Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
His eyes flicked to me, then quickly back to the road. “Never said you were.”
The acknowledgment hung in the air between us, neither of us quite brave enough to address it directly. Instead, we lapsed into silence as the truck wound its way up the mountain road, the snowfall gradually intensifying around us.
By the time we reached the Christmas tree farm, a light blanket of white covered the ground, transforming the landscape into something magical—like a scene from a holiday movie, but better because it was real.
And inexplicably, I found myself more excited about spending the day cutting down a Christmas tree with grumpy Maddox Sullivan than I had been about any carefully planned content shoot in recent memory.
Which was very, very good for the project.
And very, very bad for my professional detachment.
#ChemistryAsContent #NoFannin #YourUsual #Maddrian #TwoMenAndATripod
8
#BIGWOOD
MADDOX
“No, no, not that one either. The branches are too sparse on the left side,” Adrian insisted as we rounded yet another row of trees.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I’d regret. We’d been trudging through Emerson’s Christmas Tree Farm for nearly forty minutes, and Adrian had rejected at least a dozen perfectly good trees. The light snowfall that had seemed so picturesque when we’d arrived was now coming down harder, and the temperature was dropping faster than my patience.
“It’s a real-life Christmas tree, not a photoshopped image,” I pointed out, readjusting the camera bag on my shoulder. “They’re supposed to have character.”
Adrian turned to face me, snowflakes catching in his hair and on the shoulders of his camel coat.
He had no business looking that good while being so annoying.
“Character is fine. Baldness on one side is not.” He gestured dramatically at the offending pine. “Would you hang ornaments on a tree that looks like it’s been through fraternity hazing?”
I snorted despite myself and adjusted my woolen hat over my ears. “That’s awful.”
“So’s that tree,” he countered, already moving deeper into the row of pines.
I followed, my boots crunching through several inches of fresh powder. I hadn’t worried this morning, when I saw the weather report mentioned a potential storm moving in this afternoon. But I also hadn’t counted on Adrian being determined to find the mythical “perfect tree” regardless of the warnings.
“You know,” I called after him, “most people just grab the first decent-looking tree they see, tie it to their car, and go home to drink eggnog.”
“Most people aren’t filming content for their sponsor,” he replied without turning around. “Nordique clients don’t buy ‘decent-looking’ trees. They buy perfect ones.”
“And Nordique clients cut down their own trees in eight-hundred-dollar pants?” I asked, eyeing his impeccable outfit that somehow still looked runway-ready despite our trek through the tree farm.
Adrian glanced back with a smirk. “Let’s be honest. Nordique clients don’t cut down their own trees. But they still expect their hired help to find the perfect one.”
“I take it I’m the hired help in this scenario?”
“I mean, technically, I hired you…” he teased with a wink that did something irritating to my stomach. “And you are helping. Actually, you’re better than hired help. Not only do you seem to know how to cut down a tree, but you’re also photogenic enough to look good while doing it in these videos. Win-win.”
I rolled my eyes, hoping the cold air explained the heat rising in my cheeks. “Your flattery needs work, Hayes.”
He shot me a teasing look. “I don’t know, your blushing says otherwise.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. My red cheeks are from the cold,” I lied.
My cheeks continued to burn as I tried to focus on the technical aspects of our shoot. The clearing we were approaching would actually provide decent lighting—what photographers call “God rays” were streaming through the pine branches as the snowflakes danced in the beams of light. Despite my aggravation, my brain automatically began composing the shots I wanted.
“We should set up the tripod here,” I said, changing the subject. “The light’s good, and there’s enough space to get the full tree-cutting sequence without having to move the equipment.”
Adrian nodded, looking around with a more professional eye. “The background is nice, too. No distractions, just trees and snow.”
For a moment, we were in sync—two professionals evaluating the same scene. I’d learned over the past couple of days that beneath his carefully curated exterior, Adrian Hayes actually knew his shit when it came to visual composition. He might not have approached photography the same way I did, but his eye was undeniably good.
I began unlocking the tripod legs, my fingers already stiff from the cold.
“We should work quickly,” I said, nodding toward the darkening sky to the northwest. “That doesn’t look friendly.”
Adrian followed my gaze, his expression momentarily concerned before the professional mask slipped back into place. “All the more reason to find the perfect tree immediately.”
“We’ve seen at least three perfect trees already,” I reminded him.