepper him with questions about his history.
Fans are a different story. Margie might know more about Brody’s experiences and Rush than Nate or I do. That would most definitely be a problem.
“We can’t—” I start, but Nate is louder as he says, “We’d love to.”
The woman claps her hands together in excitement. “Great!”
The path only allows two people to walk comfortably side-by-side, so Margie and Ray lead the way to the restaurant. Since Nate is still holding my hand, it’s easy to slow him down to create distance between us and the couple.
“Are you sure about this?” I whisper the question. “Can you pull this off?”
“Small bet, good odds.”
“What?”
“Don’t you live in Vegas?” he teases before explaining. “An inconsequential bet with big payoff potential.”
“Whatever. You cannot mess this up.”
“As in, I’m not allowed to, or you have complete faith that me messing this up would be impossible?”
I narrow my eyes. Why does he spin everything? Before coffee, no less. “The former. You’re not allowed to mess this up.”
“I won’t.”
“Seriously.”
“I am being serious! All bets aside.”
I roll my eyes.
“Just focus on your part and let me worry about mine.”
Margie is more animated over breakfast than any person who only has one oat milk latte in their system should be, while Ray sits by her as a quiet presence that balances them somehow.
Perhaps a little like the real Brody and me.
He’s the crazy jump out of airplanes type, and I’m… not. Opposites attract, right?
“So, Brody, what inspired you to become an adrenaline junkie?” Ray asks once we’re settled with our food.
My fork stills at the question. This is something Brody has answered several times in interviews Nate probably hasn’t watched or read. “Great question,” I reply, even though Ray wasn’t asking me. “Brody always says?—”
“I typically say the same thing in interviews,” Nate interrupts, putting down his silverware and resting his hand over my free one, “but that’s only part of the story.
My dad used to be a bit of a thrill-seeker.
Not professionally or anything, but my siblings and I used to see him do some incredible stuff like skydiving, whitewater rafting, and mountain climbing.
He recognized my talent and interest in doing the same, so we started going on excursions together, just the two of us, when I was a teen. The rest is history.”
There’s something painfully honest about Nate’s response, despite him pretending to be Brody when delivering it.
I can pick up on the slight hitch in his voice when he’s really sharing how left out he felt.
His dad was closer to Brody and his mom closer to his sister, assuming Brody’s take on that is accurate, which left Nate to carve out his own place.
“Wow.” Margie’s eyes are wide as she sips her latte. “Does your dad still do adventures and such?”
“Not anymore.” Nate winces and, thanks to Brody, I already know why. “My dad had an accident, unrelated to any thrill-seeking adventure. He’s been in a wheelchair ever since.”
Concern floods Margie’s face as she sets her latte down. “I’m so sorry! I feel horrible for asking.”
“Please don’t,” Nate says. “It’s life, and I’m the one who brought it up. My dad’s injury could have been worse, so we’re grateful that’s not the case. He’s found plenty of other interests to occupy his time.”
I’m still thinking about what Nate said, and what Brody had told me about their father’s accident, when Margie steers the conversation in another direction.
“So, Abigail, who all needs a brand manager? How does a person know they’re at that point? Should a sommelier have one if they’ve got some recognition domestically but are looking to build recognition internationally?”
Ray places a hand over his wife’s. “Honey, Charlotte doesn’t need us meddling in her career, and Abigail probably wants to enjoy her breakfast.”
“No, it’s okay!” I perk up immediately, but I still accept a coffee top-off from the server. “I enjoy talking about these kinds of things.”
Margie beams. “Great! So, my best friend, Charlotte Hayes, is a sommelier extraordinaire. She’s nationally recognized and currently works at a company that revives restaurants at risk of closing up shop by evaluating and revamping their wine menus.
She could explain it better, but that’s the gist. Anyway, she’s pursuing international recognition, and hearing you talk, it sounds like an intentional focus on her individual brand might help? ”
“Depends on where she sees her career going. I know little about wine other than how to drink it?—”
“Me either!” Margie interjects with a fluttery laugh that makes her even more likable.
“But I’m happy to chat with her if she’s interested in learning more about building or managing a brand. I don’t have my card on me,” I say, gesturing to my sapphire-blue spandex outfit as if that explains everything. “Let me give you my contact information to pass along if she’s interested.”
“Perfect. If you two are ever in Seattle, let us know. We’d love to catch up!”
“That was impressive back there,” Nate says as we walk back to the bungalow to grab our bags and finish getting ready.
“The way I ate breakfast or the seven cups of coffee I downed?”
“Both, though I meant the way you talked about work. You’re clearly passionate about what you do.”
Did is more accurate given Brody is my only client. “I am. Everyone has a story to tell, and I love helping people bring their unique perspectives to life and build a memorable brand.”
“Why’d you quit BrandMe? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Maybe I do.” The question feels both invasive and completely welcome.
“Fair. It’s just…you seem so passionate about what you do, and the writer in me is desperate to understand the motivation behind the change.”
“What if there isn’t a good reason?”
“Gingersnap, I may not know you very well, but I don’t doubt you have trackable logic behind a major decisions.”
“Trackable logic?” I scoff. “I didn’t really quit by choice.”
Nate turns toward me, eyebrow raised.
I don’t know why I’m doing it, but suddenly I’m telling Nate how I was forced to quit BrandMe or succumb to a worser fate. How that left me with barely any career except for Brody’s brand to manage, and even that feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
Nate listens patiently, but there’s something building under the surface of his calm facade. He waits until I’m done, then says, “Abigail, you can’t let them get away with this.”