Page 45 of Have To Be Mine

“Alright,” Dash said, clapping his hands together. “Crisis averted. Let’s get to work, people. We’ve got a beach to shoot.”

The tent emptied quickly, everyone heading off to their respective stations. The production manager looked like she might cry from relief.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching Dash pocket his phone with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“See?” he said, turning to me. “Handled.”

Something ugly twisted in my chest. Not admiration. Not relief. Disgust.

“You think that was impressive?” I asked.

His smile faltered slightly. “I know it was. I solved the problem.”

“You threw money at your mistake,” I corrected. “That’s not solving a problem. That’s buying your way out of consequences.”

“They got paid. They’re happy. What’s the issue?”

“The issue is that you let it get to this point in the first place!” My voice rose despite my best efforts to stay calm. “Paying people is literally the bare minimum, Dash. It’s the most basic part of running a production. You don’t get a gold star for eventually doing what you should have done two days ago.”

“I added a bonus to make up for it. “

“You bought them off. You can afford to because you’re a billionaire!” I stepped closer to him, my hands clenched at my sides. “You think that makes you some kind of hero? You’re not. You’re just a rich guy who can throw money at problems instead of actually preventing them.”

His jaw tightened. “I handled it.”

“No, you reacted to it. There’s a difference.” I could feel the heat in my face, the frustration that had been building since Athens finally boiling over. “This is exactly what your family was worried about. This is why they hired me. Because you operate in crisis mode. You wait until everything is on fire and then you play the hero who puts it out.”

“Better than letting it burn,” he shot back.

“How about not letting it catch fire in the first place?” I wanted to shake him. “Do you have any idea how unprofessional this is? These people showed up to work, ready to do their jobs, and you couldn’t be bothered to make sure they got paid on time. That’s not just careless, Dash. It’s disrespectful.”

“You’re just mad that you didn’t get to be the hero of the day.”

I slapped my hand to my forehead. “I don’t want to be the hero of the day. That’s why I plan ahead. I plan and then I execute. You’re a fucking disaster.”

15

DASH

Krista stormed off toward the photography area, her ponytail swinging with each angry step. She was pissed? Seriously? She was the one that came at me. Always. The woman had a fucking problem. Me. I was her problem. I hadn’t done shit to her. She hated me and wanted to do all she could to fuck with me.

I fixed it. Everyone was paid. Everyone was happy. The shoot was happening. But somehow, in Krista Hedley’s world, that wasn’t good enough because I hadn’t done it her way.

The humiliation burned through my chest like acid. She’d dressed me down in front of the production crew. Okay, not in front of them exactly—most had already left the tent—but close enough. And the way she’d looked at me, like I was some spoiled child, made me want to punch something.

“Mr. Blackwell?”

I looked up to find the production coordinator hovering nearby, clutching her tablet.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For handling that. I was worried we’d lose half the crew.”

“No problem.”

“And the bonus was really generous. Good for the Blackwell brand.”

“No problem.”

At least someone appreciated what I’d done.