Page 4 of Just Can't Fall for the Enemy

I slammed on my brakes just in time. A doe stood there, ready to spring, watching me curiously.

I uttered a curse under my breath. “Where did you come from?” Her ears flicked back and forth as if she heard me, though she didn’t move an inch. Apparently she didn’t want me returning to my hotel anytime soon.

“You were this close to becoming deer jerky, lady dude,” I told her, holding up my thumb and index finger to indicate an inch, though the animal didn’t seem to care.She stared at me for a long moment before continuing on her way, heading for the shops across the street like she had a bag of cash and time to spare. I ended the recording and blew out a breath to steady my nerves. I would delete that last clip and start again tomorrow. Thoughts of the woman at the restaurant filled my mind, making it impossible to think about my channel right now. The way her brown eyes flashed when she spoke and the twinkle in them had me wishing I’d asked her out rather than just hinting at it. But then, I would only be here for six days.

The last thing I needed was another person to say goodbye to.

Someone behind me honked, and I flinched, checking my rearview mirror. The deer was long gone, and I looked like a doofus hanging out in the middle of the road. I stuck my hand out the window and waved. “Sorry,” I called out and took my foot off the brake.

The second I arrived at the hotel and plopped onto the hard bed, my phone rang. “Tanner Carmichael,” I said without bothering to glance at the screen. My focus was on the moth fluttering around on the ceiling. How did that get in? Probably the window. A terrible draft blew through from the ill-fitted frame, which looked like it had been installed in the 1800s.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Jill said.

My pulse quickened at hearing my assistant’s voice. She must have heard back from Guy Hadley. “Try me.”

“He’s interested.” There was a note of excitement to her voice but also an edge of hesitation.

I stamped down the thrill inside at her news. “But?”

“He likes your stuff, but he wants to see more than just places and history. He wants a video that feels more personal. Something with drama and authenticity.”

I was confused, but Jill went on. “He wants something that features the people within the city—their stories and why they chose to live there and what it’s really like.”

“So he wants me to completely change my content.” My first response was to get angry. Who did this guy think he was? I had twenty million followers. That wasn’t a number to joke about, especially since gaining subscribers was becoming much more difficult these days. Of course, there were several influencers who had more than I did. A lot more. But most didn’t even come close to my numbers.

Jill paused. “Maybe not permanently. I think one solid episode would do the trick.”

My pride still smarted at Guy’s critique. I wasn’t sure I wanted to change anything, let alone the very heart of my channel.

“I’ll call you back,” I said and hung up.

I wasn’t a diva and never had been. Brands had turned me down before, and that was fine. But this was different. I really wanted to collaborate with Guy. Or at least I needed him if I wanted to continue to grow my business. And I did—more than anything. I couldn’t say why, but the more success I had, the more I craved. Bigger, better. Higher. That hunger kept me going on the hard and lonely days. Besides, my videos were art, each one feeding into the next, like I was telling the story of the location for my viewers.

Grumbling my frustration, I tucked my phone into my back pocket and hopped onto my computer to do a little research on Huckleberry Creek. Not much to find. It was the one problem with randomly choosing my locations on a map in front of millions of people—I had no idea what I would find there, if anything.

Clearly, I wouldn’t be compiling a script based on what I found online. I needed to recruit a local to help, someone who knew the town well and loved it fiercely. Someone acquainted with every single one of those 1,100 people who made their lives in Huckleberry Creek. Some well-respected person who knew their stories.

Someone like the woman from the restaurant.

I thought for a long moment, took out my phone, and texted Jill.

I’m in.

Three

When my brunettemodel of a best friend and roommate walked in, she found me with knife held high, ready to stab downward.

“Don’t do it!” Carmen cried, giggling. “I love you forever.”

“Sorry. I have to.” With a grunt, I plunged the plastic knife into my salad in an attempt to cut the hard meat—and promptly broke it with a snap.

We broke into a fit of laughter, and she dropped her purse onto the table. “Where’s mine?”

“Thiswasyours. Now it’s mine.” I shoved the entire wad of meat into my mouth.

Her lips curled into a pout. “Not my Mexican salad.”

“Mm-hmm.”

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