Page 2 of My Prince

I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah,” I grunted. I would talk to the camera crew when I was good and ready.

“You think I can have my dogs back now?” Yarder asked. “Poppy is getting pretty attached to them and doesn’t appreciate you using them to avoid everyone.”

“I’m not using them. I can’t help it if they like to be outside, and I’m willing to be out here with them.”

Yarder chuckled. “Harley, Davidson,” he called. “Get your butts in the clubhouse before your mother throws a fit.”

Harley and Davidson happily trotted over to Yarder and followed him back into the clubhouse.

I tapped my fingers on the armrest and sighed. I was dealing with enough shit right now and didn’t need to have a camera shoved in my face so I could spew all my thoughts and emotions.

Stopping Boone and Gibbs was my top priority. Adalee and the TV show could kick rocks.

Chapter Two

Adalee

“I don’t want to see another second of him, Adalee.”

I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear and grabbed a stack of papers off the corner of my desk. “You didn’t like the footage we sent?” I asked.

“The footage you sent was forty-five minutes of Pirate talking. Fucking rambling!”

I cringed and shuffled through the papers. “We’re working on more footage, Don.”

“You’ve been saying that for five days, Adalee. I want to see more and better footage. I want the guy who pulled the trigger.”

It was like Don didn’t realize these were actual people and not actors. I had been telling Yarder for the past three days I needed to talk to Fade, but I was getting shut down. “I’m working on pinning him down. He’s tied up with the rebuilding of the body shop.”

“If that’s the case, then grab Garett and Mark and follow him being tied up with the garage rebuild. We’ve only got enough footage for seven episodes, and we need to be wrapped up with filming in a month. I need footage and interviews for at least eight more episodes,” Don demanded. “And I don’t want another fucking minute of Pirate on my desk.”

The line went dead.

I sighed heavily and sat back. I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.

I knew Don would not be happy with the footage I sent over this morning, but I figured I wouldn’t hear back from him until Monday at the earliest.

Obviously, I had been wrong.

The studio was breathing down Don’s neck, wanting Tread to be the next best reality TV show, and he was passing that pressure onto me.

Pirate was the only guy who willingly talked to me. The girls did, too, but I knew that Don wanted the guys. This was a reality show about the club members, not their ol’ ladies.

Though, honestly, after being around the club and their ol’ ladies, I had to think the women would put on one hell of a show, too.

I was sure a spinoff would happen if the original Tread did well.

We just had to get enough footage for eight more episodes. That was not easy with a motorcycle club that didn’t want us around and only told us half the truth.

Three other clubs were being filmed, and I wondered if those crews were having as hard a time as I was.

Most people would think my job was pretty cool, but for me, it wasn’t.

This wasn’t at all what I wanted to be doing with my life, but I didn’t have a choice. This was my job, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.

I paged through my notes, hoping something would emerge that would help pacify Don, but nothing did. “Dammit,” I whispered.

There wasn’t a damn thing in my notes that Don was going to want other than Fade in front of the camera.

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