Chapter 12
BERNADETTE
Istood at the edge of the shoot, trying to blend into the background while keeping my eyes on everything. The new location was safer. It didn’t eliminate the risk of deadly spiders or snakes in the grass, but that was a risk anyone took no matter where they were in the world.
Sebastian had even moved the model away from the coconut trees without me having to say anything.
So why did I feel so terrible?
I was used to being the bad guy. That was part of the job description.
Insurance representatives weren’t supposed to be popular.
We were supposed to be thorough, cautious, and the voice of reason when everyone else wanted to throw caution to the wind.
Being the hall monitor was just another part of my job.
But I’d never been on-site for a job like this before.
I never had to stand in front of people while they openly hated me.
In my office, I could write my reports, send my recommendations, and never see the faces of the people who resented my existence.
The hatred was at arm’s length. I didn’t have social media, so they couldn’t find me.
I got my fair share of nasty emails and shitty voicemails but it was very easy to delete and move on.
The anger I felt right now was very real. And it was everywhere. I couldn’t just delete it.
A photographer’s assistant walked past me, close enough that I had to step back. “Excuse me,” I said.
She didn’t even acknowledge I’d spoken.
One of the models was heading toward the wardrobe tent when I accidentally stepped into her path. I’d been watching the lighting setup, making sure they weren’t creating any trip hazards with their cables, and didn’t realize I was standing on the designated path.
“Move,” she said flatly.
“Sorry, I was just—”
“Out of my fucking way.” She shouldered past me hard enough that I stumbled slightly. Behind her, another model laughed.
The sun beat down mercilessly. I’d worn one of the outfits Annika had picked out for me.
Linen pants with a long-sleeved button-up shirt that was a gauzy material.
It was professional but appropriate for the heat.
Now I felt exposed in it. I wished I was wearing my armor.
My pantsuit. My severe bun. My professional distance.
I had put my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head.
I didn’t want to wear a bunch of hairspray out of fear it would melt down my face and neck.
And that would lead to me becoming one of those sticky bug traps.
I wasn’t about to make the day worse with dead bug carcasses stuck to my face and neck.
Sebastian had been right about the pantsuits being inappropriate for the climate. But at least in them, I felt like I knew who I was. Today, out here, I felt adrift.
I kept trying to stay out of everyone’s way, now moving to a spot near some equipment cases where I could observe without being a physical obstacle. But even there, I wasn’t safe from the hostility.
“Can you move?” A lighting technician stood over me, his arms crossed. “You’re blocking my gear, dude.”
I looked around. I was nowhere near his gear. The nearest case was at least six feet away. “I don’t think I am.”
“Just move.”
I relocated again, this time to a spot even further from the action.
I pulled out my phone and started documenting the shoot in my notes app.
Little things I’d like to try and talk to Sebastian about.
It was busywork, really, but it made me feel like I was doing something productive rather than just standing here being hated.
“Is she seriously taking notes on us?” I heard one of the models say, not even bothering to lower her voice. “Like we’re lab rats or something?”
“She’s probably writing down everything we do wrong so she can report it to her bosses.”
The first girl flipped me the bird. “Note that down, bitch.”
I keep my eyes on my phone, pretending I couldn’t hear them or see them. My face felt hot, and it wasn’t from the sun. A makeup artist walked past carrying a kit. As she passed, she “accidentally” knocked into my shoulder hard enough that I dropped my phone. It landed facedown in the sand.
“Oops,” she said without stopping.
I bent down to retrieve it and pretended it didn’t happen.
I tried to stand in the shade of the equipment tent, but one of the lighting guys told me I was in the way.
I moved to the wardrobe area, but the assistants glared at me until I left.
The makeup tent was full of models getting touch-ups, and the second I stepped near it, Mary Jo looked up and made it very clear I was not wanted.
“It’s hot,” I said in the hopes she might take pity on me.
“Crew only.”
“I’m part of the production,” I said.
“No, honey. You’re not.”
It was like showing up to a new school where everyone already hated you. Where there was no place to sit at lunch, nowhere to put your stuff, no corner where you belonged. Except I was twenty-seven years old and this was my job, and I was supposed to be professional enough to handle it.
But I felt like a lost little girl with no friends. No one at all.
It hurt. But I refused to show any weakness.
I wandered back toward the main shooting area, trying to find somewhere to stand that wouldn’t bother anyone. Every look I got was unkind. Every glance felt like an accusation. Even the people who weren’t actively being rude simply pretended I didn’t exist.
The heat was getting to me. I’d been out in the sun for hours now, and I was starting to get a headache. I needed water.
I made my way to the craft services tent.
At least there I wouldn’t be kicked out—I hoped.
If they tried to kick me out, they were going to have to drag me out.
I had been very specific about the need for everyone to stay hydrated to avoid any medical emergencies and I wasn’t following my own rules.
The second I stepped into the tent, I felt relief. I was sticky and sweaty and so damn thirsty. I spotted bottles of water in a cooler and practically sprinted for them. I grabbed one, twisted off the cap, and was about to take a sip when a sharp voice stopped me.
“Put that down.”
I turned to a woman staring at me with the kind of expression usually reserved for shoplifters—or murderers.
“I just need some water,” I said. “It’s hot out there.”
“Food and beverages are for crew only.”
“I am part of the crew.”
“No, you’re not. You’re the insurance lady.” She said it like it was a disease. “Put it down.”
I set the water bottle back in the cooler, my face burning with humiliation. “Can I just buy one then? I’ll pay whatever you want.”
“This isn’t a store. I’m not set up to handle transactions.” She crossed her arms. “You’re on your own, lady.”
“Look, we all have a job to do on this campaign. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to keep people safe.”
“Good,” the woman said, her expression unchanging. “Because you definitely haven’t made any friends.”
The words were harsh. And painful. I left the tent, blinking against the sudden brightness of the sun, feeling like I might be sick.
I was thirsty. I was hot. I was exhausted from stress and lack of sleep and the weight of everyone’s hatred pressing down on me.
And I couldn’t even get a bottle of water.
Miratoa didn’t have a nearby convenience store I could just walk to. There was no Uber to take me anywhere. We were in an untouched area, deliberately isolated, and I was trapped here with fifty people who wished I would disappear.
I’d never felt so unwelcome anywhere in my life.
I wandered away from the shoot, following the beach until I was out of sight of the crew. My eyes were burning. My throat was tight. I told myself it was just dehydration. I was overheated and stressed.
But I knew better.
I found a rock tucked behind some vegetation, hidden from view and out of the direct sun. I sat down and waited for someone to jump out of the bushes and tell me I wasn’t allowed to sit on the rock either.
After several minutes, it seemed like the coast was clear. That’s when I let the tears fall.
Not the delicate, pretty kind of crying from movies.
The ugly kind. The kind where your whole body shakes and you can’t catch your breath and you sound like a wounded animal.
I pressed my hands over my face, trying to muffle the sounds.
I tried to maintain some shred of dignity even when I was completely alone.
I was going to mess this whole thing up. Correction, not going to. I already did mess it up. Day one, and I’d made an enemy of Sebastian, alienated the entire crew, and proven myself to be as lovable as an STD.
I was certain there would be complaints made. My father was going to be so disappointed.
He was going to be angry, of course. He was going to tell me I embarrassed the company and proved I wasn’t ready for this level of responsibility. But it was the disappointment I couldn’t bear. It was a million times worse than him just being angry with me.
A sob tore through me, and I pressed my hands harder against my face. I was so thirsty. So hot. So alone.
I’d been alone before. I lived alone, worked alone, spent most of my time alone. But that was by choice.
This was isolation. This was being surrounded by people and feeling more alone than I’d ever felt in my empty apartment. They actively disliked me, which was far worse than simply going unnoticed.
And the worst part of the whole damn situation was that I wasn’t even sure I’d been wrong.
That cliff edge had been unstable. I’d proven it. If Clarissa had gone out there, if she’d fallen and something terrible had happened, that would have been on me. That would have been my failure to prevent a tragedy when I had the power to stop it.
There probably was a better way to handle Sebastian, but he wasn’t going to listen to words. I had to show him.
My father had taught me that insurance was about saying no. He had been very clear about finding loopholes and protecting the company’s interests above all else. He’d never taught me how to work with people or work as a team.
And now I was paying the price for that miseducation.
Another wave of sobs hit me. I let it run its course, alone on my rock, hidden from view. Maybe if I got it all out now, I could pull myself together before I had to face them all again. I knew I was dehydrated, which meant I didn’t have the tears to spare.
The sun beat down. Sweat mixed with tears on my face. My head pounded.
I heard footsteps on the sand and immediately tried to stop crying. No way. No way would I make the situation worse by letting them see me like this.
Thankfully, the footsteps passed by without pausing. Whoever it was hadn’t seen me. They didn’t know I was there.
And they sure as hell didn’t care.
They were all just glad I was out of their way.
I pulled out my phone, thinking maybe I could call someone. But who? My father would just yell at me. I didn’t have friends close enough to call with something like this. Annika had been kind, but she wasn’t my friend—she was Sebastian’s friend and loyal to the company.
I was truly, completely alone.
The thought made me cry harder, which made me angry at myself for being so weak, which made me cry more because I was tired of being strong all the time. I was so tired of being the bad guy and carrying my father’s expectations that only amplified my own insecurities.
I just wanted someone to be kind to me. Just once. Just for a moment.
But I’d burned that bridge before I’d even crossed it.