Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,2
away so it doesn’t end up lost or broken or nabbed by one of my five siblings. Turning to face the coffeemaker, I assess the task at hand. Christ, this thing has more buttons than my HP 12C Platinum accounting calculator.
But if I can mastermind a decade of Hollywood’s biggest real estate deals and filmmaker financing, I can make a simple cup of coffee. I punch a few levers and yank at something that spurts a sharp hiss of steam. Finally locating the part that holds coffee grounds, I dump the soggy ones in the trash and hunt for a new filter.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” I ask.
“Not at all.” Vanessa leans back against the counter to watch me work. “The directions you sent were spot on. This is definitely in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s by design, I suppose.”
“No joke,” she says. “The BONK founders wanted their privacy.”
One of the few things to admire about the former members of the Benevolent Order of the New Kingdom, the former cult that built this place.
I stare into the vessel where the coffee grounds go. How much do I put in here? I could check the filter I just tossed, but it seems in poor taste to paw through the trash with a prospective job candidate watching. And she is watching; I can feel her eyes on me.
“Need help?” she asks cheerfully. “I’ve got some pour-over coffee packs in my purse. Sugar and creamer, too.”
“Nope, I’ve got it.” Noteworthy about the coffee, though. Well-prepared accountants are a plus.
Dragging a flowered tin from the back of the cupboard, I pry off the lid. Coffee grounds. I settle for eyeballing it, dumping in a hefty pile into the fresh filter before slamming the trap door shut. Now where does the water go?
Glancing at Vanessa, I decide to get the interview started. “I assume you’ve been briefed on the concept of Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge.”
I cross my fingers she hasn’t caught on that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Not with the coffee, anyway. I’ve got a handle on the rest.
“Of course,” she says. “Reality television show centered around a thoughtfully planned, self-contained community.” She’s reciting straight from our website, and I admire that. I admire it a lot. “You’re bringing in a diverse group of individuals representing a variety of professions, backgrounds, and lifestyles, and setting the stage for them to create a completely sustainable microcosm of society.”
“Correct.” Seriously, where does the water go? I yank at a lever and end up unplugging the machine. “It’s part social experiment, part entertainment, part a chance to resurrect a piece of property with some questionable history.”
“BONK was certainly one of the more—colorful cults.”
I appreciate that she’s being tactful, but it’s not necessary. “You mean the part where they believed their leader was the progeny of an extraterrestrial prophet and Charlie Sheen, or the part where they touted mass orgies as a means of growing the roster?”
She laughs. “All of it. I take it you won’t be shying away from that history?”
“Might as well let viewers learn from others’ missteps so they’re not doomed to repeat them.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her stiffen. When I look up, she’s dropped her shoulders again. Or maybe I imagined the whole thing.
Turning back to the coffeemaker, I pry off a piece that turns out to be the water chamber. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“The BONK founders created one hell of an impressive town, so we’re just giving it new legs.” Belatedly, I realize I’ve just cursed at a job candidate. But if cursing offends her, she’s unlikely to fit the Juniper Ridge family. Maybe it’s a job test.
Or maybe she’s the one testing me, waiting to see how badly I’ll screw up the coffee thing before I ask for help. I can’t tell from her face if she’s judging. Her expression’s impassive, patient, even serene.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
If I weren’t dead inside, I might notice things like that.
“It’s a clever concept,” Vanessa says, jarring me back to the fact that we’re in job interview mode, even though we haven’t made it to my office. “And financially speaking, there’s high potential for revenue. The files you sent on advertisers who’ve committed—I took the liberty of setting up some spreadsheets, which I’d be happy to show you.”
“That—that would be great.” I glance at her, braced for the coquettish smile I’ve gotten from dozens of social climbing show biz types. The ‘show me your private office,’ or