The Daring Storm Chaser - Page 2

Double shit.

Color is creeping into Colby’s cheeks, and I know he’s about three seconds from throwing his hands up and storming off the set. I quickly step forward to diffuse the situation.

Flashing a friendly grin at the photographer, I say, “Colby doesn’t smile in photos. He’s known throughout the country as the grumpy meteorologist. That’s his brand. The studio should have informed you.”

“I just thought—”

“Well, don’t,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and cheerful. “Viewers love his grumpy face, and Rise and Shine, Los Angeles has built a whole marketing campaign around it for years. So, let’s just stick with what works, okay?”

The photographer frowns. “Maybe we could get a few with him wearing sunglasses and flip-flops?”

I glance at Colby and see that his face is now the color of a ripe tomato. If this shoot goes on much longer, he really will lose it. He’s on the verge now.

Better to shut it down. “You know what? I think we have more than enough pictures. Thank you for your time today.”

“No problem,” the man grumbles, packing up his gear.

I march over to my brother. “It really wouldn’t kill you to smile every now and then,” I whisper under my breath. “We live and work in paradise. Be grateful.”

“I’d rather be somewhere with actual weather,” he responds. “In fact, I’ve been thinking—”

He’s been thinking? Does he want to move?

“Well, well, well…” a voice calls out from behind us. “If it isn’t Colby Raynes, Mr. Grumpy McGrump Face himself.”

That voice…

My heart leaps into my throat, as it always does whenever Oscar Metzer is nearby. What’s he doing in California?

I turn to glare at my brother’s ex-best friend. Can he tell how my heart rate kicks into triple time at the sound of his voice? Despite knowing that he’s bad news, my stupid heart betrays me every time he’s in the room.

My mind recognizes him for what he is—a snake—but my heart’s never gotten the memo.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and feign bravado. “Grumpy McGrump Face? What are you, Oscar? Twelve?”

Colby folds his arms across his chest. “What brings you to L.A., Oz?”

“I’m here to consult on a climate-change disaster flick. You know the type,” Oz says with a grin. “Hailstorms, tornadoes, city-killer hurricanes. That sort of thing.”

“Let me guess,” Colby says, his tone dripping with disgust. “There’s one sensational storm scene after the other until a sexy scientist wearing a bikini beneath her lab coat saves the day?”

Oz grins. “Yep. And they’re paying me a king’s ransom. It’s sort of funny that they didn’t just hire you. You’re already on the studio’s payroll, after all. But I suppose they wanted someone with real-life experience.”

Colby scowls. “We both know I’m the better forecaster.”

“School was a long time ago,” Oz says. “While you’ve been here in sunny California, I’ve been tracking supercells and tornadoes across the country. I have real-world experience that you just can’t compete with, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy.”

No good can come of this conversation.

I yank on Colby’s arm. “Ignore him. We have better things to do.” To my relief, he follows me to the exit without resistance.

We’ve almost reached the door when Oz calls out to Colby. “There’s a once-in-a-century storm system brewing right now. It’s going to explode like a powder keg when it crosses the Mississippi River in two days.”

Colby’s steps falter, and I can’t help but groan. “Ignore him,” I plead again. But Oz knows my brother, and he knows which buttons to push.

“It’ll leave a path of destruction all the way from the Great Plains to the Atlantic Coast,” Oz continues. “But don’t worry. While I’m filming footage right in the heart of the storm, you’ll be safe and sound in front of your green screen.”