Page 21 of Hunter

“Or…” He tilts his head to the side. “Adisadvantage?”

“We dated briefly. It didn’t end well.”

He sits up, staring at me. “Cuz, are you fucking serious right now? Have we got a target on our backs?”

I shrug. “I don’t know for sure, but like I said, it didn’t end well. I broke up with him, and he didn’t—I mean, I think I hurt him.”

He stares at me for a long moment, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “Fix it.”

“Huh?”

“Fix it, Isabella.”

Beto hasn’t once—not one time during this already interminable trip—called me by my proper name. It jolts me.

“What? What do you mean ‘fix it’? How?”

“I dunno. But it’s a million dollars on the line. I’m not losing a million dollars because you pissed off some Alaskan dude.” He rubs his chin. “It’s only three weeks, cuz. Get back together with him.”

“Not an option.”

“Why? He doesn’t want you anymore?”

I remember the way Hunter looked at me as I walked down the aisle at McKenna’s wedding. “He pretty much hates me.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Prima, we’re talking about a million dollars.”

“I know.”

“You gotta deal with this.”

“How?”

“Not my problem,” he says, popping earbuds into his ears. “But get it done.”

As Beto closes his eyes to relax with his tunes, I stare up at the ceiling, wondering where on this boat I can find Hunter Stewart, and what I will say when I do.

Chapter 4

Hunter

After a two-hour afternoon production meeting, we’re released for some “free time” before the big Welcome Dinner tonight, but Kit and I are still finalizing some of tomorrow’s details at our regular table in the Sun Lounge when I look over to see Isabella Gonzalez walking toward us.

“Head’s up,” says Kit, oblivious to our connection. “Izzy from Team Primo is incoming.”

Part of our production meeting was reminding us that while the show encourages connections—especially those of an illicit nature—between contestants who have agreed to be filmed, production crew members are expected to steer clear of romantic involvements with cast members during filming.

That said, I can’t help the way I feel when I see her up close and in person; my heart races, my cheeks get hot, my mouth waters. Fuck me. I remind myself that the only interaction I need to have with Isabella is a conversation to understand why she broke up with me. After that, we’re done.

“Hey, Hunter,” she says, pausing by our table. She’s wearing a black sundress with her dark hair in a loose bun and sunglasses perched on her head. Effortlessly sexy. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Kit “ah-hems” loudly.

“Kit, this is Isabella. Isabella, this is my coworker, Kit.” They shake hands over the table. “Isabella’s best friend married my brother a few months ago.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s true,” says Isabella, putting her hands on her hips. “But don’t worry, Kit. No conflict of interest here. Our acquaintancedoesn’t give me an edge or anything. You hate my guts, right, Hunter?”

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