The Daring Storm Chaser (Love in a Storm Book 2), page 1
The Daring Storm Chaser
Pippa Brook
Copyright © 2024 by Pippa Brook
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Pippa Brook.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Author's website: https://pippabrook.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Marjorie
As my brother, Colby, and I walk to the door of the studio, I scroll through email messages on my phone and shoot responses to three of them in under thirty seconds.
I’ve been Colby’s manager ever since he became the on-air meteorologist for Rise and Shine, Los Angeles. And I’m proud to say there’s no one better suited for the job. I take multitasking to a professional level.
I’m just about ready to respond to email #4 when we reach the door. Colby freezes in his tracks, and I nearly run into him.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, looking up from my phone.
Colby’s eyebrows knit together. “Can’t you cancel this stupid photoshoot?”
“No can do, big brother. You’re contractually obligated.”
He sighs. “Fine, but let’s reschedule. Seriously, Marjorie. I’m not in the mood today.”
I shake my head and place a hand on his lower back to nudge him through the door. “We’re not rescheduling it.”
He digs in his heels, refusing to budge. “Why not?”
I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms. “Because you’ll never be in the mood. We’ll just be right back in this same situation on any other day. So, suck it up, and get it over with.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, stepping inside the studio. “But absolutely no props. Tell them, okay?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Whatever you say, diva.”
His scowl deepens. “If the photographer tries to make me pose with a fucking umbrella, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Can’t be held responsible, huh? Well, what else is new?
I love my brother. I really do. And most days, I enjoy my job. But every now and then, I want to throttle him. I know he doesn’t mean to, but he takes me for granted sometimes. I do everything for him, down to the smallest tasks. I maintain his calendar, monitor his social media feeds, and keep his refrigerator stocked. I even make sure he doesn’t run out of toothpaste, for crying out loud. The man would be helpless without me.
The only thing I can’t do is serve as a body double for him. If I could, I would. It would make both our lives easier; he wouldn’t have to do the things he hates, and I wouldn’t have to listen to him bitch and moan about it.
Alas, he’s tall and lean, not to mention a man—and I’m none of the above. So, he has no choice but to handle on-air appearances and photoshoots himself.
I nod a greeting to the makeup artist as she ushers Colby away to prepare him for the camera. I return to my never-ending string of emails, quickly triaging them, and responding to the ones that can be handled immediately. The more challenging ones will have to wait for later because I have a feeling Colby is going to need lots of handholding this morning.
Sure enough, he’s already tugging on the collar of his shirt before he’s even stepped in front of the camera. His face is a storm cloud, and he’s staring at the photographer as though he could shoot bolts of lightning at him from his eyeballs. He’s not making any effort at all to hide the fact that he’d rather be anywhere else.
I grab a bottle of water from my tote bag, tell the photographer to give me a minute, and step onto the set.
Handing the bottle to Colby, I hiss, “You’re supposed to look like the grumpy meteorologist, but right now, your face is giving serial killer vibes. Rein it in a bit.”
If anything, his eyebrows knit even more tightly together as he takes a swig of water. Well, I tried.
My brother’s always been a bit of a grump, but lately, he seems downright miserable. It’s so incongruous with sunny California that it works, at least from a professional standpoint. The public adores the grumpy meteorologist act. People throughout America have coffee mugs and t-shirts with Colby’s face on them.
Little do they know that it’s not an act at all.
“How do you feel about props?” the photographer asks him. “Perhaps an umbrella?”
Shit.
“Absolutely not,” Colby snarls.
“Let’s try a few with a smile?” the photographer suggests.
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.”
Colby’s body trembles with anger as he turns to face Oz. “I’m the better forecaster, and I’m going to prove it.”
Oh, no. I don’t like where this conversation is headed one bit.
I tug on my brother’s arm again, harder, but he doesn’t move.
Oz smirks. “Is that so? How?”
“I’ll cha
Gasping, I shake my head. “Colby, that’s stupid. It’s unnecessarily risky to chase tornadoes, and you’re needed here in the studio for—”
“We’ll need an impartial judge,” Oz says, rubbing his chin and ignoring me. It’s really pissing me off that they’re both acting like I’m not even in the room.
“Kane Charming,” they say in unison.
Oz chuckles. “It’s been a long time since we agreed on something.”
“Kane’s the obvious choice,” Colby says, shrugging.
“Game on,” Oz says. “May the best man win.”
“I will,” Colby growls.
I want to scream at them that they’re both behaving like sorry excuses for men, but I bite my tongue and push Colby toward the door again. This time, he obliges.
As I follow Colby out the door, I can’t resist one more glance at Oz. Our eyes meet and a flirty smile dances on his lips. “Nice to see you, Jori.”
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “I hate it when you call me that.”
His face stretches into a cocky grin. “No, you don’t.”
No, I don’t. But I should.
I really, really should.
Chapter 2
Marjorie
Later that afternoon, I find Colby in his bedroom with a half-packed suitcase lying on the bed. I stare at my brother in disbelief. “You mean you’re actually going through with this stupid bet with Oz?”
“Of course, I am,” Colby says, balling up a flannel shirt and tossing it into his suitcase. “I’ve already called Kane and told him I’ll be sending him the best storm footage of his life.”
With a frustrated growl, I yank the shirt out of the suitcase to fold it properly. As I tuck the sleeves under, I glare at my brother. “Kane Charming has plenty of storm chasers feeding him footage for his stupid podcast. He doesn’t need you.”
It’s the truth. There are tons of idiots out there with 4x4 trucks and a death wish. That’s why Kane’s YouTube channel is so popular.
“My footage will be better,” he says with a cocky grin.
My lip curls in disgust. “I expected you to mature with age, but you’re as stupid as you ever were, and still following Oz around like a puppy.”
Colby scowls, jerking the shirt out of my hands. “I can pack without your help. And I’m not following Oz around like a puppy. I’m proving that I’m the better forecaster, once and for all.”
“By risking your whole career—not to mention your neck—to get up close and personal with a tornado? That’s the definition of stupidity!”
“You don’t have to worry. I’ll be okay. I prom—”
“And for what?” I continue, ignoring him. “For a few YouTube comments and likes? Oz will get an amazing video too. You know he will. So how will yours be better?”
Colby has the decency to look guilty. “I’ll be careful.”
“Don’t feed me that bullshit.” I practically spit out the words, tears stinging my eyes. “Your goal is to get closer to the action than Oz, and Oz is downright reckless. He won’t be careful, so neither will you. It’ll be just like the time you broke your arm when he dared you to jump your bike off the porch when we were kids. Or like that time in college—”
“Stop,” he says, his tone icy. He never talks about the incident in college that ended his friendship with Oz. It’s still a sore spot more than a decade later.
I place a hand on his arm. “Don’t go, Colby. Please. You have a good life here. You’re the meteorologist of a nationally syndicated morning show. You don’t need to prove anything to Oz. You’re already the winner.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Maybe I need to prove something to myself.”
I throw my hands up in defeat. “Fine, but you’re on your own for travel arrangements.” The man hasn’t booked his own flight or car rental in years. It’s a miracle he can still tie his shoes without my help.
He frowns but nods his head. “I’m sure I can manage.”
“Fine,” I say again, storming out of his condo and slamming the door behind me. Stubborn ass.
Then I stalk across the hall to my own place. Normally, I like living next door to my brother. We’ve always been close. Plus, proximity helps with my job. But right now, I want to put as much distance between Colby and myself as possible. I’m itching to punch something, and he’s near the top of this list.
Right behind Oscar Metzer.
“Fucking Oz,” I grumble, pacing the length of my living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows mock me with a crystal-clear view of blue sky as far as the eye can see. “Fucking sunny California.”
Sighing, I plop onto my overstuffed sofa. The rest of the apartment is furnished with trendy, top-of-the-line furniture. The interior designer wanted a couch to match, but I insisted on having one piece of furniture in the room that’s comfortable.
Colby and I really do have a charmed life. We have more money than we ever dreamed of as kids and southern California is beautiful. But that’s the problem. A part of me has always known, deep down, that Colby couldn’t be happy here. He’s a weather geek. He wants to study forecast models and save lives. He doesn’t want to be the pretty weatherman on a morning television show in paradise.
It’s time for a change. But this stupid bet with Oz is not the change we need.
Oz. Always causing problems.
He and Colby were best friends from kindergarten through most of college. The two were thick as thieves. But even when we were kids, Oz loved to push the limits. And he dragged Colby over the line right along with him. They spent so many afternoons in detention that it may as well have been an extracurricular activity. It’s a miracle my mama didn’t go crazy trying to keep them in line.
They were both too smart for their own good, too. By the time high school ended, they’d both secured spots in the meteorology program at the University of Michigan. Then their friendship soured, and Colby went on to be a meteorologist for a news station in Louisville, Kentucky before making it to the national stage on Rise and Shine, Los Angeles. Oz went into research and storm chasing and does consultant work for television, movies, and print.
How can two intelligent and successful men be so ridiculously stupid?
I pop up from the couch and grab my keys from the shelf by the door. If Colby won’t listen to me, I’ll just have to convince Oz to call off the bet.
I’ll put a stop to this. By whatever means necessary.
Chapter 3
Marjorie
It took less than an hour to track Oz down. I have connections throughout L.A. It’s part of my job. And I’m damn good at my job.
Not only did I find out Oz’s hotel and room number, but the concierge also tipped me off that he’d arranged transportation for Oz to attend a private party at the Beverly Hills mansion of an heiress. Ten minutes later, I had the heiress’s publicist on the phone, and five minutes after that, I’d scored an invitation to the party myself.
I may have sort of name-dropped my brother and implied that he’d be attending, but white lies are not only commonplace in this business—they’re expected.
I drive to the mansion, regretting that I didn’t run home for a nicer change of clothes first. Glancing down at my jeans and plain, white tee, I fear I’m underdressed. Oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about that now.
Tilting the rearview mirror down to see my reflection, I reapply my lipstick and add a couple of swipes of mascara to my naked lashes. I do my best to smooth my frizzy curls into a simple ponytail.
I step out of my car and walk up to the mansion. Following the sound of music and laughter, I walk to the back of the house. There’s an Olympic-sized pool and a massive patio. It’s packed with bikini-clad models and actresses.
I realize that I’m not underdressed; I’m overdressed.
I spot Oz quickly. I’ve always been able to find Oz in a crowd. It’s like I’m trained for the task. He’s lounging on a raft in the middle of the pool, surrounded by half-naked women. His expression is bored until he sees me. When his gaze meets mine, his eyes widen, and his face splits into a cheeky grin. He rolls off the raft, carelessly splashing a model on a nearby float, and swims to the side of the pool.
