Two hours later, I walk out of City Hall stripped of every last penny my production had left. I might bite, but it’s the mayor who just chewed me up and spat me back out a few hundred thousand dollars lighter.
Fuming, I stroll down the curb, not even caring that I’ve skipped lunch. I need to get back to the movie crew ASAP to loop in the others about the barbarous requests I just had to agree to.
At least now I’m the proud holder of signed permits for the first two public locations we need. The others, Travis will sign when I deliver my side of the deal.
Untrustful, conniving jerk.
The last drop in my already overflowing country-life bucket is getting back to my truck to the sight of a middle-aged police officer intent on writing me a ticket.
“Stop!” I yell. “I’m here, officer.”
The man stares up from his notepad. “Ma’am, your time expired four hours ago.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t have enough coins to pay for more. You should upgrade the meters to accept electronic payments.”
“While I might agree with you, I still have to write you up. Rules are rules.”
“It’s okay, Peter,” a voice calls from behind us. “You can let this one slide.”
I turn around to find Mr. Smug walking toward us. I spin back toward the cop. “Officer, please write me the ticket, I insist.”
“But—but just a second ago you were asking for a pass.”
“And I was wrong. You said it yourself, rules are rules.”
The police officer gapes at me and then at the mayor, who nods.
The officer nods back and puts his notepad away. “Good afternoon, Mayor Hunt.”
“Afternoon, Pete. Please say hi to Dolly for me.”
The officer tips his hat at me. “Good day to you, too, ma’am.”
This day has been many things—enlightening, harassing, overtaxing, but good isn’t one of them.
“I hadn’t pinned you down as a rule-breaker,” Mr. Teasing says.
“Provide a payment system that accepts something other than gold doubloons and people might actually be able to pay for parking.”
The sexy crinkle of the mayor’s eyes is insufferable. “Want to add that to the list of improvements you’re bringing to the town?”
He’s won, and he knows it. And I hate him all the more for it.
“Enjoy the feeling while it lasts,” I spit. “’Cause in three months I’ll be back to my life in New York and you’ll still be mayor of this cesspit. A fresh coat of paint won’t make this hellhole any less hideous.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a sore loser. I’m only doing what’s best for my people.”
“Well, you don’t need to look so damn pleased about it.”
I don’t wait for a retort. I walk round the pickup and get inside. Without saying goodbye, I slam the door shut and jerk the gear into drive. Rage dramatically improves my driving skills because in a single maneuver, I smash my foot on the accelerator and screech out of the parking spot.
As I speed away, I throw a glance at the rearview mirror and see the mayor waving at me with that infuriating, smug, and unfortunately sexy grin still curling his lips.
* * *
That afternoon I arrange a general meeting, including both the staff and the cast, and ask Christian to bring Lana along.
“Okay, folks,” I call once everyone has assembled in the community barn. “I have good news and bad news.”
The room quietens down and I continue, “The good news is I’ve secured the permit for the town square scene and the other locations should follow suit. The bad news is, it’s going to cost us.” People exchange perplexed stares, so I explain the situation. “City Hall was stalling on purpose, guys. This is a shakedown, plain and simple. Now, I’ve negotiated with the mayor a few conditions to get the rest of the permits signed. The first is that we restore the Wilkins Mill Bridge.” I address my next question to the construction crew chief. “Cliff, can your crew do the job? How long would such an operation take?”
“Is that the old wooden bridge that leads into town?”
“That’s the one.”
“If I put my entire crew on it, it might take two or three days to sandpaper and about the same to repaint. Is the color staying the same, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s the same shade we used for the barn reproduction. We’ve plenty of paint left and it’s good for outdoor use.”
“Perfect, thank you.” The man nods at me and I nod back. “I won’t lie, Cliff. Most of the extra work will fall on your shoulders. This brings me to the hardest part. The lake. The original plan was to clear a small portion of the beach and exploit different shooting angles to make it seem bigger. The mayor, however, would rather we cleared the entire perimeter and made our structures permanent. He wants picnic tables, a gazebo, a kiosk, the whole shebang. While the construction crew is at work on the bridge, I’d like the landscaping team to take care of the overgrown vegetation. You’ll have the support of the town’s urban forestry team for this job.” The landscaping manager nods at me. “But the real issue is the amount of trash littering the area.” I turn toward Christian’s wife. “Which is why I asked you, Lana, to come along. The only way I can see to clear an area that vast is if we organize a volunteer event, and you’re the only person I know who has experience in the field. Is it doable?”
“Everything is possible with a little hard work,” Lana replies with a bright smile. And I swear I’ve never seen someone so excited about picking up trash. “How big of an area are we talking about?”
“The lake is roughly 330 acres.”
Lana ponders for a moment. “I can contact my old organization to see if they can provide the basic equipment, trash bags, grabbers, and so on. But to clear such a large area, we’d require a massive turnout of volunteers. But nothing a few famous influencers can’t pull off.” She places a hand on Christian’s arm. “Good thing we have a room full of them.”
I shift my attention toward the rest of the cast. “This part is voluntary, of course. I can’t force you to take part or promote the event to your followers, but all the help we can get is welcome. On my part, I can assure you your personal security will be my top priority.”
Chelsea Moreno stands up. “Well, I’m not picking up trash, so count me out. Can I go now? I was supposed to have a facial half an hour ago.”
The actress stalks out of the room, and Lana smirks at me. We exchange a silent yeah-a-man-would-be-crazy-to-touch-that stare, and we get back to work on the event.
The rest of the cast proves a lot more supportive, which is already half the battle. With their combined followers, I’m positive we’re going to recruit a small army of volunteers. Next, I task the Graphics people with the design of a flyer to promote the event, put Celia in charge of the social media, and finally ask Lana, “When do you think we can realistically set a date?”
“Ten days should be more than sufficient to get the ball rolling. How about Sunday, next week?”
“Great. Okay, everyone.” I clap my hands. “Thanks for grinding this out with me, let’s get back to work.”
The room slowly empties. As people file out, I massage my temples. My head is hurting from the lack of food and my ego hasn’t felt so chafed in a long time.
And the worst part is I can’t even go out for a drink with my friends to unwind. Two days into this nightmare of an assignment, and I’d already sell my soul to be back in New York.
* * *
The rest of the week is just as awful. All I do is work, work, work to satisfy Travis’s requests. Friday and Saturday evening I don’t even consider going out. I’m in bed before nine and up by six. But the stress must catch up to me because when I wake up on Sunday, the sun is already half up in the sky. I’m not even sure what woke me until a weight shifts on my feet. I open my eyes and meet the gaze of a large feline. I scream.
I’ve no idea how a lynx got into my bed, but the animal now lowers its large, pointed ears while its orange-yellow eyes meet mine in an annoyed scowl, as if my screaming was deeply inconveniencing him.
We stare at each other for a second longer, then the beast drops its gaze and begins licking its thick silver-tabby mantle.
“Gosh, how did you get in my room?”
I check the window, but it’s closed.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter how the predator got in, only that I get out before it eats me for breakfast.
As I dash out of bed, my feet get caught in the blankets and I trip, landing in a heap on the floor.
The lynx pauses his cleaning routine and stares down at me with a pitiful air.
An unexpected knock on the door makes me jolt.
Then someone calls my name. And I never would’ve imagined being grateful to hear Travis Hunt’s voice, but I rush to the door and fling it open.
“I heard you scream. What’s up?” Travis asks, looking worried. Then he takes me in, and adds, “Did you look in the mirror and get scared?”
“Oh, you’re a real gentleman, Mr. Mayor!” I snap, then point to the bed. “There’s a feral beast taking a spa break on my bed.”
“My mom’s cat?” Travis asks back.
Hiding behind Travis, I inspect the animal nestled between the sheets. It has the shape of a cat, albeit a larger one that must’ve ingested a double dose of skele-gro as a kitten.
“That’s a cat? Not some sort of mountain lion? Are you sure?”
“Fluffy is a Maine Coon, a larger breed.”
“Fluffy, eh? If he’s your mother’s cat, how come I’ve never seen him around the farm?”
“He’s a bit of a vagabond,” Travis says, approaching the bed to pick up the animal. “He comes and goes as he pleases. I thought it’d take more than a little furball to scare you…” Travis chuckles, looking me up and down.
That’s when I realize how unpresentable I must look, wearing only a white T-shirt, crew socks, and with unbrushed hair. Instinctively, I smooth it down with my fingers, hoping it isn’t too frizzy.
But what do you care? You hate this man! I mentally scold myself.
Precisely, and that’s why it’s even more important to appear presentable in front of the enemy.
Does the T-shirt even cover my bottom? I self-consciously pull down the hem. I need him out of my room.
“Well, thank you for retrieving the monster, I suppose,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint to go.
“If you want to have breakfast, Mom is making her special Sunday brunch downstairs.”
“I’ll be down in a moment,” I dismiss him.
After Travis clears the door, I search my bag for a pocket mirror to check my hair and yelp in horror once I flip it open.
The hair is the last of my problems.
This past week I’ve worked myself into the ground. And last night I was so tired I’ve fallen asleep with a purifying clay mask on my face. And now, I look like a green monster about ready to crackle!
I hear Travis chuckle down the hall. “I take it you’ve found a mirror!” he calls.
Insufferable, arrogant twit!
I grab a change of clothes, a set of fresh towels, and head to the bathroom for a hot shower. I lock myself in, drop the clothes and towels on the small white stool next to the sink, and get into the tub, yanking the shower curtain closed behind me.
As the water hits my face, I sneer at the prospect of another bright day in the country. Even the cats are freaks here.
I scrub the clay from my face, scraping at it with my fingernails. The mud is so dry, the process takes a while. I turn off the water and feel my face for any residual speck. I’d say I got it all, but I’d better check in the mirror. I pull the shower curtain open, but instead of my reflection, I meet Travis’s stunned gaze as he enters the bathroom.
“What are you doing in here?” I screech.
Instinctively, I yank the shower curtain down to cover myself. But in my panic, I pull so hard that I dislodge the overhead pole which, in a whipping movement, hits Travis square on the forehead.
Travis stumbles backward, putting both hands to his forehead, and collapses on the floor with his back against the bathroom door.