Chapter Ten Jealousy Is Not an Approved Campaign Metric
Chapter Ten
Jealousy Is Not an Approved Campaign Metric
BECKETT
Rafael Cruz arrived at the canyon terrace wearing a linen shirt, an expensive smile, and no wedding ring.
I noticed the last detail because campaign continuity required attention.
It had no other significance.
“Sadie Bell,” he said, crossing directly to her. “The woman who made airport lounges apologize.”
Sadie laughed and shook his hand.
“Only three of them. The others issued statements about evolving guest expectations.”
Rafael kept her hand one second longer than necessary.
I noticed that because time mattered during production.
It had no other significance.
The network had hired him to direct a short travel documentary about the resort’s canyon experience. He had won awards for a series on private islands, another on sleeper trains, and a third for standing in beautiful locations while appearing unaware of the camera.
Sadie had interviewed him twice for Bellwether.
I had learned that this morning.
From the campaign brief.
Not from searching the magazine archive at six twelve.
“Beckett Vale,” Rafael said.
His handshake was firm and exactly the correct length.
I disliked him.
“Mr. Cruz.”
“Rafael.”
“We begin at ten.”
“I was told you were punctual.”
“By whom?”
Sadie stepped between us.
“Every employee, contract, clock, and frightened breakfast plate.”
Rafael laughed.
I did not.
The canyon terrace curved beyond the western edge of the Rose Dome. A clear roof filtered the sunlight. Below us, red cliffs fell in wide layers toward a shadowed floor, with pale stone paths tracing the rim.
The tram waited at the platform, its glass car reflecting the pink resort sign behind us.
Rafael’s crew arranged cameras along the rail.
“I want this to feel loose,” he said. “No host. No campaign script. Sadie and I will walk the terrace and talk about what makes a destination worth the journey.”
“Sadie and you?”
He looked at me. “You own the destination. She knows whether it is worth anything.”
Sadie closed her eyes briefly.
“He has a point,” she said.
“The campaign is structured around both of us.”
“We will bring you in for the second section,” Rafael said.
“Why?”
“Because the first section needs discovery.”
“I built the resort.”
“Exactly.”
Sadie put one hand on my arm.
The touch lasted less than a second.
It affected my ability to form a proportionate response.
“Go stand somewhere expensive,” she said. “I will discover you later.”
Rafael smiled at her.
Again.
I went to the monitor.
The interview began.
Sadie walked beside the glass with the canyon behind her. She wore a blue dress that moved lightly around her knees. The color looked precise against the red cliffs.
I had not noticed the dress when she left the villa.
That would have been personal.
Now it was part of the visual campaign.
“What do luxury resorts misunderstand most?” Rafael asked.
“Luxury is not the number of things a guest can touch,” Sadie said. “It is the number of things they do not have to worry about.”
“And this place?”
She looked toward the dome.
“This place is learning the difference.”
Rafael glanced at her instead of the camera.
“From you?”
“From the people who work here.”
“Modest.”
“Accurate.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
“In my profession, they are often introduced as enemies.”
Rafael laughed.
The sound quality peaked on the monitor.
I adjusted the level.
The sound engineer adjusted it back.
“It was correct,” she said.
“There was a spike.”
“That was laughter.”
“I identified the source.”
Priya stood beside the monitor holding a tablet.
“Would you like me to place Mr. Cruz on the staff retention package?” she asked.
“Why?”
“You appear concerned about his continued presence.”
“I am concerned about the shot structure.”
“Of course.”
Rafael guided Sadie toward the canyon rail. His hand hovered near the small of her back.
It did not touch. I still took one step forward.
Priya moved into my path.
“The rail is secure,” she said.
“That is not why I moved.”
“No?”
“The camera angle is poor.”
She looked at the monitor.
Sadie and Rafael stood framed against the canyon, both faces clear, the resort visible over one shoulder.
“Terrible,” Priya said.
The interview continued.
Rafael asked about Bellwether. Sadie told him the magazine had six employees, forty-two years of archives, and a readership that could identify hidden booking fees faster than most legal departments.
Pride changed her voice.
I stopped watching Rafael.
For several minutes, I watched only her.
She became different when she spoke about the magazine. Not softer. More visible. The guarded humor remained, but the exhaustion beneath it lifted.
She loved the work.
Not the burden. Not the debt. The work.
I understood, suddenly, why every offer to save Bellwether would sound like a threat if it required her to surrender the thing that made her stand like that.
Rafael understood something too.
“When this residency ends,” he said, “come film the Andean night train with me. Bellwether can have the print story. My team will handle production.”
Sadie blinked.
“Is that a real offer?”
“It became one about ten minutes ago.”
“We are live,” I said.
Every face turned toward me.
Rafael looked at the nearest camera. “We are recording.”
“The campaign clips release live.”
“Then the offer has witnesses.”
Sadie’s smile widened.
“I would like to discuss it.”
“After the residency,” Rafael said.
He was looking at her as if after the residency meant more than a scheduling window.
I stepped into the frame.
“The next segment includes the tram.”
The network producer lowered her clipboard.
“We have twelve minutes left here.”
“The light is changing.”
Rafael looked through the glass roof at the identical controlled light.
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Sadie folded her arms.
“Campaign continuity emergency?”
“Correct.”
“Should we evacuate the dress?”
Rafael looked between us.
“I think I have what I need.”
“Excellent,” I said.
“For the documentary,” he added.
I disliked him more.
The tram segment required Sadie and me to ride from the terrace to the canyon overlook while discussing the view.
Rafael remained on the platform to film our departure. As the doors closed, he lifted two fingers to Sadie.
She waved.
I looked forward.
The tram moved away from the dome.
Red stone opened beneath us, vast and quiet. The resort receded behind the glass until its gardens looked like a bright green secret set inside the canyon.
Sadie stood beside me.
She did not speak for thirty-two seconds.
I knew because the tram display counted travel time.
“You interrupted my interview,” she said.
“The schedule required the tram segment.”
“Twelve minutes later.”
“The light was changing.”
“The light is controlled.”
“The external conditions affect color.”
“Beckett.”
The tram slowed. Then stopped.
The car hung above the canyon, suspended between the resort and the overlook. Sadie looked at the display.
SCENIC HOLD. SERVICE WILL RESUME SHORTLY.
“Did you arrange this?” she asked.
“No.”
“You answered too quickly.”
“Because I did not arrange it.”
I touched the intercom.
Priya answered.
“The lower platform requested a brief hold while a service cart clears the track,” she said. “Estimated delay, four minutes.”
“Why is a service cart on the passenger track?”
“Because occasionally other people perform work in your resort.”
The intercom went silent.
Sadie looked at me.
“We have four minutes.”
“That is the estimate.”
“Enough time to discuss Rafael.”
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“You inserted yourself into the frame because he offered me work.”
“I inserted myself because the documentary concerns the resort.”
“You watched him like he was trying to steal a towel.”
“Towels are inventoried.”
“He flirted with me.”
I looked at her.
She waited.
The canyon stretched beyond the glass, red and gold beneath a pale sky. No camera operator stood in the car. No comments moved across a screen. The only sound was the quiet air system and my own pulse, which had become operationally disruptive.
“Yes,” I said.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Yes, he flirted with you.”
“And?”
“And it reduced the documentary’s objectivity.”
“Jealousy is not an approved campaign metric.”
“I am aware.”
“Then stop reporting it as continuity.”
I moved closer.
Not intentionally.
The tram floor was level. The car had not shifted.
Sadie did not move away.
“I disliked the way he looked at you,” I said.
Her voice became quieter.
“How did he look at me?”
“As if you were available.”
“I am available.”
The answer struck with unreasonable force.
“You are married.”
“Promotionally.”
“For twenty-eight more days.”
“That sounded possessive.”
“It was factual.”
“Your facts have broad shoulders.”
I stepped closer again.
This time it was intentional.
Her back did not touch the glass. There was space behind her, beside her, everywhere.
She stayed.
“Do you want me to be jealous?” I asked.
Sadie’s lips parted.
“I want you to tell the truth before you reorganize a production schedule around it.”
“I was jealous.”
The words felt less dangerous once they existed.
Her gaze moved over my face.
“That is better.”
“Is it?”
“Marginally.”
“You smiled at him.”
“He offered Bellwether a good story.”
“He held your hand too long.”
“You timed it?”
“No.”
She waited.
“Approximately.”
Her mouth curved.
“And if I take the assignment?”
“You should.”
That answer surprised her.
“You believe it is good for Bellwether,” I said. “You should take it.”
“Even with him?”
“My jealousy does not become your restriction.”
The smile left her face.
Something warmer replaced it.
“Do you want me to turn it down?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She blinked.
I had answered before caution could replace truth with something more manageable.
“Would you ask me to?” she said.
“No.”
“That distinction appears painful for you.”
“It is inefficient.”
“That was not what I said.”
“It is also painful.”
The admission remained between us.
I wanted her to reject his offer because he had smiled at her, held her hand, and imagined himself beside her in a place I had never seen.
I wanted Bellwether to have the story because she had looked more alive discussing the magazine than she had during any campaign interview.
Both wants were mine.
Only one involved her future.
“Take the assignment if you want it,” I said. “I will dislike him privately.”
“You are not skilled at disliking people privately.”
“I can improve.”
“Your face issued a press release.”
“You make it very difficult to remain properly irritated with you.”
“You have demonstrated unusual persistence.”
“Years of training.”
We were close enough that I could see the small change in her breathing.
Close enough to remember her hand against my chest during the dance lesson.
Close enough that the campaign, the contract, and the canyon became less immediate than the space between her mouth and mine.
“Sadie,” I said.
She looked at my mouth.
I lifted one hand.
I stopped before touching her.
“May I?”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“You may ask a more specific question.”
I leaned closer.
“May I kiss you?”
Music filled the tram. Violins.
Chimes. A choir humming with unforgivable confidence.
Sadie jumped. I turned toward the speaker.
A warm recorded voice said, “Happy anniversary, lovers. Please enjoy this private moment above the canyon.”
The ceiling released three pink paper hearts. One landed on my shoulder.
Sadie stared at it. Then she laughed.
I removed the heart.
“I did not authorize this.”
“Of course not.”
The tram began moving.
The distance between us returned before either of us decided to create it.
The resort grew larger through the glass.
Sadie picked up one of the paper hearts from the floor.
“For the archives,” she said.
The doors opened at the overlook. Rafael’s second camera team waited on the platform.
Sadie stepped out first. Before she passed the camera, she looked back at me.
Not at the resort owner. Not at the temporary husband.
At the man who had asked. Jealousy was not an approved campaign metric.
Neither was wanting my temporary wife to look at me the way she had one second before the music began.
I added neither to the report.