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When they arrived this afternoon. She thought she had time.
“A target?” the interviewer—Sofia—said down below. “Ooh, looks like someone knows how to hit a bull’s-eye. What kind of gun do you use, Zane?”
Daphne tripped over her feet running for the patio door. Even if Chris knew guns, he’d have no idea what kind she had.
“Whatever tool serves the purpose,” Chris said below. “That’s what guns are up here, whether it’s hunting or defending. They’re a tool. Never a toy.”
Okay, that was a good answer. Daphne held the patio door open a crack as she eavesdropped.
“Of course,” Sofia murmured. “But I’m sure our viewers would like a little insight into the tools you use. What’s your favorite gun?”
Daphne yanked open the door, ready to call… something. Anything.
“Actually,” Chris said. “This may come as a surprise, but I prefer the smaller weapons. I know, some men like them big, and I’m not going to say anything about that”—he fake-coughed into his hand while saying “overcompensation,” making everyone laugh—“but I prefer the smallest weapon that will do the job. Now, if you come over here, you’ll get the best view of the lake.”
“In a minute,” Sofia said. “Leaving guns aside for a moment, let’s talk about archery. Your bio says—”
Daphne lunged out the door just as an acrid smell tickled her nose.
The muffins! Shit!
She shouted, “Coffee break!” a little too loudly and then dashed to rescue the burning muffins.
CHRIS
Was there anything better than this? Sitting on a deck, overlooking a wilderness paradise of lakes and mountains, with a mug of freshly ground coffee in one hand and a freshly baked muffin in the other? There was even a dog. Tika was stretched on the deck, panting softly as the crew tried to coax her over with muffin bits. She was having none of it, having firmly planted herself at the feet of her person. Even that only added to the perfection of the scene, a gorgeous woman with her loyal canine standing guard.
The only thing that would make this moment better?
If he could choke down a bite of the muffin or a sip of the coffee. Oh, there was nothing wrong with either. The coffee smelled incredible, and he knew from yesterday that the taste lived up to the advertising. The muffin was a little brown at the edges, but that was how he liked them.
The problem was his stomach, which had twisted into a hard knot that refused to accept even a nibble.
He’d led Daphne to believe he could pull off the macho Zane stuff, and he couldn’t, and that was…
… humiliating.
Oh, he knew it shouldn’t be. Knowing how to chop wood or shoot a gun wasn’t a requirement for being male, but it kinda felt like it.
How did he admit he was nothing like Zane? That he hadn’t even camped since he was a kid?
He’d thought he’d dodged the gun question, but it was only a matter of time before Sofia returned to it. He had to tell Daphne the truth. Now. She had to know he didn’t have the experience he claimed and wasn’t an actor who could even be relied upon to act the part.
He only had so many chances before Sofia realized Zane’s bio was fake. That could ruin Daphne’s career. If Daphne knew the truth, they could come up with a plan, one she would be—he hoped—confident that her partner was competent and self-aware enough to follow.
Let’s just hope she agreed, and she didn’t kick his ass out for lying.
Oh, I’m sorry, Sofia, but Zane came down with a sudden illness and won’t be able to finish the interview. I hope you got enough footage.
“Zane?”
Hearing Daphne’s voice, he snapped out of it, only to see everyone looking at him expectantly, which suggested someone had been saying “his” name for a while now.
“Lost in plotting again, huh?” Daphne said, rolling her eyes for Sofia. “He is such a writer.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said with a smile.
Sofia leaned his way. “I was just saying that I’d love to get some footage of you holding a rifle. Can we do that? Show us your guns?”
