Page 19 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

“You go, you drink,youbond,” I reply.

“Don’t make me do it alone,” Hazel bats her eyes at me. “It’s already weird enough, being the boss’s sister. I’ll be stuck sitting in the corner, drowning my sorrows…”

“With a tiny violin playing?” I tease. “I wish I could, I really do, but… I need some space.”

Especially after today.

Hazel reads my face. “Ohhh. I get it. Fraser. Why didn’t you say? He blew off the guys when they invited him, I heard them in the lobby. So, you can come out with zero threat of awkward ex mingling.”

I whip my headscarf off and beam at Hazel. “Give me five minutes!”

The local villagepub is a ten-minute walk down a winding country lane. The minute we step through the doors and I catch a glimpse of the low wooden beams and worn plaid bench seats, I let out a sigh of satisfaction. “I love an English pub,” I declare happily. “The scent of roasted chicken, brown gravy, draught beer…”

“Mmm, tasty,” Hazel laughs, leading me to the bar, where we find Reeve already slumped and clearly despairing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “It’s only the first week! You need to work up to that kind of expression. Give yourself something to aim for.”

“Ha ha,” Reeve replies flatly.

“Three more G&Ts, please,” Hazel signals to the bartender. “And don’t mind him, he’s been glaring at those spreadsheets all day.”

“Thanks to the fucking Suit Guy,” Reeve scowls, and he looks so miserable, I can’t even delight in the fact that Fraser’s nickname has spread. “He’s nitpicking everything. The coffee budget!” he exclaims, pointing. “Tell me, why the fuck is anyone paying attention to whether we use filter or Starbucks roast? I’m trying to make a movie here. An Oscar-worthy, timeless classic of goddamn creative genius.”

“My brother, so modest,” Hazel smirks. “Give me your phone. She takes it from Reeve before he can protest.

“I need that!” he exclaims.

“You really don’t,” Hazel corrects him. “At least, not for the next ninety minutes. Your voice just went up a full octave,” she points out. “The tension is bad for your health.”

Reeve glares at her. “If my movie turns into a piece of shit because of Suit Guy’s penny-pinching, thenthat’sbad for my health.”

“It’s bad for your ego,” Hazel says gently. “And sitting here, spiraling, in full view of your cast and crew doesn’t exactly help inspire confidence and joy. I’ll give your phone back after you go build some team spirit,” she instructs him firmly. “Go, mix, mingle, make people believe you’ve got it all handled, even if you’re privately melting down.”

Reeve gives a weary sigh. “Remind me why I hired you?”

“Because I’m older, wiser, and also a creative genius, and you can’t make a movie without me,” Hazel says smugly. “Nowvamos.”

He reluctantly takes his drink, gets down, and goes to join the crowd around the pool table. Hazel lets out a weary sigh.

“They should pay you extra for the emotional labor of handling that man,” I note, not even kidding.

“Oh, they do.” Hazel grins. “Why do you think my rates are so high? Sibling wrangling is part of the deal. It’s a good thing my brother is so talented…” She shakes her head and gulps her gin and tonic. “Plus, I figure once he getsreallyfamous, then I’ll be set for work forever. Nepotism, baby.” She raises her glass in a toast, and I clink it, laughing.

“The only thing my genes ever got me was a twenty percent discount on straw summer hats, but OK.”

I look around, taking in the scene. There’s a darts match in progress, with plenty of smack talk, and crew are hanging out in groups, chatting and laughing. Everyone’s having a great time, and I’m glad Hazel dragged me out. I look back in time to catch her scoping a man across the room.

“Cute, I approve,” I murmur, and she laughs.

“What? Oh, no, no way.”

“Why not?” I ask, curious. Hazel hasn’t been involved with anyone as long as I’ve known her, despite being smart, fun, and gorgeous in her down-to-earth way. “You dragged me out of my PJs. I’m here and ready to wing-woman!”

“On-set romances are dangerous,” she says firmly. “It’s all fun and games for like, a week, and then you’re stuck sharing the hot sauce at craft services for another month.”

We’re interrupted by someone tapping a microphone. It’s a couple of the actresses, giggling and tipsy. “Karaoke time!” one of them whoops, before launching into some surprisingly professional ABBA.

“She was inMama Miaon the West End,” Hazel reports.

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