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.
Thrilling.
“Ah, if it isn’t our very own cowboy Romeo! Ready to spin some girls around
the dance floor on Saturday?”
“I’d rather go back to talking about—”
“How you’re going to be thinking about the women I’ve carefully selected for you and not the help?” Richard’s eyes narrow over my shoulder, his persona slipping from carefree to venomous.
My stomach flips, and my throat burns. I feel like a kid caught doing something they shouldn’t, and nothing has even happened.
Still, I need to cover for us, so I scoff and shoot a dirty look over my shoulder, the first attention I’ve given Emmett in almost forty-eight hours. “I can assure you that Emmett doesn’t think about me.”
“Well, obviously. You’re no Evelyn.” Richard spreads his hands in a gesture that implies he’s settled this conversation. “Now, both of you get out. I need to
make some phone calls.”
I give him a firm nod and spin on my heel to depart the trailer. I turn my body to edge past Emmett, careful to avoid all contact with him. Which includes keeping my eyes trained on the metal steps that lead down to the grass.
“Jules,” he hisses, his heavy footsteps following me across the pasture where the
crew has set up.
I don’t look back.
“Jules, wait.”
“Sorry! I’m busy!” I call back, sounding as unaffected as I can. Really, all I want is to go to the gym, put my headphones in, work out some aggression, and go home. Maybe have a pity party while I fertilize my plants because I hate dropping the ball at work. And I’m not in the mood to unpack whatever transpired between Emmett and me.
I round the back of an equipment trailer. Hoping Emmett will give up if I weave through the trucks where the crew likes to find a sliver of shade, flip open a lawn chair, and kick back with a drink.
But I’m shit out of luck, because as I turn, a hand clamps down on my arm, pulling me to a screeching halt. Forcing me to turn and face him. Stubbled jaw clenched tight, curls mussed after a morning spent pounding fence posts, eyes
brimming with concern.
“Are you okay?”
I yank my arm out of his grip and step back, spitting the word back in his face.
“Am I okay?”
He pops his tongue into his cheek, regarding me through narrowed eyes.
“You tell me, Emmett. How am I supposed to be after you went behind my back and told my boss that I scouted the wrong bar?”
He says nothing, which aggravates me even further.
“You are infuriating. You know that?”
“You weren’t on set yesterday.”
That’s his response?
“No shit. I was busy wasting hours prepping that location. And you told Richard that you’d never take the girls there?” I step closer, poking him in the
center of his chest. “You made me look bad at my job. And I’m not. That might be the worst part.”
“You are very good at your job,” he confirms, voice stern and sincere.
His agreeing with me just angers me more. “That’s what you have to say for yourself? Not an apology? Am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t just pull a one-eighty on me and demand we film at the The Ranch? Should I stumble all over myself to cater to your ever-changing whims? Because I’ve got news for you —”
He strikes like a cobra, capturing my wrist as he steps in to tower over me, pinning me against the back of the trailer. His heat sears the front of me, and the sun-warmed metal wall presses at my back.
“What do I have to say for myself?” he says harshly. His breath fans across my damp lips and frustration buzzes in the air around us.
But it doesn’t worry me. I’m safe with Emmett, even now. Even when I’m fuming and he’s seething.
“What I have to say for myself, Julia, is that I told you this already.”
Oh, the nerve.
“Told me what? Because the way I remember it is…” I slip into a mocking tone.
“‘The Ranch? No, that bar is where all the yuppies go. It’s not where I’d take someone I was actually interested in.’ Then you took me to the Sugar Saloon and led me to believe that—”
“Exactly!” He spits the word like it frustrates him. I’m taken aback by the venom in his tone, but even more so by what he means. “How can I go there with anyone else after… you.”
I shut up and blink at him, piecing it all together.
His blue irises burn hot, boring into me with an intensity I’ve only seen on his face when there’s a bull underneath him and a championship on the line.
My chest heaves against his, our bodies pressed together. My hands stay slack at my sides, but not Emmett’s. His free hand slides up my hip, leaving a trail of fire as it travels up my rib cage, over my airy, pale pink blouse, skimming the edge of my bra. Making my head spin and my skin heat.
His touch turns reverent as his palm slides over my sternum, achingly slow. His brows furrow in concentration as he stares at his hand, fingers splayed over my
collarbone, my chest rising and falling beneath him.
And then he sighs. “You’re ruining me, Jules.”
His gaze flashes to mine, threads of confusion in the depths of his baby blues morphing into something that looks like resolve.
“Emmett,” I breathe. His gentle touch makes me momentarily forget why I’m angry with him.
Strong fingers go soft on my wrist, and one quick swipe of his thumb over my pulse point sets my heart to racing as quickly as my mind. He grazes the back of his knuckles up my arm before tracing the curve of my neck.
“Fuck,” he mutters with a subtle shake of his head.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, barely hearing myself over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
He trails both hands up to cup my jaw, then he tips my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes. “What I should have done on that dance floor.”
Emmett’s mouth drops, and this time he doesn’t stop. His lips crush mine in a moment of pure desperation.
Right here, outdoors, on set. With birds chirping and crew chatting in the distance, Emmett kisses me, and every other protest in my mind disintegrates on
the spot.
A shaky inhale reverberates between us.
We both pause, drawing away just enough to look at each other in shock. I almost wonder if he’s going to pull away.
“Em,” I breathe against his lips, which is all it takes for him to kiss me again.
My hands fist the sides of his shirt without hesitation as I lean into his strong
body.
And then, there’s only him.
Firm lips, soft tongue, calloused fingers so damn gentle as he holds me in place.
His fingers slip into my hair as he claims my mouth with a level of prowess that rocks me to my core.
Everything around us ceases to exist, every point of contact between us like a hot brand. And I’m frantic for more of him.
I press in, only knowing that I want to be closer. Knowing that every part of me is warm and safe wrapped in his arms.
My tongue meets his in a slow, intentional dance. He kisses me thoroughly. He doesn’t rush, but he’s not casual either. He kisses me with purpose.
My body hums. My hands roam. Chiseled abs, broad chest, muscled shoulders.
But Emmett doesn’t take any liberties with me. He controls the pace, kissing me like his life depends on it—like it’s a lost art form.
I haven’t been kissed like this in… ever.
Eventually we slow, the fervor ebbs, and we both surface for air. Our foreheads tip together as we catch our breath. I try to make sense of how I went from dressing him down to this.
Emmett presses a quick kiss to the edge of my mouth and pulls me in, my head resting near his shoulder. He runs a hand over my straightened hair and gives me a quick, disbelieving hug. Seconds pass as my mind struggles to keep up.
How can I go there with anyone else after you?
My chest twinges, the weight of his confession sitting wonderfully heavy.
“I’m glad we cleared that up,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear.
Then he exhales hard and steps back, looking wide-eyed and startled by what just transpired. “I should get back to set.”
I nod dumbly. “Yeah. You should.”
Because what else is there to say? Thank you? Have fun dating seven other
women? Go save your family farm?
Never mind my red minidress.
This is trouble.
No, this is a fucking mess.
And I’d still do it again.
OFFICIAL MEMO
To: Richard Wadsworth
From: Teri Baker Subject: Strategic Leak
Hearing reports from some of the crew that they spotted our Emmett dancing at a local bar with our location manager, Julia. Of course, it could be entirely innocent since we know she was scouting the location.
I’d rather not accuse anyone in case it’s nothing. But I noted in my last memo that I’d be keeping an eye on this for you, so I wanted to bring it to your attention.
I don’t think I can address it directly with him and maintain his trust.
He already knows he’s not supposed to be dating outside the show.
Wondering if a strategic leak might be beneficial in reminding him that he’s being watched. Especially heading toward the midpoint when he’s set to receive another payment.
Perhaps you should speak with Julia—I bet you can help steer her away from this.
Prepared to follow your lead here.
Sincerely,
Teri Baker Story Producer
