“I’m sure you all remember me. If not, I’m Jeremy Wilhelm. I work for Dun Production and am one of the producers of A Date for the Hunt, which you graciously filled out an application for. We thank you.” He pauses and looks at each of us. “As you remember we are taking ten single men and women to Aruba for two weeks. The concept is simple. Each woman will hide an Easter egg and the men will hunt for them. Whatever egg the man finds, he will spend the remaining time with the woman who hid it.” He pauses again and holds up a stack of papers. “One of you, from this department has been chosen.”
Chairs adjust and people start murmuring. I’m under the assumption Hoar got the gig, but now I’m second-guessing by the fact the producer is telling us all of this.
Jeremy Wilhelm clears his throat and looks at the paper. “Congratulations to Hudson Bryant. You’ve been selected to participate in A Date for the Hunt.”
All eyes turn toward me. Some of my co-workers smile, a few of them glare, but my core friends are standing and rushing toward me. They push, slap my back, some tell me I’m a lucky fucking bastard.
“Quiet down!” Captain yells. “Bryant!” He barks my name.
“Yes, sir?”
“Is participating in the show something you want to do?” he asks. “Before you answer, I must advise that you’ll have to use your own personal time to cover the time off.”
Shit, really? I hadn’t considered that I’d have to use my vacation time when I filled out the application. Of course, I only filled it out because Jensen said he’d get chosen over me, which turned it into a challenge. Guess, I won, again. But do I really want to use my vacation time to go to Aruba? Fuck yes!
“I’m in.”
“Seriously?” Jensen asks.
I shrug. “Why not? A two-week paid vacation to Aruba, to frolic in the ocean with some chick that I don’t know, all while trying to get lucky. . . who would say no?”
“Frolic in the ocean? What the hell is wrong with you?” Hoar asks.
I brush off my shoulders. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Hoar.”
He throws his hands up at me and turns back around. Sucka!
Jensen claps a hand on my back. “Dude, I can’t believe you’re going to go.”
“Don’t worry, Jensen, I’ll send you a postcard!”
The producer calls me over and asks me to follow him. I do and as I pass by, my team razzes me. I love it. Wilhelm heads toward the Captain’s office and takes a seat at the small table Cap has in there. I do the same.
“Here is the contract. I suggest you read it over before signing.”
I do as he says. In a nutshell, I can’t be a douche. Which is easy, I may give Jensen and my co-workers a ton of shit, but when it comes to women, I’m nothing but respectful. My mother raised me right.
Wilhelm pushes a pen toward me. I take it and scribble my name in triplicate. “Now what?” I ask him.
“Now, you go home and pack. You only need clothes for a couple of days, as the show will provide most of your outfits.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “Sponsorships are an amazing thing.” He stacks the papers together. “Tomorrow at six a.m. a car will come pick you up to take you to the airport. The driver will have all your information, tickets, and instructions of what to do when you get to the airport. You’ll be taken to the hotel, where you’ll meet the other male contestants.”
“But not the woman?”
A sly smile spreads across his face. “No, you won’t meet a woman until you’ve found an egg. Once all the eggs are found, you’ll spend the first twenty-four hours with your match before all the couples are brought together.”
“So secretive,” I say, finding the whole concept interesting.
He laughs. “It’s the way the show works, Mr. Bryant. You’ll have fun, I promise.” Wilhelm stands and we shake hands. “Here’s my card, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”
I take his card. “Thanks.”
He heads toward the door and stops. “Oh, one other thing,” he says, turning around. “The show will air while you’re participating, so be careful what you say. The only things we’ll be editing out are what the FCC deems inappropriate.”
“Does that mean you’ll put a dot on my ass if I get naked?” I ask, grinning wide.
Wilhelm clears his throat and smiles. “If you and your partner decide to do . . . well, the cameras won’t be there, but the microphone might be.” He lowers his voice. “A word to the wise though. If you don’t want it to be on TV, don’t do it. Our camera guys can be sneaky.”
“Soft porn, I like it,” I joke.