Page 1 of The Grumpy Storm Chaser

Chapter 1

Colby

I tug at the collar of my dress shirt. It’s getting hot beneath the bright stage lights and a sheen of sweat is starting to gather on my upper lip. The makeup artist for the photoshoot darts forward to dab my face with a towel.

The photographer waits for her to leave the set before raising his camera once more. “How do you feel about props? Perhaps an umbrella…”

I glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

Photoshoots are the bane of my existence. When I accepted the on-air meteorologist position at Rise and Shine, Los Angeles four years ago, I knew my face would be splashed across magazines and TV screens throughout the country. It’s a nationally syndicated television program with a large viewership. I just grossly underestimated how much time I’d spend with photographers. I am a scientist, but America views me as a celebrity. It’s annoying as hell.

The photographer tilts his head in thought. “Let’s try a few with a smile?”

My patience is running out faster than a startled cat, and I open my mouth to tell him I’d like the umbrella after all—to shove straight up his ass. My sister, Marjorie, notices my darkening mood and quickly steps into her role as my manager.

“Colby doesn’t smile in photos. He’s known throughout the country as the grumpy meteorologist. That’s his brand.”

The photographer frowns. “I just thought—”

“Well, don’t,” Marjorie says. “Viewers love his grumpy face, and Rise and Shine, Los Angeles has built a whole marketing campaign around it for years. So, let’s just stick with what works, okay?”

It’s true that viewers love my grumpy disposition. Thousands of t-shirts with my grumpy face have been printed and sold, as well as other merchandise like coffee mugs and stickers.

I wasn’t always so grumpy. Once upon a time, I loved meteorology. But working in southern California doesn’t offer much of a challenge. It’s sunny and warm nearly every day. Most of the time, I just stand in front of the green screen and point to the cartoon sun in the upper corner. Sometimes, I get to mention the smog index or the pollen count, but there’s very little forecasting to be done. By the end of the first year, I was scowling as I gave the weather reports.

Marjorie is a marketing and PR genius, so she made a pitch to the station to start marketing me as the grumpy meteorologist. The rest is history.

The photographer frowns. “Maybe we could get a few with him wearing sunglasses and flip-flops?”

Marjorie shakes her head. “You know what? I think we have more than enough pictures. Thank you for your time today.”

“Yes, thank you,” I agree with a nod. The photographer glowers at me, packing up his gear.

“It really wouldn’t kill you to smile every now and then,” Marjorie whispers to me under her breath. “We live and work in paradise. Be grateful.”

“I’d rather be somewhere with actual weather,” I respond. Before Rise and Shine, Los Angeles, I worked for a news station in Louisville, Kentucky. No one called me grumpy back then. “In fact, I’ve been thinking—”

“Well, well, well…” a familiar—and unwelcome—voice calls out from behind me. “If it isn’t Colby Raynes, Mr. Grumpy McGrump Face himself.”

Marjorie shakes her head, frowning. “Grumpy McGrump Face? What are you, Oscar? Twelve?”

I slowly turn to face Oz Metzer. My rival. My nemesis. My former best friend.

I fold my arms across my chest. “What brings you to L.A., Oz?”

His face stretches into a grin. “I’m here to consult on a climate-change disaster flick. You know the type. Hailstorms, tornadoes, city-killer hurricanes. That sort of thing.”

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. There’s one sensational storm scene after the other until a sexy scientist wearing a bikini beneath her lab coat saves the day?”

“Yep. And they’re paying me a king’s ransom,” Oz says. “It’s sort of funny that they didn’t just hire you. You’re already on the studio’s payroll, after all. But I suppose they wanted someone with real-life forecasting experience.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “We both know I’m the better forecaster.”

He laughs. “School was a long time ago. While you’ve been here in sunny California, I’ve been tracking supercells and tornadoes across the country. I have real-world experience that you just can’t compete with, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy,” I growl.

Marjorie tugs on my arm. “Ignore him,” she says. “We have better things to do.”

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