Page 15 of Hunter

“You got it, Hunter!”

Back through the dining room, I hoof it up the stairs to the third-floor upper deck. There are twenty-three cabins up there where forty-five members ofThe Astonishing Raceproduction crew, including me, are living and working for the next three weeks.

The Cabin Deck, on the second floor, has twelve cabins larger and nicer than ours that are allocated to the contestants of the race and the show’s host, Nat Keegan. It also has a lounge, a bar, and a large open deck area with a hot tub. I overheard some guys on the production crew talking about hidden camerasplaced in and around the hot tub, hoping to catch illicit moments between opposing team members.

This whole ship is covered with cameras, in fact. Every hallway, shared, and private space (with the exception of lavatories) is wired to catch every juicy comment, every little argument, every scheming contestant. I get it that the little intrigues of the show can boost its popularity, but it skeeves me out a little, too. I’m glad I’m part of the production staff and not a contestant, whose every word and gesture will be scrutinized by the TV audience at home.

“Hey, Hunter!”

My roommate, Rick Jones, opens the door to our shared room and lets it slam shut behind him.

“Hey, Rick.”

Fact: Nick was not lying about Rick Jones. He is a total and complete douche.

A little younger than me, in his midtwenties, he’s a spoiled rotten nepo-baby, who leaves all the work to his assistants and barely lifts a finger to help us. I can’t stand him.

“What’s shaking, old man?” he asks me.

And I fucking hate it that he calls me “old man” just because I’m in my thirties.

“Not much.”

“Well, I just fucked Cynthia,” he says, plopping down on his bed. “What do you think about that?”

Cynthia’s on Marisol’s team and looks just out of high school.

“Is she over eighteen?”

“Barely,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“You like her?”

“I liked her mouth on my dick.”

Douche.

“You’re a real sweetheart,” I say.

“What can I say? The ladies love me.”

Well, your coworkers don’t, I’m tempted to retort, but I bite back the words. I really would like to create a strong working relationship with Jones’s Tourism, and Rick’s my “in.” I don’t want to rock the boat.

“Hey, um…did you make sure the pit stop for tomorrow was ironed out?” I ask.

“Huh?” He looks up from his phone. “Nah. I told my dad that you or Tit would do it.”

“Kit,” I say, “is looking for a birding expert in Sitka since the one you found fell through.”

“Then you do it…somewhere else, if possible,” he says distractedly. “Cynthia’s coming up in a sec. And I told her to bring a friend.”

If this was Tanner or Sawyer? I’d drag them off the bed by their shirt lapels and kick their asses into next week. But he’s not my little brother (thank God), and I know he’d go crying to Daddy if I put hands on him. I guess I’d better go find Kit and make sure that between the two of us, we’ve got tomorrow—and all the other upcoming locations—under control.

“Thanks for the help,” I grunt.

Rick grins at me before sliding his eyes back to his phone. “Anytime.”

I leave our room feeling disgusted and take the stairs up to the top deck where Kit’s been working at a table in the Sun Lounge all morning. There are papers scattered all over the table, held down with empty mugs that were once filled with coffee.

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