Page 33 of Try Me

Fall on Me

Pearl

The director handedPearl a handful of scraps and strings and told her to go change.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“Nope,” he said.

Pearl pinched the tiny swimsuit top between her fingers, her nose flaring in disgust. She’d thought the Kinsling Vodka uniform was bad, but it was a nun’s habit compared to the tiny bikini the director wanted her to wear.

“You want me to surf in this?” she asked. “It’s not decent.”

“Do you want to be in zee commercial, or not?” The director spoke in an exaggerated accent that Pearl couldn’t place.

“Of course I want to be in the commercial.”

“Then, wear zee suit, sweetheart.”

Pearl’s cheeks flushed. She wasn’t anyone’s sweetheart. “No.”

Frank Dermont wasn’t used to being told no. He was a premier director, in charge of all the commercials for the contest. He squared his shoulders and glared down his nose at Pearl. He was a short, stocky man, dressed in a colorful suit. A scarf looped around his neck, fluttering in the breeze. Since he wasn’t much taller than Pearl, he had to lift his chin to stare down at her.

“You can’t tell me no,” he said.

“I believe I just did.”

The bustling crew stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold. Pearl refused to be intimidated by the director or anyone. Of course she wanted to be seen on television, but that didn’t mean she wanted all of her on TV. The swimsuit was ridiculous.

Frank waved his hand in the air. “Don’t be such a square. The natives surfed in the nude.”

“Not in this century,” Pearl said. “Why don’t you wear it if you like it so much?”

He made a sound like he was choking. “Put it on or else you’re out!”

“I guess I’m out.” Pearl dropped the suit to the sand. Nate was going to blow a gasket, but she didn’t care. Nate was still in California. There was nothing he could do.

“What’s going on here?”

Pearl looked up to see Declan striding through the crew members who had formed a small circle around them.

“Ah! Declan! Thank God you’re here,” Frank said. “Do something with your costar or zare isn’t going to be a commercial.”

Pearl felt the cold blast of Declan’s gaze on her. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

She pointed at the swimsuit on the ground. “That’s the problem,” she said.

Declan bent and picked up swimsuit top, which was nothing more than two tiny triangles connected by thin strings. His eyes widened as he realized it was her costume, and his frosty gaze lit on the director.

“How’s she supposed to surf in this getup?” he asked, balling it up in one fist.

The director huffed a breath. “Sex sells,” he said.

“She’d be sexy wearing a burlap sack,” Declan said, shoving the swimsuit at the director. “She wears what she has on”— he gestured at Pearl’s bright yellow one-piece tank — “or we both walk.”

The director threw his hands in the air and stomped off, yelling at the crew to stop standing around and finish setting up for the commercial.

“Thanks for that,” Pearl told Declan when the director had gone. “You keep coming to my rescue.”

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