Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(61)

I nod, silent, because the first words on the tip of my tongue are: I don’t want to bring anyone else there.

She fills the space with chatter about spots to set cameras, having taken more stock of the space than I realized.

It forces my brain to face the reality of our situation. Her budding career, my contract, all that money for the farm.

I drive through the streets of Emerald Lake, listening but not really hearing. Because in my head I’m still on that dance floor. Her arms around my neck, her hips pressed against mine, her confession hanging heavy and heartfelt between us.

When we get back to her condo, she scoots out of my truck fast. She offers me a parting wave, and a forced “Thanks for the drink!” before scurrying back into her building.

In any other situation like this, I’d feel like I dodged a bullet. But tonight, it feels like I took one square in the chest.

Guilt racks me because I should have said something. She poured her heart out to me, and I took the easy way out. Letting the moment slip through my fingers like the finest grains of sand.

And for once it wasn’t because a woman was telling me things I didn’t want to hear.

It was exactly what I wanted to hear.

And that terrifies me.





CHAPTER 23


Julia





Emmett

Hey, are you around today?





Emmett

What about today? I need to talk to you about the bar.





Emmett

Jules. Stop avoiding me.





* * *



“Honestly, Julia, you can’t just go rogue like this. It’s unprofessional,” Richard scolds me.

My mouth gapes as I stare back at him, his harsh delivery rendering me speechless. But more than that, I am just plain confused by the fact that Emmett has changed his answer regarding which bar we should film at.

I’ve been ignoring Emmett’s texts in the name of professionalism—we have nothing to talk about. We almost got busted out together and that was enough to scare me straight.

But today he’s going to get a fucking earful of unprofessionalism. Because I have things to say.

If his wishy-washy bullshit costs me that reference, I’ll kill him before he gets to pick a wife.

Dick Wad sits at his desk in the utility trailer, shuffling paper. He isn’t furious, but he’s definitely talking to me like I’m an idiot. Sunlight streams through the open door, highlighting his coiffed hair and pale eyes.

All I know is that I don’t want to be added to his blacklist.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, or are you just going to stand there gaping at me?”

I snap my mouth shut. “Sorry, I just… this was the bar that…”

Emmett took me to?

How do I explain this to my boss without getting one of us in trouble? Because as much as Emmett’s deer-in-the-headlights reaction to my confession on that ancient dance floor after a couple sips of liquor rankles me, I don’t want to get him in trouble with the boss.

There’s too much on the line for him and his family, and I can’t let my pride get in the way of that.

I straighten and stare back at the older man, refusing to cower. “You told me to find a good country bar. Someone recommended it to me.”

“Well, how about more due diligence next time? When I showed Emmett the pitch for this scene, he said he’d never take the girls there. It looks like a fucking dive. And I need Casanova on board because he’s proving to be a frigid pain in my ass.”

My molars clamp together as I let myself daydream about pushing Emmett down the slopes of Prickle Point.

Because why the hell is he changing his pick for a bar and throwing me under the bus like this?

“Yes, sir, of course. I apologize.” I bite the words out, but Richard doesn’t seem to notice or care about the edge to my tone. He’s too busy… filing his nails?

My nose wrinkles as I realize the file is what he was looking for among the sheets on his desk. Fine white powder scatters over the papers, and I cringe.

The guy has no fucking boundaries.

“Good. Now you can put all that fancy education to use today and fix this. I want to record at The Ranch on Saturday for the elimination ceremony. It looks like the perfect place to give viewers a taste of country life with our bull rider playboy.”

I bite my tongue and focus on not exploding or running from this trailer in horror.

“So chop-chop, make it so.” He claps his hands at me, a puff of nail dust catching in the light.

“I know you didn’t just clap your hands at her.” Emmett’s deep voice booms behind us. The trailer shifts as he steps up into the doorway, blocking the light with the bulk of his broad shoulders.

Richard laughs. I stand frozen, willing myself not to turn around. Because if I do, I might kick Emmett in his shins for throwing me under Dick Wad’s shitty bus for some unknown reason.

Part of me also doesn’t want to face him. I’ve been dodging him for the past few days because I turned into a sappy loser in his arms, and he just stared at me like I was a dodo bird come back from extinction.

It’s been easy enough to steer clear of the set or show up in the mornings when I knew he was busy. The rest of the time, I buried myself in emails, application forms, and prep work. Plus, according to today’s schedule, Emmett should have been busy showing the women how to mend fences around the property.