“Eeet vas a darrk and stormy niight.”
“Don’t start,” Ian Hawksley groaned. “This is going to be a long road trip if you start with your dumbass Dracula impression.” He settled into the soft leather seat of his new Jaguar XF. “I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep while you drive very carefully to the first stop on our itinerary, Medford, Oregon.”
Brad Denton reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror. “It wasn’t a bad impression; I was being a dumbass to put a fuckin’ smile on your face.”
Ian twisted in his seat to grab his neck pillow from the back seat. “I’ll smile when we get to Helena in one piece. I don’t know how you got me to say yes to take a week off and driving to Seth’s wedding when there’s a perfectly good airport just down the highway.”
“As your doctor, I advised you to take some time off. Your stress levels were affecting your blood pressure and that’s no good for a handsome, successful, young television producer.” Brad turned the key to start the car.
“You’re not my doctor.” Ian opened the glove box and grabbed his eye mask. Too bad he’d left his noise blocker headphones at home.
“No, but I play one on T.V.”
“Shut up and drive, Brad, just shut up and drive…carefully.”
“Hyper-drive, engaged.”
Brad reversed out of the driveway and for once followed his orders.
Inwardly Ian let out a huge sigh. T.V. doctor or not, Brad was right, he did need the rest and it had been mandated by his doctor, he just hadn’t told Brad.
He’d spent the last nine years busting is ass, working his way up from production assistant for Point Blank Networks and finishing grad school. Eight months ago his dream job landed in his lap. He’d been Associate Producer for a late night talk show that was ending after fifteen years on the network. The host was retiring and the network wanted to focus more on their prime time slot, so they hadn’t tried to find a replacement.
The retirement party had been the talk of L.A. with speculation about which celebrities would be attending and who would be wearing what. Ian hadn’t cared about any of that, he’d been worried about what he was going to do next. He was good at what he did, but so far he hadn’t gotten on anyone’s radar.
Three hours into the party he’d been offered Associate Producer for the networks new nighttime drama, M.D.’s. He didn’t know if it was Lady Luck or Crown Royal talking when the network’s owner offered him the job, but he snapped it up.
Two days later, when photos of Ron Johnson, the Executive Producer for the show, a male “dancer” and a sheep wound up plastered all over the gossip magazines—instant promotion—instant stress.
Speaking of stress…
Ian shifted in his seat and peeked out from his mask. “You going the right direction this time?”
“Not fair,” Brad whined. “It wasn’t my fault the directions got mixed up with Sarah’s “Girl’s Weekend” directions.”
Ian laughed. “Spending the weekend with a hotel filled with angry feminists and your ex isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Nor mine, I’m just glad your brother Seth had the sense to break out the wooden stakes and crosses while we high-tailed it out of there.”
“Man I’m glad you dumped her.”
“You and me both brother.” Brad drawled in a deadpan Jimmy Stewart impression. “Seriously, though. I am going the right way, but I think we’re heading into a nasty storm.” He pointed east toward dark, menacing clouds on bearing down on the mountains to the north.
“Crap,” Ian sat up and grabbed the map from the dashboard. “We’re not scheduled to stop till Medford.” He pointed to the dot in Oregon, just past the California border.
Brad yanked the map from Ian’s hands, semi-folded it and tossed it in the back seat. “We’ll make it, this European baby can make it through any storm.” He patted the dashboard. “Besides, I’ve seen Flight of the Navigator over a hundred times, I don’t know the meaning of “lost”.
Ian pulled down the mask over his eyes and settled back into the passenger seat.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
