7. Heather
7
Heather
A text buzzed the cell phone on my desk at New Millennia Media in Burbank on Monday.
It was from David. A picture of Rowdy standing next to today’s newspaper with the caption, Proof of life .
I scowled and typed back, Ha, ha. Just keep it that way .
His reply was just a long row of laughing emojis.
I was glad David was enjoying my fear.
No, I didn’t believe he would butcher Rowdy. At least not now. But my fear had been very real before. You hand a chicken processor a bird, you had to worry it could get . . . processed .
I still wasn’t ready to accept that euphemism for anything other than what it was—a nice way of saying killed .
But David was right. Until I got my own life in order, I couldn’t judge his. I needed to stop buying leather. Stop eating meat. Probably stop buying anything from corporations that led to the deforestation in the rain forest too, while I was at it.
Until I did all that, I didn’t have a self-righteous leg to stand on.
Feeling like a poser, I glanced at the chicken, bacon and avocado wrap my coworker Lucy had brought me back for lunch.
It was my favorite sandwich. Or had been, anyway. Last week. Before my big enlightenment.
I considered picking the chicken off and just eating the bacon and avocado in support of Rowdy and his friends. Though that wasn’t being very fair to the pigs of the world.
The single slice of avocado left inside the wrap once I was done with it was enough to eat for lunch. Probably.
With a sigh I decided I was going to have to really investigate this vegetarian diet if I was seriously going to make a lifestyle change.
“Something wrong with your wrap?” Lucy eyed the chicken and bacon on the wax paper wrapper on my desk.
“No. Just thinking I need to cut down on meat.”
“More for me then.” Grinning, she snagged a piece of bacon and popped it between her lips. Still chewing, she asked through a mouth full of my tasty meat, “What brought this on?”
I laughed. “That’s a long story. You sure you’re up for it?”
“When you put it that way, now I have to know.” She pulled over the chair from her desk and sat close to me. Reaching for the chicken I’d pulled off my lunch, she said, “Do tell.”
There, in the marketing bullpen of New Millennia Media, I tried my best to explain my surreal weekend.
From the million-dollar beach condo to the rogue rooster to the hot chicken farmers I’d spent the day with, it was quite a tale. But we worked with Hollywood people, where crazy abounded, so really nothing I said surprised Lucy all that much.
It did make for an interesting lunchtime chat however.
“Hmm. You know what? Hot chicken farmers sound like they’d make for a really interesting show.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“No. I’m serious. We should pitch it.”
“We’re in marketing and public relations. Not production.”
“So? You know Joanne takes pitches from anybody at anytime. The Trash to Treasure Wedding idea came from a suggestion from one of the on-set crew on Gabrielle Lee’s decorating show. It was like a low-level assistant who came up with it.”
I considered the idea. “Drew Bowman’s farm is fairly local. He’s like an hour, maybe hour and a half away.”
Lucy dismissed the distance with a flick of her hand. “More importantly, is he good-looking?”
“Yeah. Actually he is.”
Handsome and so sweet and kind. So why wasn’t I thinking constantly about Drew? Why was it David, the cocky Texas chicken killer, on my mind?
I had horrible taste in men. That’s why. I was like a magnet for the worst guys.
Cops should use me to pick out the criminal in a line-up because if there was a bad man in the vicinity, I’d find him.
I sighed. If I was going to be thinking about David at the nearby chicken farm anyway, I might as well get credit for it at work. “All right. Let’s do this. Let’s work up a pitch and submit it.”
“Yay!” Lucy clapped her hands, then began to look a bit devious. “I think you need to visit the hot chicken rancher again, with me this time, just to get the details right.”
I laughed. Lucy always was a little boy crazy. This time, we might get credit on a hit show because of it.
“Definitely,” I agreed, but only for the good of the show.
My agreement had nothing to do with seeing David Strickland again. Nope. Not at all.
Things moved fast. One day we were pitching a woefully under-developed idea for an unscripted show about sexy chicken ranchers and the next Lucy and I were driving out to the farm.
Our goal was to get a contract and a release signed by Drew so we could film a sizzle reel at his place to try to sell the show idea to a network. Of course that would be after we convinced him this was a good idea.
The head of production might have loved the concept, but the two hot but cocky chicken farmers we had in mind when crafting and pitching the show knew nothing about it.
“You think he’s going to go for it?” Lucy asked as I swung my car into the long dusty driveway for the second time that week.
I shot her—or rather her cleavage—a sideways glance. “That shirt you’re wearing should help convince him.”
“Good. That was the plan.” She reached into her bra and hiked each boob a bit higher.
I shook my head and concentrated on not bottoming out on the rutted drive. The executive producer had been so excited about our little idea, I’d take any help I could get to convince Drew to sign the paperwork.
Pulling around the corner of one of the buildings on the property, I got a glimpse of David’s truck parked by the house.
I drew in a sharp breath. That was another thing that had me on edge besides locking down this location for the show—seeing him again.
Why did I care? I disliked the man intensely. But apparently my body didn’t because I’d dreamed about him last night . . . and woke up throbbing. It had been that kind of dream.
Good thing I’d decided to stop by my apartment yesterday for all the stuff I’d forgotten to pack. I’d filled a bag but the main goal had been to grab my vibrator. I’d managed to restrain myself from using it before going to bed. But in the middle of the night after that dream, my resolve had weakened. And now I’d have to look him in the eye and not remember that dream or the following orgasm.
At least Lucy was here to provide a distraction. I sorely needed one.
By the time I’d parked the car next to David’s truck both men were standing on the ground in front of the house watching us.
I saw Drew’s interest perk up when Lucy slid out of the passenger seat.
The woman had the art of seduction down to a science, from the tip of her head, to the flip of her long dark hair, to the slide of her sunglasses. And it was all working. Drew couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Oh, yeah. This contract was as good as signed.
“Back so soon? Miss me?” David grinned as we walked toward the two men.
I raised a brow. “Actually, we’re here to see Drew.”
David’s forehead furrowed beneath his cowboy hat. “Why?”
“Business,” I answered simply and enjoyed that he didn’t like my answer.
“I’m Drew Bowman.” Drew had stepped up to Lucy and introduced himself before I had an opportunity to do it.
“Lucy Cardero.” She took his hand and held it longer than was necessary for the handshake.
She slipped off her sunglasses and hit Drew with those violet colored eyes of hers that had most people believing she was wearing colored contacts. I could see Drew become immediately mesmerized and I restrained myself from punching the sky in victory.
“I have a proposal for you, Mr. Bowman. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?” Her voice was like hot fudge sliding over vanilla ice cream, and Drew visibly melted beneath it.
“Yeah, sure. Come on inside.”
David frowned as he watched the interaction. When they headed for the stairs to the house, he said, “What’s going on?”
I could tell him, but what fun would that be?
“You’ll see.” I tossed that out over my shoulder as I followed Lucy.
“You wanna see Rowdy before you head inside?” he called from behind me.
I turned on the top step. “You haven’t processed him yet?” I said with as much attitude as I could muster.
He scowled. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“I’ll see him later before we leave.” I didn’t wait for him to catch up as I let the screen door slam behind me.