Page 27 of Hate To Be Mine

The craft services tent was set up about fifty yards from the main shooting area, a blessed oasis of shade and snacks. I ducked inside, grateful for the reprieve from the morning sun that was already making my hangover worse.

That was my fault. The cold beer and my solo musing had turned into six beers. And now I was the beneficiary of a hangover made worse by jet lag and stress.

Cookie was there, organizing boxes of granola bars and setting out fruit. One table already had bottled green juices and lettuce wraps with turkey arranged neatly in rows. The stocky woman was maybe sixty, with gray hair she kept in a practical braid and a no-nonsense energy that kept people in line without her ever having to say anything.

She’d been doing craft services for Blackwell shoots since before I started modeling. She could keep a crew fed and happy under any circumstances. I didn’t actually know her real name. Everyone just called her Cookie. And for the Miratoa shoot, this tent was Cookie’s kingdom.

“Sebastian,” she said without looking up from the bananas she was arranging. “Y’all just started and you’re taking a break already?”

“Something like that.” I grabbed a bag of trail mix from one of the bins, tore it open, and shoved a handful into my mouth. The salt and sweet hit my system like a small miracle. What I needed was a plate of hashbrowns, eggs, and a gallon of coffee. It was a proven hangover cure. For now, I would have to settle for salty nuts.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked as she stacked biodegradable napkins in a holder.

“You could say that.” I munched down another handful of trail mix. “The insurance company sent the world’s most annoying woman to torment us. She’s already throwing wrenches into everything.”

Cookie made a sympathetic noise. “Insurance people. They’re all the same. More worried about liability than letting you do your job.”

“Exactly!” I gestured with the trail mix bag, scattering a few pieces. “I had a great shot lined up, dramatic, beautiful, exactly what we need to launch this campaign. And she just ruined it. In front of everyone. Made me look like an idiot.”

Cookie glanced my way. “What did she do?”

“She told me putting Clarissa in that spot wasn’t safe.” I rolled my eyes and chewed my granola.

“Was it safe?”

I paused mid-chew. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Mm-hmm.” She went back to arranging fruit.

I finished the trail mix in a few more aggressive handfuls, tossed the empty bag in the trash, and grabbed another one for the road. “It’s going to be a long shoot,” I muttered.

“Sounds like it,” Cookie agreed. “But hey, at least the weather’s nice.”

I groaned. “Don’t jinx it, Cookie. You know better than that.”

She laughed and shooed me away. I left the tent, already opening trail mix number two, and pulled out my phone. My hands were still shaking slightly—from anger or adrenaline or the remnants of last night’s beer, I wasn’t sure.

I needed advice. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy, that Bernadette was being unreasonable, that I had every right to be pissed off.

I called Briggs. He wouldn’t sugar coat his opinion. The man was a straight shooter, almost to a fault.

He answered on the third ring. “Hey, how’s day one going?”

“I can’t work with this woman,” I said without preamble. “The insurance rep. She’s a nightmare. She’s questioning every decision I make in front of the crew, bringing production to a complete halt, making me look incompetent. Ruining the entire creative process. It’s going to end up being stale and boring, just like her!”

“Sebastian, slow down. What happened?”

I paced away from the craft services tent and headed down to the beach, away from the shoot location. No one needed to hear my conversation. The crew had heard enough already.

I ran a hand over my face, feeling the rasp of stubble. “I had my first shot set up. First shot of the whole shoot, mind you. Clarissa on a cliff edge, dramatic backdrop, perfect lighting. And Bernadette grabbed a stick and started pounding it into the ground to show the rock was unstable. Scared the model so badly she ran off crying. Now I have to completely redo the whole setup.”

“Was the rock unstable?”

“I mean, a little. But that’s not the point. Clarissa was just going to stand there. She wasn’t going to be dancing or jumping.”

“If the rock was unstable and you put someone on it, that would be bad. It sounds like Bernadette saved our butts.” He paused. “And Clarissa’s.”

“Fine, but Bernadette didn’t have to humiliate me in front of everyone. She could have pulled me aside, discussed it privately, and figured out a solution together. Instead, she made a big dramatic show of it and got kind of personal, if I’m being honest.”