Page 48 of My Grape Crush
I would appreciate more than a respectful smile. What is it going to take to break her barrier?
“We’re in this together,” I say, making it clear she can count on me. “Aside from our swimming wager, of course.” I wink. “Think you can beat me to the raft? Because we still have to play that fair and square.”
That does it. Her eyes light up, the spark I was aiming for. “Are we putting money on that?” she shoots back.
“We could bet on a few different outcomes.”
I smile, short of fixing her with admiring eyes. Timeless idiocy, me being King Obvious, but whatever. The Sawyer obstacle toppled has me screaming for the finish line.
And who ruins the moment but the duo I wanted nothing to do with?
Francis and Rita stroll in, assuming an open door means they can forgo the courtesy of knocking.
“Hey, man,” Francis says in that chummy way of film folk who approximate their hiring with Insta-friend status. I already know his reedy voice will get under my skin within minutes. “This is Rita.”
He gestures at the unsmiling lump beside him who radiates all the charm of Charles Manson crossed with a troll. Her butch stance suggests perpetual conflict or an incoming headlock with one of her heavily tattooed arms. Hardcore bee-yotch brims in eyes cold and brown as coffee stains, in case her t-shirt printed with THIS SHIT IS EXTRA didn’t tip you off. The only thing missing is a rifle slung across her shoulders.
“Who do I talk to about getting some oat milk in our cabin?” is the first thing she demands. “I don’t do dairy.”
Dani's eyes snap to mine with an uncertain stare. Did she expect some polite witticism to fly out of that scowling mouth? Welcome to Charm School.
I knew I should have pushed harder for no film crew.
Chapter Fifteen
DANI
I cutthrough the parking lot, greeting the first wave of winetasters crawling out of their Carreras and Cadillacs. My head throbs. The irritation that crept over my skin has yet to disappear. The Francis and Rita show. Talk about a lesson in tediousness.
I felt my eyes cross as Francis painstakingly mapped out focal lengths, shutter speeds and filters, forgetting entirely the purpose of our meeting was not about him. Rhys thankfully cut him off, but then his waif sidekick Rita chimed in, all gloom and doom about capturing sound while battling groupies.
God, what a piece of work.
I found her morbidly fascinating. Young and dogged, all clothes made from hemp, because, well … earth. Five-feet-nothing of global activist lecturing Rhys on his dismal carbon footprint, flying halfway around the world to hawk booze.
When I gently reminded her about manners, she scowled at me like I clubbed baby seals for fun.
I feel for Rhys stuck with those two all day.
I swing into my office and decide to give it an hour before I call Bettina and ask what the hell she was thinking. I need my murderous thoughts about Rita to subside. If she pulls any warrior shit with Nicole, the firm plant of a Croc on her ass will be the next thing she feels.
And speaking of feeling…
Rhys posts shirtless all the time—who wouldn’t with those abs? But dayum. He made it impossible to concentrate. Board shorts slung low on his slim hips. A band of thick elastic stitched with POLO RALPH LAUREN snugged tight against his muscles tanned gold. Sitting two feet away from him in the kitchen, I could count the soft blond hairs guarding his nipples.
I’ve never felt emotions like that before, never felt that … covetous.
And here I thought his fangirls would be the death of me.
Barely a minute after I plunk behind the desk to collect my unpure thoughts, the office phone rings. An unknown number. My intuition saysdo not pick up. Trouble always comes in threes.
Fangirls. Francis and Rita. Is the universe saving the worst for last?
I chew the inside of my cheek before picking up on the fifth ring. “Marketing, this is Dani.”
“Miss Rialto?” a drawling male voice asks.
Right away, from his tone, I know this isn’t good. I clear my throat. “This is she.”
