“Hello?”
Glen’s voice booms through the earpiece, already sounding frayed at the edges.
“Chloe, we’re doing confessionals. I need you on theLovedeck.”
“Now?” I rap my knuckles on my iPhone to wake it and check the time. It isn’t even close to call time. “I thought you needed me to grab some time-lapse footage of us coming into port?”
“I’ve sent a cam assist to do that. Doug is down with some kind of bug, and we want to get footage before the group leaves for their first excursion.”
I glance at my battery chargers; they all blink green, which means my equipment is fully charged. No excuse not to say yes.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll meet you upstairs in fifteen?”
“Make it ten.”
Before I can respond to Glen’s clipped words, he hangs up.
My eyes scan over the tray of half-eaten food and I’m silently grateful for Nolan’s thoughtfulness. Glen’s snippy tone only annoyed me half as much as it usually does.
Maybe Nolan was on to something with this whole “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” thing.
It certainly makes you better equipped to handle assholes.
By the time I make it up to theLove at First Saildeck, the sun has broken over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of periwinkle and forget-me-not blue. Lazy waves lap at the side of the ship, and the faint cries of gulls overhead tells me that we’re nearing port.
I pause for a minute to snap a picture for Kyla, sending it off to her with a heart emoji. Her reply arrives a few seconds later.
KYLA: I hate you so much right now.
I chuckle quietly as I look out over the ocean. As I enjoy the quiet serenity of the sea at dawn, I can’t help but think about Dad.
Hazy memories of early morning fishing trips float to the surface of my mind, and for a moment, I let them linger. Dad loved watching the sun rise, and the peaceful contentment that came with it in the hour before most of the world rose for the day. I had never been an early bird, except for when we enjoyed time together out on the lake.
Kyla almost always turned down Dad’s offer to bring her along. Sometimes she would join us just to read, but the older she got, the more we usually had to drop her off on the shore so she could find something else to occupy her brain. Unlike Kyla and her need to be constantly moving, Dad and I had no problem floating in absolute silence, waiting patiently for abite from a pickerel or trout. Hell, I was even psyched when I caught a Northern Sunfish.
Because, to me, the point hadn’t been to catch much of anything; it was to spend time just sitting beside the man who raised me—who took over so seamlessly when Mom died—and enjoying a few quiet moments to ourselves.
The sound of heels clicking along the deck pulls me from my memories, and I turn to see Molly striding toward me. A young junior PA whose name I can’t recall stumbles as they try to keep up with her.
Molly’s dressed in a sparkly gold romper and red-soled, black high-heeled sandals. Her outfit must have cost a fortune. I’m not caught up with what she’s been doing with her life—I deleted Molly off all my socials, and since our falling out we’ve never run in the same circles—so while I’m not exactly thrilled to see her face today, Iamcurious to learn more about what she’s been up to in the years since I saw her last. In particular, what line of work she’s in that allows her to afford that kind of outfit.
I know she’s recognized me the minute her gaze lands on my face—one sharp brow arches upward and her full, glossy lips curve into a sneer.
I feel nauseated under her stare.
Now I remember why I never eat breakfast.
“Chloe,” is all she says, rolling her eyes as she strides past me into the confessionals room.
Anger flares in my chest.
What is her problem?
She’sthe one who single-handedly blew up my career before it even had a chance to begin. Why is she acting likeIdid something wrong?
I follow her across the deck, pushing open the thick black door to the mini soundstage that was built specifically for filming contestant confessionals. The room is large, the ceilings swooping up high, almost like a sail. Halfway across the room,a single chair is placed in front of two cameras, a surplus of lighting equipment, a monitor, and a producer’s chair.
The best part about filming in this space is that the equipment stays here. Camera operators are responsible for backing up their own footage afterward, but not having to lug my camera here and set up is already a better start to my workday than usual, even if Molly had tried to poison it.
