Chapter Two

Adalee

"I don't want to see another second of him, Adalee."

I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear and grabbed a stack of papers off the corner of my desk. "You didn't like the footage we sent?" I asked.

"The footage you sent was forty-five minutes of Pirate talking. Fucking rambling!"

I cringed and shuffled through the papers. "We're working on more footage, Don."

"You've been saying that for five days, Adalee. I want to see more and better footage. I want the guy who pulled the trigger."

It was like Don didn't realize these were actual people and not actors. I had been telling Yarder for the past three days I needed to talk to Fade, but I was getting shut down. "I'm working on pinning him down. He's tied up with the rebuilding of the body shop."

"If that's the case, then grab Garett and Mark and follow him being tied up with the garage rebuild. We've only got enough footage for seven episodes, and we need to be wrapped up with filming in a month. I need footage and interviews for at least eight more episodes," Don demanded. "And I don't want another fucking minute of Pirate on my desk."

The line went dead.

I sighed heavily and sat back. I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.

I knew Don would not be happy with the footage I sent over this morning, but I figured I wouldn't hear back from him until Monday at the earliest.

Obviously, I had been wrong.

The studio was breathing down Don's neck, wanting Tread to be the next best reality TV show, and he was passing that pressure onto me.

Pirate was the only guy who willingly talked to me. The girls did, too, but I knew that Don wanted the guys. This was a reality show about the club members, not their ol' ladies.

Though, honestly, after being around the club and their ol' ladies, I had to think the women would put on one hell of a show, too.

I was sure a spinoff would happen if the original Tread did well.

We just had to get enough footage for eight more episodes. That was not easy with a motorcycle club that didn't want us around and only told us half the truth.

Three other clubs were being filmed, and I wondered if those crews were having as hard a time as I was.

Most people would think my job was pretty cool, but for me, it wasn't.

This wasn't at all what I wanted to be doing with my life, but I didn't have a choice. This was my job, and I didn't see that changing anytime soon.

I paged through my notes, hoping something would emerge that would help pacify Don, but nothing did. "Dammit," I whispered.

There wasn't a damn thing in my notes that Don was going to want other than Fade in front of the camera.

"Why me?" I groaned to the walls of my small rental.

The network rented out three small buildings, which were converted into tiny homes for the crew. It had been a rough adjustment for Garett and Mark, but I was right at home in my little home.

Each tiny home was painted a different color, and I was in the pastel blue one, sandwiched between Garett's pastel green one and Mark's light gray one.

The inside of each was identical. When you entered the door, there was a loveseat on one wall and a flat-screen TV with a bookcase on the opposite wall. A few steps past the couch was a small dining area and the kitchen. Up the winding staircase was the loft bedroom with a queen bed, closet, and dresser.

Past the kitchen downstairs was the bathroom and laundry room.

The bathroom was the place I loved the most. When I first saw the tiny home, I thought for sure I was going to be cramped in a tiny bathroom with a coffin for a shower.

Boy, had I been wrong.

When you walked into the bathroom, a stackable washer and dryer was behind the door. That was nice, but the clawfoot tub underneath the window made me happier than a pig in mud. That was the last thing I had expected to see.

A large vanity and sink were opposite the tub, and the toilet was tucked in the corner by the sink. Three of the walls were painted creamy white, while the wall by the tub was wallpapered with a black-and-white floral pattern with pops of gold and silver.

The bathroom was almost as big as the living area.

I freaking loved it.

After chasing the club around all day, I loved to come home and soak in that big ass tub with a glass of wine.

That tub made all of this bearable.

I dropped my notes on the table and stretched my arms over my head.

"Time to soak and chill," I sighed.

It was half-past eight, and I didn't want to spend the rest of my night wondering how I would get Fade or anyone but Pirate on camera.

I grabbed the half-drank bottle of wine from the fridge and filled a glass just shy of the brim.

Don's demand for an interview with Fade was going to be a problem for tomorrow.