Chapter 4
Jorge
––––––––
The surprise lightingthe young woman’s eyes when I greeted her confirmed my suspicions. She hadn’t known who she’d run into. I’d only known who she was from Alice’s explanation of the lost driver. I wasn’t in the mindset to meet her then, so I’d escaped back here and tried to relax until the lunch meeting.
It hadn’t been easy ignoring the muted sounds of movements in the other half of the small building. Nor had it been easy trying to track those movements when I found myself straining to hear through the well-soundproofed wall. I’d only caught a brief glimpse of her before I turned away, and I’ve never seen her work, so when she’d slammed into me I took the opportunity to really look at her.
Then I had to walk away. The temptation of her softly parted, full lips, the sparkle of her eyes, the faint scent of herbs rising from her loose, long hair instantly drew me in. Awakened part of me I’d been able to ignore for a long time. Only distance would keep me from taking her in my arms, crushing her body against mine, exploring the sweetness of her mouth.
Running away won’t make a good impression so I stop to gather my wits, turn, and say, “It’s good to finally meet you, Ms. Dawn.”
She recovers quickly from her surprise, then we stand for too long staring at each other. After a short, stilted exchange of first names and a few lines of awkward conversation, the need to escape—again—turns me toward the main ranch buildings. The imagined heat of her gaze burns the back of my neck.
This production isn’t going to be as uncomplicated as I hoped. Should be an easy shoot, just go in, coordinate a plan with a hot, young designer, have a handful of scripted problems or disagreements, build a pool the clients love. Simple. I’ve done it before.
Just not with a designer who’s hot in all the right places.
The crunch of her steps following me precedes a swirl of wind carrying the soft aroma of her hair. I shorten my strides and we settle into an easy pace along the smooth, rock covered road. I glance down and although I attempt to hide my grin, she notices.
“What’s so funny?”
“Not funny. Smart. You changed your shoes.”
“Yes,” she drawls then narrows her eyes. “How did you know?”
“I was leaving when you came out the first time. How’s your ankle?”
“A little tender, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
“The bane of high heels?”
She shrugs with an awkward chuckle. Then we remain silent until we reach the ranch house.
Lunch is casual. There’s no expectations, only the friendly atmosphere that helps all of us become comfortable with each other. A good thing since it’s not just the talent who need to work together. A positive relationship with the clients is vital. It doesn’t take much for viewers to sense when a build goes wrong, no matter how skilled the editors are.
Despite my focus on the ranch owners, it’s difficult to keep my thoughts from straying to the woman sitting across the huge wooden table from me. Every time I glance at her, she’s watching me. Our gazes collide then we both look away. I wonder what’s running through her mind during this interesting dance.
Then I catch Alice watching us with a knowing smirk. I need to reel in any unprofessional thoughts. Keep focused on the project. Don’t allow personal feelings. It’s been over fifteen years since I allowed my emotions to take precedence while working. My career barely survived that debacle. I don’t have the energy to run that gamut again.
The mental agony of that time still haunts me. As does the legal gag order keeping the incident under wraps. But I’ll never erase the memory of the bitch’s evil, self-satisfied smile when the network attorneys handed over a ridiculously large settlement. Everyone in the room knew I’d been played, and through me, the network. By accepting the role of the fall guy, I’d nearly sealed my own fate. Gracias a Dios for those fans who didn’t understand why my show had been canceled and petitioned the network to uphold then extend my contract.
Without the support of those faceless thousands, Jorge Chavez would have disappeared. I’d probably be just another construction worker, building according to someone else’s specs, totally bored and unfulfilled. The only way I know to thank my supporters, many of whom still send messages of encouragement and holiday cards, is to focus on the work at hand.
Not the distraction of the easy on my eyes young woman I’m supposed to work with. I’m older and with any luck much wiser now. Destiny Dawn is my cohost. Nothing more. I can do this.
Dios mio, keep me on the proper path.
Once lunch is cleared from the table, the real pre-production work begins. The ranch owners already have the basic design for their pool approved by the network. The contractors are scheduled. It will be my job—I glance at Destiny while she studies the specs and makes notes in a small, leather bound journal—our job to add the spectacular to the pool. All while pretending we created the original design and are here overseeing the entire project. I’ve no idea how many viewers would be surprised by this but the start to finish process is generally longer than the time portrayed during each episode.
Destiny taps the clicker end of her pen against the scale drawing spread on the table in front of her. “I’ll bet this is going to be one of our surprise additions. I don’t see it as a contention point, but you never know what evil lies in the minds of the producers.”
Chuckling at her astute observation I move to stand behind her chair and peer over her shoulder. She glances back at me then taps her pen again. “Here. The baby splash pool. It can easily be left off the plans at first.”
I nod. The network loves to throw in challenges to up the tension, often specifically editing shows to increase the tension dramatically.
Explaining to the ranch owners, she continues. “Having a build with no problems doesn’t make for exciting television. So there’s always a problem or two of some sort thrown at the host. In this case, it would be that you suddenly decided you needed to add a baby pool. That declaration will probably happen once the construction of the main pool is nearly completed. Of course, we’ll already have the splash area ready to go. Selective camera angles and good editing will keep that under wraps until needed.”
She glances back at me again. “With two hosts, they’re probably going to want us to disagree about something. With you being a seasoned designer, and me the young, brash upstart, I’m sure our clashing will be a reoccurring theme. You up for that, Chavez?”
There’s a challenge in her expression but now is not the time to take the bait. We’ll save that for ratings. I offer her a grin then sober and return to my chair. “Been doing this a long time. Don’t think there’s much new the network can throw at me.”
Destiny looks about to make some snarky reply, probably about my age. The beat of my heart slows. The years between us shouldn’t make a difference for the show—other than provide that expected conflict. Still I find myself mourning my age. I’m too old to be having the kind of thoughts about Destiny that keep popping into my brain.
Like how her hair smells of herbal freshness and how I long to tangle my fingers in the dark length and lift the strands to fill my lungs with her.
I jerk my attention back to reality when Alice slaps the tabletop and says, “How about a tour of the ranch?” From her expression, I wonder if she’s read my mind and is offering a way to distance myself from temptation.
Unfortunately once Destiny agrees, Alice, her brother, Destiny, and I crowd onto a four seat ATV. With Destiny pressed to my side, I can’t escape my thoughts. The fabric isn’t enough to prevent the tiny goosebumps of awareness covering my arm and thigh where our bodies touch.
I don’t know if I’ll survive this afternoon, let alone the entire shoot. I can’t shake the feeling this Destiny, this woman, is mine.