Sure, she’s the wild child of the family, but Riley is deeply driven and selfless too. So, watching the odd judgmental side-eye has me noting who needs to go when it comes to the weekly elimination ceremonies.
“Emmett,” Teri, the producer who follows me around almost constantly, gets my attention from where she’s set up at the end of the barn alleyway, stalls lining the concrete strip. “Get in there. Show the girls some of your expertise.”
She’s being encouraging, but I still find myself covering my grimace.
Then I think of Julia. She seems to think that if I’m myself, I can pull this off. The way she’d said it hadn’t been completely complimentary. “The hot bad-boy thing you do” makes my personality sound like some sort of charade.
Maybe it is.
And maybe she’s the first to see past it.
I shake off the invasive thought before shooting the producer a thumbs-up and a grin. As cameras trail behind me and filter into position, I approach one of the women. I think her name is Ashley and based on the way she’s maneuvering the plastic pitchfork in the wood shavings, I would say she’s never mucked a stall in her life. Possibly never even shoveled a sidewalk now that I’m taking a closer look at how she holds the long wooden handle.
I step into the stall and prop a shoulder against the frame of the sliding door. “Want a few pointers?”
She straightens and hits me with a bright smile as she pushes a few strands of mousy blond hair behind her ear. “That would be amazing.”
I smile back as I step into the box stall, its rubber mats covered in dry wood shavings. My boots thump on the ground as I approach her. “May I?” I ask, gripping the handle above her hand as I step in behind her.
“Please,” she murmurs, tilting her head to the side and catching my gaze over her shoulder. It reminds me of Julia looking back at me in my quiet kitchen. I could hardly meet her dark eyes as I’d rolled that fabric up over the smooth expanse of her golden skin. My chest felt like it was vibrating as my heart crashed against my ribs.
I don’t feel that way when I meet Ashley’s blue eyes. The color is all wrong, and part of me wants to shrivel up and die knowing that so many people will be watching us interact.
No, this is nothing like with Julia.
But the cameras are rolling and I need that paycheck, so I toss out a flirtatious grin and bear it as I reach around her narrow shoulders. “Like this. Here. And here,” I murmur, close to her neck, noting her perfume. It’s so strong that it overpowers any hope of that fresh laundry soap smell that has been haunting me since yesterday with Julia.
I place her hands in the correct position on the handle, keeping a respectful distance between my front and her back.
“Ohhh. That feels a lot better.” She giggles and shimmies her shoulders to test the grip, which is enough to draw the eyes of all the other women working in the neighboring stalls.
And where interactions like this are usually my bread and butter, this is uncomfortably phony.
“Just like this.” I forge past my uneasiness, deciding that following through on this scene is worth it. “You scoop.” The tines slide under the manure along with a bunch of shavings. “Lift the rake, then a little shake.”
I move my arms to demonstrate as we shake the rake in tandem. Her back presses against my chest as all the shavings fall through the tines of the fork, and I try to ignore the contact. “And then a little flip,” I instruct. We lift the fork, and I snap my wrists as we flip the scoop.
And just like that, the pieces of manure find their way into the wheelbarrow. “See?”
Ashley squeals as though I’ve cured cancer rather than moved shit from one pile to another.
“Easy. You’re a natural.”
I step back and out of the stall, dusting my hands off, thinking my work here is done. But when I do, several of the other women pipe up, asking for the same help. I scrub a hand over my stubble. Because this is fucking insane.
But it’s better than standing around in a suit, drinking champagne, and making small talk. So I turn to the nearest woman, Jada.
“Want me to show you?”
She quirks one perfectly shaped black brow and glances over at Ashley, amusement dancing in her eyes before she looks back my way. “Listen, I genuinely respect that this is what you do here. I’m enjoying learning about your family legacy. But I’m also not about to pretend I’ll be spending my days shoveling shit if you choose me. No point in starting this thing off with a lie. Better we just clear that up right here and now.”
The corner of my mouth tips up as I regard the woman. Head held proud, she watches me back. Almost daring me to challenge her.
But I don’t.
“I respect that, Jada. Appreciate you being so honest with me.”
She nods, looking pleased. And I nod back, impressed with her directness.
Trying to ignore the way the camera moved closer during that last interaction, I turn searching for the next woman who—unfortunately for me—happens to be Handsy Evelyn.
With a grimace that I hope isn’t too obvious, I hold out a hand in offering. “Evelyn?”
“Of course,” she replies with a saucy wink, as if me offering to help her scoop shit is akin to getting down on one knee.
The energy on set shifts, and the other women look—no, glare—more closely. I can’t help but notice the odd shake of the head as though I’ve let them down by selecting her.
Whatever animosity is building in the bunkhouse is abundantly clear, but I skirt the tension by pretending not to notice. I assume the position with her and go through the same steps. Scoop, shake, flip.
But Evelyn doesn’t give a fuck about scooping shit. She’s too focused on arching her back and rubbing her ass against my dick. It’s something I’d usually be into, but in this setting, it just feels gross.
Especially when I hear Dick Wad whispering, “Camera Two, zoom in on her ass. Yeah, right there. Fuck, that looks good.”
God, he’s so embarrassing.
When I finally step away and look over at him, his expression is totally smarmy—he might as well be rubbing his hands together like a fly on shit.
“Me next!” a woman who introduced herself—unforgettably—as Cookie exclaims.
Akira actually glances around herself like she’s living in some sort of alternate reality. “Ladies, seriously? If pretending you don’t know how a pitchfork works is impressive to a man he’s not worth impressing.”
And I can’t help myself, I laugh. Because she’s right.
Based on the way Teri purses her lips, I suspect she’s seen my reaction. And she doesn’t approve.
So I double down, forcing myself to smile in her direction before turning back to the women. I go through the rounds and give them all the charm I can muster. I help five of the ten women learn how to use a pitchfork as though it’s a special skill.
The experience makes me want to eliminate all five on the spot just for being annoying, but I know Richard would not approve of it. Especially considering he has such a massive boner for Evelyn.
When I finally break free of the final stall, I can’t help but think about Julia. There’s no way in hell she’d need me to show her how to hold a pitchfork. She’d sooner pick it up and beat me with it.
Without meaning to, my eyes find her through the crowd of crew members standing at the end of the barn alleyway. She’s still got that smirk from yesterday plastered on her lips.
We stare at each other for a couple of beats.
I watch as her eyes drop, meandering over my body and landing just below my belt where they stay. I actually look down to see if I’ve spilled something on my jeans. But there’s nothing at all, so I shake it off, refusing to be unnerved by a twenty-five-year-old who is related to my biggest and most obnoxious rival.