Page 80 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

I’m not a young man anymore. I may have drunk myself into oblivion the last time things ended with Jolene, but I’m not sure my liver can take it this time around.

I get started cracking eggs, as Max moves around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, and setting stocks and sauces to defrost. He’s mumbling under his breath, like he’s having an argument with himself, and from time to time I hear a grumbling, and muttered curse words.

“… Stubborn bastard… Won’t even consider for one minute…”

“What was that?” I ask.

Max clatters some pans. “I said, I should have known he would cause a scene and storm off like that. Bastard doesn’t realize that I’m doing this for him.”

“They just jump to conclusions,” I agree, annoyed. “Like Jolene, immediately assuming the worst in me, like I’d planned this whole disaster. Absolutely no good faith. No trust whatsoever.”

“Exactly!” Max agrees. “Trust!”

“As if I didn’t suffer over the way things ended last time! I pined for that girl for years,” I scowl at the egg yolks. “What does she want from me? It’s not like I can turn back the clocks.”

“And like that handsome bastard would be happy here!” Max grumbles. “He’s used to fancy parties, and VIP clubs. He’d be bored silly in a week, and then who would he blame for giving it all up? Me! But somehow I’m the villain for pointing that out?”

“Aye, it’s ridiculous.”

“Fucking mental.”

“They can’t just have a calm conversation like normal adults,” I gripe.

“Except…” Max stops and gives a weary sigh. “He maybe, possibly, does have a point.”

I pause.Dammit. “So does she.”

We slump there for a moment, until the espresso machine sounds a glorious chime. Max pours us two massive mugs, and we sip, contemplative. And miserable.

“So what do we do now?” I ask, feeling restless. On edge. All week, I’ve been hurtling from one drama to the next, swept up in the thrill of having Jolene by my side again. Now she’s gone, everything feels empty. Too damn quiet and still.

I can hear myself think now, and I don’t like the soundtrack.

“Fuck if I know.” Max shrugs. “In the meantime, start beating those eggs.”

I sigh, and reach for the whisk, but before I can work off any of my frustration, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I snatch it out, my hopes rising. If it’s Jolene calling, to say she’s sorry for everything she said—

Nope. In fact, it’s the opposite of her.

Bradley.

“Aye, boss,” I answer with a grimace. Max starts loudly grinding up meat for the breakfast sausage, so I step outside to escape the noise, looking out over the distant peaks and sparkling waters below.

“What happened to that budget you promised?” Bradley demands. “Massive savings, you said.”

Shit. “I’m working on it,” I lie. “Just dotting the Is and crossing the Ts for you.”

“Well, dot faster,” he gripes. “And why am I hearing about this shooting delay from the line producer, and not you? You’re supposed to be my eyes and ears on set.”

Shooting delay? I panic for a moment that Hugo’s disappearing act has gone public. After all our efforts to keep it secret…

Then I remember: the food poisoning incident.

“Yeah, it’s a minor hiccup,” I say quickly. “One day over schedule. I’m sure Reeve will make it up down the line.”

Especially now Hugo is safely back on set, and ready for his close-up.

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