Spotlight & Giveaway: LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE by Kerry Rea

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Kerry Rea to HJ!

Hi Kerry and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE!

 
Hi! It’s my pleasure. Thanks so much for having me.
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Lucy Rourke has two great loves in her life: the gorilla troop she cares for as a primatologist and the laundry list of reality TV shows she watches to escape the fact that her actual love life doesn’t exist. And like a reality contestant gunning for the final rose, Lucy’s laser-focused on one thing: getting promoted to head keeper. So when a wildlife docuseries hosted by hotshot TV personality Kai Bridges chooses her zoo as its summer filming location, she sees an opportunity to showcase her beloved gorillas to the world and land a starring role in her department.

When Kai and his film crew arrive, however, it’s obvious to Lucy that Kai cares more about sky-high ratings than the gorillas, and he considers her a camera-averse know-it-all whose wardrobe consists entirely of khaki. But she’s surprised to discover there’s more to him than his rugged good looks and cheesy catchphrases…and that maybe a promotion isn’t the only thing she wants. But when secrets from their pasts threaten to complicate everything, Lucy discovers that happiness and success aren’t the same thing—and that finding joy just might mean getting a little wild.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

Most of my favorite quotes are too spoiler-y, but here’s a little snippet featuring a line of dialogue from Kai and Lucy’s reaction to it:

“No worries. I have complete confidence that I’ll convince you to give up your secrets by the end of the summer.” The knowing look he gives me is playful, almost mischievous, and I can’t help but think that a girl would give all her secrets to a guy who looked at her like that.

Hell, she’d give him more than her secrets.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• I listened to Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams” on repeat while I was writing this book.
• I got to do a lot of interesting research on gorillas! They have complicated, fascinating social and kinship dynamics, and they’re amazing, intelligent animals. Gorillas will even serve as surrogate parents and families to young orphaned gorillas. In the book, Lucy works to get her zoo’s troop to safely accept an infant from another zoo, and it’s a huge deal for her and for gorilla conservation.
• Lucy’s enjoyment of reality TV is inspired by my own fascination with it. I’ve watched 90 Day Fiancé, Married at First Sight, Teen Mom, Selling Sunset, etc. I don’t even call it a guilty pleasure because I don’t feel guilty about it!
• I love nature shows, so On the Wild Side with Kai Bridges would be a must-watch for me. But I can’t watch any shows involving animals when I’m at home, because my cattle dog Maya goes nuts barking and jumping at the screen whenever one appears. She even loses her mind at cartoon animals!

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

Kai is initially attracted to Lucy’s stubbornness and intelligence; he likes how determined she is, even if he doesn’t agree with her viewpoint. Lucy is attracted to Kai’s ability to look really good in a safari hat, along with his easy confidence and his professional expertise. They both love wildlife and banter and feel really strongly about the things they believe in, which makes for great chemistry.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

Yes! I laughed while writing chapter 4, blushed like crazy writing chapter 26, and definitely wiped away tears during chapter 37. I don’t want to spoil anything from the later chapters, but here’s a snippet from chapter 4. This scene takes place at a zoo fundraising event where Kai just overheard Lucy talking about him in a less than flattering way, and the tension between them soars to a 10:

He crosses his arms tighter over his chest, and I concentrate hard on not looking at the biceps muscles peeking out from underneath his gray T-shirt. The possibility that he heard every awful comment I made makes me want to barricade myself in a Porta Potty. Just how long has he been standing there? Did he hear me reenact our conversation from yesterday, when I impersonated him
in a cartoonishly thick South African accent? Did he watch me hoist Majesty on the Mountain over my head like it was the Stanley Cup and I was a championship hockey player?

Dear God, did he hear me wishing that he’d landed in the Amur tiger exhibit?

“Rosha the tiger is actually a very even-tempered girl,” I say quickly, just in case. “For, you know, a tiger.”

Kai raises his eyebrows. “I bet she is.”

Readers should read this book….

LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE has a ton of heart and a lot of humor, so you should absolutely read it if these elements appeal to you! It’s also a great fit for readers who enjoy banter, sexual tension, and pop culture, as well as anyone who enjoys learning about animals or wonders what it’s like to work closely with incredible animals like gorillas. If you still aren’t sold, there’s a plotline involving an irresistibly adorable baby gorilla! There are also some plot twists, and I think we get to see both main characters grow and change in ways that feel genuine and deeply human.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I’m working on a new romantic comedy that’s sweet, sexy, and funny. I can’t say too much, other than it’s emotional and touching and features a camping scene where there’s only one tent!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: 1 Physical book: LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE by Kerry Rea

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: If you could be cast in any reality television show, which would you want to be in?

 
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Excerpt from LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE:

I wish I were a Humboldt squid.
Everyone thinks chameleons are the best camouflagers, but a Humboldt squid can change its colors as fast as four times a second. If I could do that, I’d transform myself into the rain cloud gray shade of my office walls. That way, Elle wouldn’t be able to find me and remind me of my four p.m. assignment.
But I’m not a squid, and I jump when my office door bangs open. “Lucy.” My best friend Elle pops her head inside the doorway, a mass of black curls framing her face. “You cannot hide from the
children.”
I sigh and shut my laptop, where I’ve been updating the daily feeding log. The gorillas ate their regular afternoon snack of pop- corn, cereal, and sunflower seeds, with peanuts added in as an extra treat. As a keeper, part of my job is maintaining detailed records of the gorillas’ dietary intake, social interactions, sleep habits, and vital signs. I’ve got at least an hour of data entry left today, but that will have to wait.
I don’t want Elle to kill me.

“I know you hate doing the Critter Chats, but they’re important. I’ve got twenty-six second-graders out there who can’t wait to learn about primates,” she says, sticking her neck farther into my shoebox-sized office. It’s so tiny that between my cluttered desk and stuffed mini fridge, I can’t lean more than three inches back in my chair without smacking my head against the door. Elle has no chance of getting in.
“Did you say twenty-six?” I ask in disbelief. “That’s a fuck-ton of kids.”
When she raises an eyebrow at me, I grab a fresh can of Diet Coke from the mini fridge and pop the tab open. I’m going to need a serious caffeine fix to make it through the next half hour.
“And it’s not that I hate the Critter Chats,” I continue, letting the cold deliciousness of my drink soothe me. “It’s that I hate the four o’clock Critter Chats.”
Three times a day—nine a.m., one p.m., and the dreaded four p.m.—a zookeeper from the primates department hosts an educa- tional Q and A in front of the outdoor gorilla exhibit. I enjoy the Chats most of the time, since they’re a great way to share my passion for gorillas with the public. During the morning and early-afternoon sessions, the kids who attend are in cheery, inquisitive moods. It’s early enough in the day that the zoo is still fun for them, and they’ve got a day full of camel rides and ice cream Flamingo Pops to look forward to.
But by late afternoon, the excitement and sugar highs have faded, and the exhausted children have sunk into cranky moods. If they’re little, they’ve gone all day without their usual naps, and if they’re teenagers, it’s late enough in the day that their phone batteries are dead and they have to suffer through the oppressive June heat with- out access to TikTok.
It’s not a great situation.

“I know they can be challenging, but you’re the only primate keeper available today. Jack’s assisting over in Asia Quest, and Lottie has to go to her grandmother’s funeral. Plus, it’ll get you extra brownie points from Phil.”
I clear my throat. “It’s Lottie’s grandmother’s cat’s funeral,” I clarify, narrowing my eyes at Elle. “And I bet she could make it back in time.” Elle’s dark brown eyes flicker with exasperation. “You know I don’t assign keepers, Luce. I just make sure that somebody’s out
there to educate the children.”
She’s laying it on a little thick with that whole educate-the- children line, but she’s not wrong. As an associate activities director, Elle’s responsible for coordinating events for the public, including Zoo Camp, the painting-with-penguins fundraiser sessions, and Crit- ter Chats. If I refuse to be a good sport, I’ll be making her job harder. And because we’ve been best friends since the first day of ZooTeen volunteer orientation fourteen years ago, that’s not an option for me. Plus, she has a point about my boss, Phil. He’s looking to promote a junior primate keeper to senior sometime this year, and I want that job more than anything.
“Okay, okay,” I relent, standing up from my chair to stretch my legs. At five-nine, I tower over Elle’s five-one frame, and I bounce on my heels to increase blood flow to my long limbs. “Just tell me, this second-grade class—are there any girls with flower names? You know, Tulip, Rose, Iris? Because girls with flower names always give me the hardest time. Along with boys with bougie names, like Brantley or Oakley or Banks.”
I’m not pulling those names out of thin air. Last week, a five- year-old named Tulip tried to stick gum in my hair, and a six-year- old Banks screamed at me when I explained to him that gorillas aren’t monkeys. I’ve learned to maintain a ten-foot distance between

myself and children at the afternoon Critter Chats, lest any of them have a tantrum and decide to fling a Capri Sun at my head.
Elle scrunches her nose. “Who names a kid Tulip? Anyway, it’s almost four, so let’s go, please. And if the kids get too rowdy, just tell them that filming starts next week, so if they come to the zoo again over the summer, there’s a chance they’ll get to be on TV. Kids love TV.”
Kids love launching full juice boxes at innocent zookeepers’ heads more than they like TV, in my experience, but I don’t argue. Elle’s mention of filming inspires a flutter of excitement in my stomach. Next week, the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium will be the site of a months-long documentary project produced by wildlife expert Kai Bridges, host of On the Wild Side with Kai Bridges. Wild Side has taken viewers like me—I’ve seen every episode, including the famous one about the last grizzly bear in a small Montana county—from the ice shelves of Antarctica to the volcanoes of Hawaii, showcasing animals in every biome. Now, his production company wants to show audiences the magic of wildlife right in their own backyards, start- ing with our zoo.
I’m so excited about the docuseries that not even the memory of Tulip and her aggressive bubblegum antics can lessen my enthusi- asm. I’d rather die than be on camera—my fellow keepers Lottie and Jack can have that glory to themselves—but I’m looking forward to meeting Kai. He’s the son of famed primatologist Dr. Charlotte Kimber, who’s half the reason I’m a gorilla keeper, and meeting her offspring is probably the closest I’ll ever get to meeting my idol her- self. Plus, at least on TV, Kai looks like Tom Hardy’s twin, if said twin wore a Crocodile Dundee hat and said “Wowza!” in a South African accent every time an apex predator appeared.
The docuseries will put our zoo on the map, and my heart skips

a beat when I imagine people all over the world getting to know the gorillas I’ve dedicated my career to.
But first, I have to survive the Critter Chat.
“All right, let’s go,” I say, taking another swig of Diet Coke and surrendering to the inevitable. “But I swear to God, if any second- graders launch spit wads at me, I can’t promise not to retaliate.”
Elle shakes her head but smiles as I follow her out of my office and through the administrative section of Ape House. She loves kids, which is a good thing, since she and her husband Nadeem are expecting their first baby in six months.
“C’mon.” She lifts her employee ID to grant us access to the hall- way leading toward the gorillas. “And while I have you, don’t forget about that benefit picnic this weekend. You don’t have to wear a dress, but you cannot wear your work uniform.”
I sigh. Like the Critter Chats, attending zoo fundraising events is part of my job, but I don’t enjoy it. It’s the actual work part of my career that comes easily to me: building relationships with the ani- mals, researching advances in gorilla care, keeping impeccable rec- ords of every aspect of their lives so that conservationists can use the data to bolster outcomes for gorillas in the wild. But making agonizing small talk and eating tiny appetizers at a rich donor’s house doesn’t appeal to me. I’d much rather be knee-deep in hay getting real work done.
“What’s the picnic for?” I ask, trying not to let my annoyance show. It’s not Elle’s fault that zoos, like other nonprofits, rely on the support of the community to thrive. “And I wouldn’t wear my work uniform. I’m not a moron.”
As we approach the behind-the-scenes animal area, the unmis- takable odor of hay and gorilla fills my nostrils. It smells like a barn- yard exploded, and it’s my favorite scent in the world.

Elle rolls her eyes. “It’s to raise money for a lemur rescue in Mad- agascar. And I’m not saying you’re a moron. I’m saying that some- times you’re so focused on work that things like general self-care fall to the wayside. Remember that gala at the art museum? The one for the giraffe blood bank? You showed up in khakis and a polo shirt. With gorilla shit on your boots.”
I glance down at the black polo, khaki shorts, and hunter green rain boots I’m currently wearing. There’s not a cloud in sight today, but the boots are essential footwear for a long day scrubbing exhibit floors.
“Piper was born the night of the gala,” I explain, remembering the night the zoo’s youngest gorilla entered the world. “So excuse me for not missing the birth of a critically endangered creature so I’d have time to shower.”
“Nadeem and I had to sit next to you at that gala, so you are not excused.” Elle reaches an arm out to give me a friendly swat, and I hop sideways to miss it.
“Point taken.”
I push open the heavy metal door that leads us out of Ape House and into the warm June sunshine. We emerge on the keepers-only side of Gorilla Villa, the twenty-six-thousand-square-foot outdoor viewing area. Currently, the members of silverback Ozzie’s troop roam the space, enjoying what’s left of an afternoon scatter feed. Ozzie, the four-hundred-pound leader of the group, rests on a wooden platform above us while he munches on a head of lettuce.
“Hi, handsome,” I say. Ozzie’s eyes dart toward me, but he con- tinues enjoying his snack. With the distinctive smattering of red hair on his forehead, the proud, observant look in his eyes, and trade- mark silver hair on his massive back, Ozzie never fails to stop me in my tracks.

“He looks so majestic,” Elle says, craning her neck to look up at him. “That’s because he is majestic.” The silverback, the dominant male of a gorilla family, is the cornerstone of a troop’s survival in the wild. He mediates conflicts, leads his group to feeding sites, and will even sacrifice his own life for the safety of his kin. Ozzie, in all his
lettuce-munching glory, is no different.
The rest of Ozzie’s troop is scattered throughout the Villa. Thirty- one-year-old Zuri, my favorite member of the troop, basks in the sun on an overhead ledge. Her fellow females Tria and Inkesha doze on a beam tower in the center of the exhibit while Tria’s daughter, one- year-old Piper, sleeps on her mom’s chest. On the public side of the Villa, youngsters Tomo and Risa engage in a wrestling session, and young male Mac sticks his head into the opening of a tunnel on a grassy hill, probably foraging for more greens.
The outdoor exhibit, a massive structure of interconnected beams and wire mesh, serves to give the gorillas as much choice in their whereabouts as possible. Overhead transfer chutes connect the out- door space to Ape House, allowing the troop members to move freely between their indoor and outdoor habitats, and a labyrinth of ropes, ladders, and tunnels provides opportunities for playing and napping out of the public eye.
“Ready?” Elle asks, passing me a headset mic and sliding hers on. “No,” I mutter as we approach the shaded viewing area, where a crowd has gathered to watch Risa and Tomo’s playful antics. My stom- ach drops when I see that the twenty-six kids Elle mentioned are wearing matching purple T-shirts with St. Thomas Day Camp Super­
star printed on the front.
“Dammit, Elle. You didn’t tell me they were day camp kids!”
She bites her lip in guilt. She knows as well as I do that a four o’clock Critter Chat with day camp kids is the worst scenario of all.

Not that I have anything against camps—I’m not a monster, and I was a child myself once—but the sheer ratio of exhausted teachers to unruly, even more exhausted kids is a recipe for disaster.
“It’ll be great,” Elle whispers as we approach the group. “I promise.” I shoot her a dark look but take my place at the glass window in front of the exhibit. The thick humidity in the air does no favors for my wavy, white-blond hair, and between the frizz and the loose pieces of hay stuck in my ponytail, I probably look like a deranged Targaryen. “Welcome,” Elle says, waving her arms at the assembled group of children and flashing them her most patient smile. Between the kids’ chatter and the birdsongs floating through the air from the nearby
aviary, her voice is lost in the commotion.
“Welcome!” she repeats, louder this time. For a petite person, Elle can really project.
“For this afternoon’s Critter Chat, we’ve got junior keeper Lucy to teach us about the gorillas who call our zoo home. And if you use your very best listening ears, I bet she’ll even answer some questions for you.”
I try not to hold my breath as Elle winks at the crowd. Some- thing tells me their listening ears got switched off somewhere around lunchtime.
“And remember,” Elle continues, “no tapping the glass, please.” She smiles and motions toward me with a dramatic sweep of her arm, as if we’re on a game show and I’m the prize behind door num- ber three. “Let’s listen up while Lucy tells us all about gorillas!”
“Hello,” I say, taking my cue. I swallow hard, and my gaze darts from Elle to the group of purple-shirted children. I know I’m not about to deliver the Gettysburg Address, but my palms have already grown slick with sweat. Public speaking, even when it’s about my life’s passion, has never been my strong suit. I’m great at chatting

with small groups of zoo guests, but any more than that triggers serious stage fright. I’d rather shovel gorilla dung.
“Your mic,” Elle mouths to me, motioning to her headset.
It takes me a second to realize my mic isn’t turned on, and my cheeks heat up as I correct the error. I spot my boss Phil making his way toward Ape House from the bonobo exhibit, and he stops to observe the Chat.
“Hello,” I repeat, trying to calm my nerves. “I’m Lucy, and I’ve been a keeper here for four years. Right now, you’re looking at Ozzie’s troop. Ozzie is the big, beautiful guy chowing down on lettuce over there.”
I point to him and introduce the other members of his troop. The crowd listens as I go through my educational spiel, telling them about troop social structure, what makes a healthy gorilla diet, and how west- ern lowland gorillas are faring in their native lands. (Hint: not well.)
Just before I can launch into the most important part of my speech and explain how people can support gorilla conservation in the wild, a gap-toothed boy from St. Thomas Day Camp raises his hand.
“Do gorillas fart?” he asks, prompting a roar of laughter from his classmates. His teacher rolls her eyes and gives me a sympathetic glance. I’m guessing gorillas aren’t the only thing he asks that ques- tion about.
“They do, actually.” I answer his question smoothly, as if it’s no big deal. And it isn’t. Kids are naturally curious, and I’ve found it’s best to give them simple, honest answers. “Most animals experience flatulence. Except for octopuses. And birds. And according to re- searchers, sloths.”
Elle side-eyes me as if to ask how I know that as another St.
Thomas kid raises her hand.
“Why did you become a keeper?” she asks, shifting her weight from one skinny leg to the other.

I smile at her. It’s a question I could spend hours answering. “Well, when I was little, my grandmother bought me a very spe-
cial book called Majesty on the Mountain, by Dr. Charlotte Kimber. She wrote it about her experience studying mountain gorillas in Rwanda. I loved that book so much that I took it with me every- where. In fact, I’d spend hours in the woods pretending I was her research aide.”
I remember stuffing my Lisa Frank backpack full of Goldfish crackers and twist-cap Sunny Delights and traipsing into the woods outside my grandmother’s house. I’d gather leaves and sticks and even dead bugs and glue them into my “research notebook,” where I’d write detailed logs of my outings. I couldn’t exactly track gorilla dung or observe their behavioral patterns like Dr. Kimber. So in- stead, I counted elderberries and made meticulous notes about the urinary patterns of the neighbor’s poodle Clancy.
On Friday nights, when my grandmother Nona microwaved pop- corn and let me pick a movie, I always chose the film version of Dr. Kimber’s book. At the end, when the actress playing Dr. Kimber sobbed over the death of her favorite gorilla, Nona and I would cry our eyes out until she swore never to let me watch it again. But she always relented, and if she thought I was weird for stalking around in the woods with a Dr. Kimber–like braid in my hair, she never let it show.
“That book introduced me to the magic of gorillas,” I continue. “I’d go through National Geographic magazines and cut out pictures of gorillas and monkeys and chimpanzees and put them up on my bedroom wall.” I’d also displayed seven posters of a Titanic-era Leo- nardo DiCaprio, but that’s neither here nor there.
“When I was old enough, I joined the ZooTeen program right here at our zoo.” I explain how I studied biology in college and did

several internships before landing my dream job. “For me, it all really started with Dr. Kimber’s book. I wouldn’t be here today without it.”
Unmoved, the gap-toothed kid from St. Thomas raises his hand again. “Do gorillas puke?”
After I assure him that gorillas share ninety-eight percent of our DNA and thus have the same basic bodily functions, Elle twirls her finger subtly to get me to wrap things up. I breathe a sigh of relief. Nobody’s tossed so much as a gum wrapper at me, and Phil was here to witness every second of my successful Critter Chat.
But before I head back inside to my sweet, sweet celebratory Diet Coke, I want to drop a line or two about conservation. “Dr. Kimber, who the mountain locals called Nyiramacibiri—‘the woman who lives alone in the forest’—wrote that the building block of conservation is love. Love for gorillas and the earth that sustains us all. We don’t have to be ‘people who live alone in the forest’ to make an impact. We can do that right here in Ohio, whether we’re keepers or second- graders.”
I describe the zoo’s partnerships with international conservation programs, and how global demand for palm oil has accelerated the deforestation of great ape habitats. I encourage them to download the zoo’s palm oil shopping guide so they can ensure the products they buy, from cooking spray to ice cream, contain sustainable palm oil.
The boy who asked about gorilla bathroom habits pretends to snore loudly, but I’m satisfied with the session. If I’ve done my job right, and I think I have, the kids will go home with a little more knowledge about gorillas and compassion for their plight in the wild.
And I’ll go home without gum in my ponytail.
Elle turns off her mic as the crowd disperses. “Great job, Luce.” She glances at her smartwatch and frowns. “Shoot, we went five minutes over. I’ve gotta run to the Tasmanian Devil Chat next. Text

me when you’re leaving, okay? Sam mentioned getting dinner at El Vaquero tonight.”
The prospect of enchiladas with my best friends is almost enough to make my stomach growl, and I wave good-bye as she trots off. I still have a lot of data to work on today, along with drafting plans for Ozzie’s upcoming birthday.
Remembering that I’ve got a question for Phil about Ozzie’s cake, I scan the crowd for him. I spot him next to the surly-faced, six-foot- tall bronze statue of Rock, one of the zoo’s original gorillas. Phil’s deep in conversation with an auburn-haired man who’s an inch or two taller than the Rock statue and looks about as pleased.
“Lucy!” Phil calls when he notices me observing them. “Come here. I’ve got somebody for you to meet.”
Following my boss’s orders, I approach the pair. Phil, with his salt-and-pepper hair and all-khaki outfit, looks like he could pass for Steve Irwin’s dad. Unlike my neatly groomed boss, the auburn- haired man looks like he hasn’t seen a razor in months. His full beard bears streaks of blond, and a scar over his right eyebrow leaves a centimeter of it bare.
“Hello,” I say, trying not to stare at the scar. “I hope you enjoyed the Critter Chat.”
I’m used to making niceties with the occasional donor who stops by for a behind-the-scenes tour with Phil. But instead of the awe- struck expression most people wear when they’re up close and per- sonal with gorillas, his lips are curled into the deep frown of someone who just stepped in dog shit.
His gaze shifts from Phil to me, and I force myself to look into his hazel eyes instead of at his eyebrow.
“I’d hardly call a gorilla a critter,” he says in a deep voice.
His words bear the trace of an accent, but I can’t quite place

what it is, and his gruff tone catches me off guard. I glance sideways at Phil, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on any tension.
I shrug. Critter is probably a better term for a pygmy slow loris than a great ape, but I don’t name the programs.
“Well,” I say, “I hope you found the talk informative. Education is a big part of what we do here at the zoo.”
Phil beams, and I award myself a mental brownie point. Take that, Jack and Lottie.
The bearded man says nothing in response. Phil glances from me to the sour-faced guy and clasps his hands together, and I start to wonder if he called me over to help him escape from this dreadful conversation.
I should get double brownie points for that.
“So, Phil,” I say, giving him a meaningful look. “When you’re done here, I wanted to talk about Ozzie’s birthday cake. He didn’t like the pumpkin puree frosting last year, so I was thinking we could try strawberry this time.”
Before Phil can respond, the grumpy man turns toward me again. “You were wrong, you know.”
He watches me with a steady gaze, and I blink at him in confu- sion. What the hell’s he talking about? Wrong about what? I wasn’t wrong about any of the facts I laid out during the Critter Chat. I know more about these gorillas than anyone, except for maybe Phil. I spend upward of sixty hours a week tending to them and research- ing every possible method for improving their care. I miss family dinners and nights out with friends because my work with the goril- las always comes first. I love it. I love them.
And I know my shit.
“Wrong about what?” I ask. I manage to keep my tone calm, even though I want nothing more than to reach out and yank his stupid

beard. I’ve dealt with enough mansplainers who think watching a single documentary on Animal Planet makes them a zoologist.
He nods toward the spot where I stood to lead the Critter Chat. “You said the locals called Dr. Kimber Nyiramacibiri. ‘The woman who lives alone in the forest.’ They didn’t.”
It takes real effort to keep disdain from crossing my features. My cheeks have a tendency to go fire-engine red when I’m annoyed, and I don’t want to give this guy an inch. I force myself to take a deep inhale and think about enchiladas.
“I’m not wrong.” I’ve read Majesty on the Mountain at least twenty times and watched the movie way more than that. I know everything there is to know about Dr. Kimber, down to her favorite color (green) and what she liked to cook for dinner in her tiny mountain hut (jas- mine rice). While other kids my age collected Beanie Babies and played Nintendo 64, I sent my Barbies on gorilla-tracking expedi- tions and had fake conversations with Dr. Kimber in my head.
So Mr. Eyebrow Scar can take his know-it-all attitude and his stupid beard and shove it. Hard.
“You are wrong,” he insists, running a hand through his thick waves of hair. If I didn’t loathe this dude so much, I’d ask him what conditioner he uses.
Instead, I run my fingers over the zoo badge on my waistband, as if to remind myself that I’m the one in charge here. Technically, Phil’s the one in charge, but I refuse to be condescended to in front of my boss by a mid-thirties manbaby who never learned to double check his facts. Especially when I’m gunning for a promotion.
“I’m not, actually,” I reply. “And I’m one hundred and ten percent confident in that.” I lift my chin slightly, trying to look as proud and noble as Rock the gorilla statue.
He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to respond, but a

chiming noise stops him. While he grabs his smartphone from his pocket and presses it to his ear, I glance sideways at Phil to see if he’s picking up on the serious douchecanoe vibes. But Phil just smiles at the dude like he’s the second coming of Jane Goodall.
Whoever this asshole donor is, he must be worth a lot of money. “I’ve gotta give someone a lift from the airport,” he says to Phil
after the call ends. “We’ll talk more next week.”
“Looking forward to it.” Phil sounds almost breathless with ex- citement, as if this guy just handed him fifty-yard-line tickets to the Super Bowl.
I glance from a radiant Phil to the surly bearded man and back to my boss. What in the world am I missing here?
The man turns to leave, but before he reaches the walkway to- ward the main zoo path, he pauses. He turns back to give me a curt nod, as if he’s remembered to at least act like someone who has manners.
I don’t nod back. Instead, I fix him with a steely glare. Because I’m not wrong.
After a moment, perhaps when he realizes I’m not going to back down, he turns away. I breathe a sigh of relief and utter a silent prayer that he trips on his way out.
“What a jerk, huh?” I ask when he’s out of earshot.
Phil, still staring after the man like he’s about to walk on water, doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Can you believe it?” he asks. “Kai freaking Bridges! It’s going to be quite a summer, Lucy.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “What did you say?”
Phil grins at me. “That was Kai Bridges. He stopped by to get a feel for the zoo before production starts next week. Sorry I didn’t give you a proper introduction.”

I’m so surprised that I take a step sideways, as if to regain my balance. “What?”
That was Kai Bridges, son of my all-time, number one, I’d-die- to-meet-her idol? That’s the guy whose wildlife programs have won three Emmys? That’s the guy whose docuseries about our zoo is supposed to make the world fall in love with Ozzie and his troop?
What. The. Hell. The on-screen Kai Bridges is a chipper, clean- shaven adventurer who’s always saying “Wowza!” and flashing a trade- mark toothy grin. The on-screen Kai has a strong South African accent and isn’t a major asshole.
“Where’s his accent?” I ask Phil. “Why’s he look like he hasn’t shaved in a month?” Why is the incredible Dr. Kimber’s son a total, colossal jerk?
Phil shrugs. “I’m sure he presents himself differently for the show. I met Lady Gaga in an elevator once, and she looked really different than she does in her music videos.”
I’m surprised that my boss is familiar with Lady Gaga’s videos, but not as surprised as I am by the man I just met. Minutes ago, I was beyond excited for Wild Side to start filming. Over the past month, I’ve put together spreadsheet upon spreadsheet of data and created a seventy-slide PowerPoint to help the production crew get acquainted with each of our gorillas.
But the man I just met doesn’t seem like a PowerPoint kind of guy. He seems like a cocky, ignorant mansplainer who tried to em- barrass me in front of my boss and doesn’t know basic facts about his own mother. And there’s no way I can trust him to capture the magnificence of the gorillas I love so dearly.
Forget wanting to be a Humboldt squid. I wish I were a great white shark.

Excerpted from LUCY ON THE WILD SIDE by Kerry Rea published by Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2022

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Book Info:

Lucy Rourke has two great loves in her life: the gorilla troop she cares for as a primatologist and the laundry list of reality TV shows she watches to escape the fact that her actual love life doesn’t exist. And like a reality contestant gunning for the final rose, Lucy’s laser-focused on one thing: getting promoted to head keeper. So when a wildlife docuseries hosted by hotshot TV personality Kai Bridges chooses her zoo as its summer filming location, she sees an opportunity to showcase her beloved gorillas to the world and land a starring role in her department.

When Kai and his film crew arrive, however, it’s obvious to Lucy that Kai cares more about sky-high ratings than the gorillas, and he considers her a camera-averse know-it-all whose wardrobe consists entirely of khaki. But she’s surprised to discover there’s more to him than his rugged good looks and cheesy catchphrases, and that maybe a promotion isn’t the only thing she wants. But when secrets from their pasts threaten to complicate everything, Lucy discovers that happiness and success aren’t the same thing—and that finding joy just might mean getting a little wild.
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Meet the Author:

Kerry Rea is a 2017 and 2019 #PitchWars mentee. Her work has appeared in Seventeen magazine. She lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her husband and four dogs. The Wedding Ringer is her debut novel.
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