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Love, Camera, Action
Dotted Line
Action Shot
Close Up
End Scene
Meet Cute
Love, Camera, Action
Did you miss any of the other Love, Camera, Action series books? Check out excerpts from the series below or find the full series at http://elisefaber.com/LoveCameraAction
Dotted Line
Love, Camera, Action #1
Get your copy at books2read.com/DottedLineOlivia
The cold voice hit my spine before I made it to my chair.
“What did you say?”
Cole McTavish.
A tall hunk of a former hockey player, all muscled thighs and towering height, with a face that would have been classified as beautiful if not for the several-times-broken nose, the jagged scar along his jaw, and the small, smooth one bisecting his left eyebrow.
Further that, he was about as opposite from me as anyone I’d ever met.
Relaxed, always ready with an easy smile, Cole never raised his voice—at least off the ice. On it, he’d been a terror, a virtually unstoppable force who’d fought when needed and didn’t back down from protecting a teammate.
I’d also been his agent while he was playing.
After he’d retired, I’d transitioned him over to Devon, who’d helped him refine his brand for post-playing opportunities. Now, he was the face for a few hockey companies and one well-known corporation that sold watches. Though, to my and the rest of the female populace’s dismay, he’d turned down the swimwear ads.
I’d been with him in the locker room enough to know what was under those flannel shirts and jeans.
It was definitely billboard worthy.
Lane started to push by him, but Cole grabbed his shoulder and stepped into my office, forcing Lane back.
Devon Scott trailed them in, a stormy expression on his face.
I glanced at my boss and shook my head, silently telling him I’d already handled it, but Dev shook his head firmly back at me. Which was when I realized that what Lane had said must have been worse than I’d thought. Normally, Devon would never get involved in an argument between my employees and myself unless I asked him to.
Which I didn’t.
Since I handled my own shit.
“Tell her what you said.”
My gaze flashed to Cole and his darkened face. “It’s—”
Emerald eyes locked onto mine, sparking fire. “Tell her,” he said, and Lane must have realized exactly how deep of a pile of shit he’d dived into because when I broke Cole’s stare to glance at my assistant, his face had gone pale.
I rested my hip against my desk. “I don’t need to hear it. Lane, get the file.”
Devon crossed his arms. “Tell her,” he said. “If you’re man enough to mutter it under your breath, you’re man enough to say it aloud.”
Lane shook off Cole and spun to face me. “Fine,” he snapped. “I said that you’re such a fucking bitch.”
My lips curved and I huffed. “Okay, great, thanks. Now, back to work.”
Lane’s jaw fell open.
A curl of amusement crept onto Dev’s face.
Cole appeared even more infuriated.
Lane somehow went paler. “Wh-what?”
“I’ve got a ton of work,” I told him, “and you say bitch like it’s a bad thing.” I transferred my gaze to Cole and Dev. “All of you are acting like it’s the worst insult in the world.” I laughed. “Believe me, I’ve been called worse.”
“It’s unacceptable,” Dev said, and I loved the guy for it.
But this was also the way of the world.
Most men despised strong women. We were told to smile or look happy or be fine with the scraps they tossed our way. If I’d had an issue with men calling me a bitch, I would have quit this male-dominated field ten years ago when I’d been a lowly assistant like Lane and my boss had been a lot worse than a bitch.
But I hadn’t.
I’d put my head down, got my shit done.
And I’d learned to not give two craps when a man thought I was a bitch.
Because it had become my anthem.
When I negotiated my client to have equivalent perks in their contract, I was a bitch.
When I demanded a different client have access to the same off-season training as the rest of the team, I was a bitch.
When I secured a bonus that was similar to the rest of the big names on the roster, I was a bitch.
So, fine.
I was a bitch.
Great. Congrats. Moving on.
—Get your copy at www.books2read.com/DottedLine
Action Shot
Love, Camera, Action #2
Get your copy at books2read.com/ActionShotArtie
“A lady doesn’t give away her secrets.”
Stormy gray-blue eyes went hot. “I bet I can convince you.”
My pussy clenched. Straight up, right then. With a single look. Uh-oh. “I don’t date children.”
He laughed. “I’m twenty-two. That’s hardly a child.”
“Pierce. I’m thirty-seven.”
“So?”
He meant it, too, I could tell.
“So, I don’t date people who work with me.”
His laughter burned a hole straight down to my middle. “I think we’ve quite established the fact that we’re not going to be working together.”
He had a point. And the stink knew it, given the way those hot eyes traced me up and down.
“Eat your pasta,” he ordered huskily. Normally orders from men pissed me off, especially men who were many years younger than me, who deigned to think they had a right to give me orders, but there was something about Pierce’s gaze, heavy with approval and desire, that made it less annoying and more . . . promising.
I lifted a brow. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll just have to—” He broke off and waggled his brows, making like he was going to grab my plate.
I lifted my fork threateningly.
He laughed, went back to his own entrée. “Thanks for lunch.”
My carefully constructed bite of pasta fell onto my plate. “I thought we’d established you were paying,” I said and when he did nothing more but chuckle and then smolder at me again, before continuing to devour his lunch, I knew I was in trouble.
Then deep shit when he snagged the waiter and handed him his card.
And then falling down into a crevice of even deeper
