Page 64 of Famous for a Living

I love this moment for what it is, absolutely. No question.

But I also have an awareness in the back of my mind of what it could be: a redemption opportunity.

People are going to love this.

People are going to eat this up.

I can practically hear the comments now.

The outpouring of praises.

Cat Cranwell. Adventurous. Carefree. And with freshly applied lipstick still in place.

The golden trio.

The thing all content creators worth their salt aspire to.

My heart is racing as I review the clip.

It was good, but it could be better. I shift, swipe a couple drops away from my cheeks, pull a few strands forward in front of my ear.

Smile.

Twinkle my eyes.

Press the button again.

Slam!

My breath knocks from my lungs as somebody yanks me off the river bottom.

I feel myself being lifted and seized backward. Water gurgles in protest as I’m dragged against the current. It only takes a glance to recognize it’s Zaiah’s arm wrapped entirely around my torso, pulling me back into his chest. The other hand presses over my mouth, clearly not to hurt but to keep me quiet.

Uselessly my feet dangle in front of me, bobbing like two buoys.

It’s only until we are behind the boulder bordering the river that he stops.

The hot river water is loud, but not loud enough to drown out his hushed words. “Geez, Cat.” His voice is low, growling. “C’mon.”

Miraculously, I’m still clinging to my phone, the video still rolling as he slips out of the water and onto the bank. I scramble clumsily out behind him, ignoring the rocks that nip at my toes.

He crouches as he moves, keeping his head lower than the boulder between us and the moose.

I follow suit.

The sun dips westward as we enter the forest, the deceiving orange orb of the sun all looks but no results. My body tingles with the pricks of a thousand icy needles. A twig snaps underfoot and Zaiah turns, giving me a look.

Finally, the river so far away it’s only a distant gurgle, he stops. In a thick set of pines he turns. “What—” he sputters, then stops. His fists clench as he inhales. Then he speaks again with what appears to be measured calm. “What were you thinking?”

Yeah. He didn’t sound much better.

My chest tightens. The video is still running in my hand. I tap it off. “I gave myself some distance, Zaiah. I’m not an idiot.”

“You were standing waist deep . . . in water. Ten feet off. That is by definition idiotic. We have warning signs all over the park literally depicting a tourist standing ten feet off from a moose. Have you not seen any of them?”

He rakes his hand through his hair and shoots his gaze away from me as he takes another breath. I’ve never seen him look so angry.

“I was quiet,” I say defensively, although I can feel my ears starting to heat. “And I was a lot more than ten feet off. More like thirty.”