Chapter 8
“Are you expecting visitors?” I shout to Nate from the bed where I’ve been working on Brody’s brand strategy.
“No, are you?”
“Would I have asked if I was expecting someone?”
“I don’t know, would you?”
He has to be rolling his eyes like I am. What were we thinking when we signed up for two weeks together? Nate might get through the excursions, but what are the odds we’ll both make it out of this bungalow in one piece?
The knocking happens again, but Nate doesn’t move.
“Guess I’ll be getting the door then.” I pad over to the entryway and open the door to find Jamie on our doorstep.
Her face visibly deflates when it isn’t “Brody” who answers, but then she forces a cordial smile. “You two ready?”
My stomach sinks. “Ready for what?” Hopefully not more filming.
Jamie raises a brow. “Didn’t Brody tell you? The crew has dinner together on the first night of shooting. It’s a good luck thing.”
“Brody did not tell me that.” I glance at Nate, who has come in from outside.
“I usually walk over with Brody,” Jamie says. “He has so much going on with the show that he wouldn’t remember anything if it weren’t for me.”
I stiffen at her words, but I take my irritation out on Nate instead. “Brody, Jamie was just telling me about the first night dinner you forgot to mention.”
“Oh, didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind.”
“Yeah, so we need to be ready in…”
I look at Jamie for an answer.
“Ten minutes.”
“In ten,” I repeat, “which means you should have already started getting ready because there’s no way you’re wearing that.”
“What’s wrong with this?” Nate looks down at his gym shorts and t-shirt that says Mountains aren’t funny until they are hill-areas. Brody isn’t much of a pun guy, but at least the shirt features mountains, something the real Brody might wear.
“Brody, look at how nice I look,” Jamie interjects, placing a hand on her hip. “You don’t want me to look overdressed, do you?”
Nate takes in Jamie’s burnt-orange button-front dress as I pretend not to notice, and then he glances at me.
“Abigail will look nice when she’s ready,” Jamie adds, assessing my loungewear as if I’m not planning on changing.
“We’ll get dressed if you want to wait on shore,” I say. There’s no way I can get ready with Jamie in the bungalow or knowing she’s standing just outside in potential earshot of anything that may reveal the plan or us not knowing about tonight’s dinner.
“Sure thing,” she says after a beat. “I have a couple of calls to make, anyway.”
With another glance at Nate, she leaves, and the two of us get ready in a flurry of silence.
The entire crew is at the beach when we arrive with Jamie.
Their chattering voices and laughter carry across the warm evening breeze, punctuated by the lapping of water against the shore.
In the middle of the shore, two picnic tables are pushed together under a white tablecloth, and an array of flickering tea lights creates a glow down the center.
A standalone table features catering trays of what smells like Fiji BBQ, roasted vegetables, and fresh fruit.
With the sun sinking below the horizon, the scene is bathed in a radiant gold.
I slip out of my sandals, depositing them with the other discarded shoes, and revel in the squish of sand between my toes.
“This is beautiful,” I whisper to Nate, but Jamie overhears.
“It’d better be. A lot of effort goes into getting this team dinner right.”
“Really?” I imagine there are a million other things to worry about on a risky show like this. Not that eating isn’t vital. But a planned and catered event? It’s more than I expected, and more than Brody ever insinuated.
Jamie takes immediate offense at my words.
“You may not understand coming from your glamorous social media world, but team dinners are important for morale. We’re living in close quarters and working long hours shooting and editing, all for a fleeting mention in the show credits.
Brody established this dinner to set intentions for the season and the tone for the shoot.
Some might say it’s short-sighted not to understand that. ”
My cheeks burn with insult as I struggle to find the words to respond, but my brain is too busy processing that this dinner is Brody’s idea. It’s another thing about him and his show I didn’t know, and a fact Jamie holds dear.
“Jamie,” Nate warns, as if he’s prepared to come to my defense.
Jamie stalks off to greet the rest of the crew before I can defend myself or explain that my job is more than just social media and notably less “glamorous.” Sure, I’d wined and dined professional athletes while working at BrandMe, but that’s where the glamor ended.
The reality was long hours, a competitive team, questionable company culture, and a low glass ceiling no woman could seem to shatter.
Nate bumps his shoulder against mine, bringing me back to reality. “Ignore her.”
That’s easier said than done, but I nod and follow him to the tables. For Brody, the show, and Nate, I’ll try.
The food is even more delicious than it smells. As dinner winds down, Dave clinks his fork against the side of his wine glass.
“I’d like to make a toast to Brody.” He raises his glass, and the rest of us lift ours in response. “On behalf of the crew, we wish you the best of luck and talent this season because there’s a lot riding on it!”
As laughter ripples through the group, I feel Nate tense beside me, even though we aren’t touching.
He’s doing his best to work the plan and make this the best season, but everyone around him is adding pressure.
Me too, and I’m supposed to be helping. Nate doesn’t really deserve my help, but this plan needs to work.
The least I could do is buy him a beat to recover.
I lift my glass higher, raising my voice to be heard over the lingering clinks from the first toast. “Yeah, Brody! Break a leg this season!”
Instead of laughter or glasses clinking, like with Dave’s toast, everyone freezes.
Jamie cradles her glass against her chest. “That’s bad luck on a show like this. We don’t want Brody to break anything! He is the show. We need him to be safe and in one piece.”
My face heats. So much for helping Nate. All I did was amplify the pressure. “Right! I just meant?—”
“I know what you meant.” Nate places a placating hand over my free one atop the table. His hand is oddly comforting even as Jamie continues to stare as if I had really doomed the show. “It’s good luck in the theater to say ‘break a leg,’ so thank you.” He gives my hand a squeeze.
I clear my throat. “You’re welcome.”
“To the best season of Rush yet!” Dave interrupts, returning his glass to the air for a cheer that’s apparently more appropriate than my suggestion of broken limbs.
It’s only when everyone clinks glasses around us that I realize I’m still holding Nate’s hand rather than joining in, and he’s still holding mine. Acting is one thing, but this feels like something different. Whatever it is, I don’t need it from Nate.
I pull my hand away and lean over to whisper in his ear. “Actually, I meant ‘break a leg’ the way they interpreted it.”
A hint of a smile works the corner of his mouth. “Oh, Gingersnap,” he says into his wine glass so no one can hear but me. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
Dave approaches us after dinner as we’re about to leave.
“Brody, you got a minute?” His voice is booming with one too many glasses of wine.
The indigo sky has deepened into a star-speckled black, and a nearby table glows with lanterns that the resort staff provided to help people get back to their rooms. I’m tempted to snatch one and race back to the bungalow, but Nate doesn’t run.
“What’s up?” Nate’s hand reaches for mine, holding me in place. His grip tightens as Dave frowns.
Shit. Someone found us out. I don’t know how or what happens next, but we’re busted. Had we said something at dinner that signaled a Brody impersonator? Or is it because we didn’t know about the team dinner? We should have run when we had the chance.
Dave looks at me and then back at Nate. “Alone might be better.”
“You can speak freely in front of Abigail. I don’t keep secrets from her.”
My heart flutters at the words, even though it’s Nate saying them and not Brody.
Dave scrubs a hand over his face, lingering on his scruffy beard before letting it drop in exasperation.
“I don’t know how to say this, but I promised from day one to always tell it to you like it is.
None of that BS rah-rah ‘you’re doing so great’ stuff Jamie brings to the table. It’s a good balance—a vital balance.”
“Okayyy.” Nate’s voice reflects the uncertainty I feel, but he recovers quickly as Brody. “I’ve always appreciated your candor.”
“Good, then I’m just going to say it. You’re falling flat on screen this time around. I know it’s day one, but the stakes are higher, and all of us have put our careers on the line for this show. We need you to make it a success and bring your A-game to the excursions.”
Nate’s grip tightens on my hand. “I thought I was.”
Dave grimaces as if he’s telling a small child that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. “That was your B-game at best. You did the hike fine, but you weren’t working the camera the way you normally do.
We need more of that Brody sparkle, otherwise we’d just throw someone like Corbin on screen.
” Dave juts a thumb toward an oblivious Corbin, who is refilling his glass with what looks like Sprite.
It’s not an untrue claim, but it’s an unfair one. Nate isn’t defending Brody, so I do. “It’s Brody’s show.”
“It doesn’t matter whose show it is if it doesn’t take off.
” Dave points out, then sighs. “Look, it’s day one.
Get some rest and see what you can do to amp things up tomorrow.
If we continue like this, there’s no doubt in my mind we’re looking at our last season—assuming we’d get to release this one. ”