Page 2 of Playing With My Heart Strings

baylor

Who Needs Twelve Cowboy Hats?

present day

“All right, everyone, listen up !” Colette St. James, the executive producer of the new reality dating show I’m working for, calls out, her sharp demeanor all business.

Camera crew members, sound techs, hair and makeup artists, public relations—which includes me—and interns all circle around her.

“Our lead will be here this afternoon! We’ll go over logistics and details to ensure filming goes smoothly, then tomorrow we’ll start filming with all the women! ”

“She’s so loud,” Daniella Marshall, my best friend and roommate, whispers in my ear, and I cover my mouth to keep quiet. “I’m not sure why she feels the need to scream when we’re all right here.”

“You think she was a drill sergeant in a past life?” I purse my lips to prevent a laugh from slipping out.

“Oh my God, Bay!” Daniella snorts, and all eyes shoot in our direction.

I exchange a panicked look with Daniella, and we both put our heads down in embarrassment.

Colette is loud, though, that’s just the truth. There’s no denying it. She commands every room she’s in, although I’m not sure if it’s because she’s respected or feared. Most likely the latter.

“As I was saying…” Colette shoots us a glare that has everyone avoiding eye contact. “Dusty will be here this afternoon. We’ll need to get some preliminary shots of him, he’ll do some interviews with the PR team, and then we’ll go from there.”

No one says a word or dares to move until Colette barks out, “Dismissed!” Then everyone disperses to continue on with whatever task they were doing before Sergeant—I mean, Colette—called the meeting.

“So, Dusty Wilder.” Daniella nudges me with her elbow as we walk through the studio. “I hear he’s quite the heartthrob.”

“I’ve heard he’s quite an asshole.” I shrug her off. I have no interest in a country singer, much less Dusty Wilder. I’ve seen all I’ve needed to in the media. Dusty Wilder is the type of man who thinks he’s God’s gift to the Earth.

As we pass by my desk, I grab a notepad and pen to prepare for interviews later this afternoon.

When I graduated with a public relations degree from Auburn, I never imagined I’d be working on reality dating shows.

In fact, it was the last thing I was hoping to do.

I imagined my path would be more aligned with politics on Capitol Hill, not rich influencers looking for their fifteen minutes of fame on prime-time TV.

I applied for the job with Sparks Studio Productions a few years ago because, let’s face it, I was desperate.

I’d spent months trying to get a job in Washington with no success.

In my defense, I didn’t know I would be working on reality TV.

I assumed I would be doing public relations for movies or, I don’t know, a show like CSI or House of Cards.

Perhaps that was naive of me, but I needed a job and the company promised a competitive salary.

Besides, maybe if I do good enough work here, I’ll have credible references and the ability to move on quickly.

“What? You don’t think he’s even a bit attractive?” Daniella raises her brows.

“I mean, sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but?—”

She’s smiling at me in this Cheshire Cat sort of way. “So you would date him!”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I definitely did not say that. Besides, I value my job way more than a date with some country singer whose music isn’t even that good.”

“If you say so, Baylor. Me, on the other hand? I’d totally snatch him up if I had any kind of musical talent.” She winks as we get to the set where the crew will film the preliminary shots for the show.

Large windows stretch floor to ceiling in the studio, and although filming is closed to the public, it doesn’t stop fans from crowding the glass to see whatever so-called heartthrob is in front of the camera.

Camera crew members are already walking around to set up equipment, and designers fly by with racks of clothing. Pearl snap shirts, suit jackets, racks and racks of…cowboy hats. Who the fuck needs twelve cowboy hats? Apparently, he’s not only an asshole, he’s a pretty boy, too. Great.

“Marshall! Sommerfeld! Get over here!” Nails on a chalkboard scrape through my ears. Oh wait, no, it’s just Colette’s voice.

Daniella rolls her eyes at me before we head in her direction.

“What’s up, Colette?” Daniella asks. When Colette calls you over by name, she’s either delivering fantastic or horrible news. There’s no in-between.

“I need one of you to take the lead on interviews with Dusty. The other one will move over to the social media team for now,” she instructs, thrusting binders into both of our arms. When we open our mouths to ask her who she wants to do what, she makes a gesture with her hand to cut us off.

“I don’t care who takes what, I just need it done! ”

Fantastic news: neither of us are getting fired for our disruption during the meeting. Horrible news: there’s a chance I’ll have to work directly with Dusty. Translation: Daniella will try to make me take the lead on interviews with him as some kind of matchmaking scheme.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” I mutter as I look at her. She’s practically beaming.

“Nope, actually. I think you should take social media on this one,” she replies, and I’m immediately suspicious. Daniella is always trying to set me up with someone, and I wouldn’t have thought this situation would be any different.

“Hmm…okay.” I won’t argue with her, as skeptical as I am.

“Listen, babe, you said it yourself. You wouldn’t date Dusty, so why on Earth would I pass up the opportunity to spend time with him?

Right?” She tries to justify why she volunteered to take the job I didn’t want, when normally she would be metaphorically throwing me to the wolves.

I love our friendship, cherish it more than any other friendship I’ve made here in Nashville, but she can be a lot sometimes.

“All right, Dani, whatever you say.” I swap binders with her, taking the one that says Heart Strings Social Media Guide .

The job is easy enough. Write copy for socials, make sure the photos the photographers get to us are good, and take B-roll footage for stories.

When I was in college, I was the social media manager for several different companies throughout Alabama.

When I first moved to Nashville, my job was social media focused, and then a year ago, I took this job.

Long story short, this is my bread and butter.

It’s what I’m good at, so maybe that’s why Dani let me take the reins on this.

But at the same time, she has the same, if not more, experience than I do with two additional years in the industry.

I’m sure she has some kind of ulterior motive—usually she’s pushing me toward a celebrity who she deems “hot” in the hopes that sparks will fly between us—but I can’t worry about that right now.

Reality TV doesn’t stop for skeptics like myself.

Personally, I wouldn’t attempt to find love in front of cameras with the entire country watching, but to each their own.

And yes, I say attempt . Because, realistically, how many of these relationships actually work out? Not that many.

With a crew of over two hundred members, Heart Strings is no small production. Especially with how the show will be run, all hands are needed. Episodes air the same week they’re filmed to allow for live viewer voting. If the team can pull this off, I’m sure the show could take off.

My thoughts are interrupted by squeals from some of the hair, makeup, and wardrobe girls followed by cheers and claps from the camera crew. I look to my left toward the hallway Daniella and I had just come through to find Dusty Wilder walking in our direction.

The fans aren’t completely crazy for finding him attractive with his tall stature, sable hair that sweeps under the brim of his cowboy hat, five o’clock shadow, and thick mustache.

Hazel eyes meet mine, and a dimple appears as Dusty cracks a small grin toward me.

I raise my eyebrows, and his smile falters before he moves on.

Yeah, buddy, that charm doesn’t work on me, sorry. Move along.

Daniella, on the other hand, practically has hearts shooting from her eyes as he tips his hat then heads over to talk to Colette and the director of the show.

“What?” She looks at me with zero remorse for practically undressing the lead of the show we work for with her eyes.

“Nothing, Dani, it’s just that maybe you should have put in an application based on the look on your face right now,” I tease.

“Like I said, Bay. I would have jumped on that train so fast if I had a shred of musical talent. If I had half the voice you have.”

Daniella is one of few people who have ever heard me sing. It’s a rare occasion for me to sing around other people. And it’s never anything original, just covers of old country songs.

“I’m not made to be a singer, really.”

“What about those songs you’ve written, then?” she asks.

“What songs?”

“The ones in that journal you’re always carrying around.”

Oh. That.

“Those aren’t songs. They’re just poems or whatever. It’s nothing special. Not compared to some of the girls who applied to be on the show, that’s for sure.”

I’m not even saying this to win pity points or anything.

It’s a known fact. Several of the applications came from singer-songwriters whose careers aren’t quite at the level they want them to be.

Since the winner of the show not only gets a record deal, but also gets to go on tour with Dusty as a duo, it’s a no-brainer for them to at least try.

“Baylor, you have talent. I swear, I’m not just saying this because I’m your friend.”

“Well, now I definitely think you’re just saying it because you’re my friend. It’s not like I could apply—we’re about to start filming. Not to mention I work here. That’s a huge conflict of interest, even if I wanted to go on the show.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her shoulders drop for a split second before she quickly composes herself. “It’s too bad, though. You really are talented.”

I know I have talent. But musical talent doesn’t pay the bills unless you have the same kind of status that Dusty has. And even then, it’s rare to make a living off just music. There’s a reason they’re called starving artists .

My parents were disappointed enough when I decided on a public relations degree.

Coming from a family of doctors, it made sense, but I was never meant for that path.

It was evident when I struggled through anatomy class in high school.

I can’t do blood. Or any kind of internal organs.

That’s why I need to get to Capitol Hill.

I need to prove that my degree is worth something—that I’m worth something.

Would I try to pursue music if there was a guaranteed payoff? Maybe. Probably. But that’s a dream that will never come true. I don’t need it to.

Colette has Dusty set up in front of cameras, while Daniella is there to assist. She’s not so much tasked with interviewing him as she is writing down his answers for press releases, and in some cases, coaching him with his answers.

You’d think he’d be a pro at interviews, considering he’s constantly in the public eye, but no.

He’s awkward in front of the camera, brash and pointed with his responses, and he keeps getting distracted by the fans crowding the windows outside.

“Dusty, what are your thoughts about finding not only a musical partner, but potentially a life partner, on the show?” one of the producers asks him.

“I, uh, I don’t have high hopes, honestly,” he grumbles with a frown. “I’m only here because my label forced me to be here.”

“Cut!” the director shouts.

“Can you at least act a little excited about this?” Daniella squeezes the bridge of her nose as she, yet again, coaches him on how to provide a more TV-appropriate answer. Her head turns toward me as she shakes it, clearly regretting taking on this task.

I avoid eye contact with her as I walk away, pretending to be busy with something else. I know I’ll have to deal with him eventually to get social media content, but I don’t envy Daniella at this moment.