by Elise Faber
That smile had to be morphing into a grin. Or maybe that was just me. “Artie came back,” Shelby said, and this time it was a statement rather than a question. “I’m happy for you, Pierce.”
“Thanks.” I sucked in a breath. “Rhonda still good to cover for today?”
“I’ll confirm and tell her to expect you on set bright and early tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Shelb.” We exchanged goodbyes and hung up. I tossed the cell on the nightstand and rotated back to face Artie, who had stiffened beneath me, eyes going wide. I just cupped her cheek and shook my head.
“I won’t let you run,” I murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”
No movie would ever be more important than her. No job or interview or location scouting or award.
“You arranged for a plane?”
I nodded. “Good thing it couldn’t take off last night because of bad weather, huh?”
Her lips curved and she shook her head. “That would have been a long flight for nothing.” She tapped her chin. “Don’t know how that feels or anything.”
I grinned. “Well, thank you for coming back.”
“I—I don’t even know what to say to that.” Another shake of her head. “I shouldn’t have panicked and—”
“No coals, remember?” I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. “And you don’t need to say anything. Just stay for now. Be with me for as long as you can and then keep in touch with me when you can’t. Send me silly set stories or pretty pictures of where you are when we’re apart. Make me jealous when you’re eating all that delicious pasta.” I brushed back the hair from her face. “You don’t need to say the perfect thing or make a grand gesture. I just want you.”
She sniffed. “Pierce.”
“I know. I’m romantic and say all the right things.”
A snort, the tears fading. “Is this where we circle back to you calling me old and balding?”
“Who said either of those were an insult?”
Artie sighed and dropped her head back to the pillow, both of her palms resting on the outsides of my arms. “I love you, Pierce Daniels, even if you can be the most infuriating man on the planet.”
I dropped a kiss to her forehead. “See? Not perfect.”
She broke out into peals of laughter, her lips curving up as my mouth drifted lower, seeking out hers. I kissed her, that laughter filling me, making mine join in with hers.
It was beautiful.
It was two imperfect people finding their way to . . . not perfect.
Just pretty damn right.
And that was perfect to me.
Epilogue
Artie, Two years later
“And how does it feel to see your wife up there receiving the top award for acting?” the interviewer asked Pierce, who was sitting next to me on one of the most popular daytime talk shows in the country.
I felt like absolute shit.
Neither of us had slept the previous night.
Filled with too much adrenaline, attending too many after parties.
Drinking way too much for a person my age.
Cue the internal snort. Forty-four was the new twenty-four as far as I was concerned.
Yeah, sure. But it turned out that the script Pierce had bought two years before had been beyond special, so special, in fact, that we hadn’t been able to find the perfect lead.
Until I’d drifted out from behind the camera to help our male lead run his lines prior to a few screen tests.
Until Pierce and I and that famous male heartthrob had realized what we’d had.
Lightning in a bottle.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it.
But Pierce had been certain. And so . . . more golden statues.
This time for Pierce’s directing and somehow for my acting, grossly out of shape, but raw and instinctive, and even I had to admit that it had been pretty good.
I didn’t recognize my life any longer, couldn’t believe the sharp left it had taken, couldn’t understand how I’d changed so much in so short a time. But then I turned to the audience and I saw Marie and Kate and Thomas and Dory and Grayson and Hank and all the rest of the Daniels crew, and I knew.
It was because of them.
It was because of Pierce.
It was because of me.
I’d opened myself up to the possibility of something, I’d taken a chance, I’d been vulnerable . . . and it had worked.
Because of my family.
Because of my man.
Because of me.
Pierce chuckled at the question, drawing my attention back to him and the interviewer and the fact we were on camera. He knew I’d drifted off, as he always seemed to know everything that was going through my head, and so he laced our fingers together, drawing our hands into his lap.
“How do you think it feels?” he asked, and then his words weren’t for the camera or for the audience. They weren’t for anyone except for me. “I am so incredibly proud of you,” he whispered in my ear as he hugged me tightly.
He didn’t take into account the live mic.
He didn’t think that the gentle way he cupped my cheek afterward, eyes locked on mine for a long moment would be immortalized in gifs and memes and social media videos talking about the types of boyfriends women dreamed of.
He didn’t know we’d go viral for a second time.
But he also didn’t give a damn in the least.
And I didn’t either.
Epilogue
Part Two
Pierce, Eight Months Later
So, funny story, it turned out that the reason Artie had felt so awful the morning after our joint Oscar celebration had been because she was pregnant.
Well, that and the obscene amount of wine and pasta we’d consumed the night before.
We’d known that Artie had missed her periods for two months, but when she’d shrugged it off, saying it was probably pre-menopause and that I’d better trade her in for a younger model, I’d put any hope of kids out of my mind.
Would I have liked a child with Artie?
Of course. I loved her. The thought of having a baby with her was exhilarating, not terrifying.
But I also understood that sometimes timing didn’t work out and if we got around to not being too busy for a family, then we would look into adoption or surrogacy.
Still, as the days after the awards show went on and the nausea didn’t abate, I strong-armed her into going to the doctor.
Who’d strong-armed her into taking a pregnancy test.
Which had come back positive.
And then there had been six months of furious preparation, six months of Artie having every test done possible because she was convinced that the night of celebrating had hurt the baby—even though the obstetrician had assured her that most likely everything was fine—and that her age wouldn't negatively affect the precious life growing inside her.
Though she was high-risk, because of her age, and so we did every test, read every book. We prepped and talked to Marie and Kate and—
Now we were here.
With my gorgeous baby girl in my arms and my gorgeous wife asleep after working so hard to give birth to our child.
A beautiful, perfect girl.
Just like her mama.
I stroked a finger down her nose and made the same promise to her as I did to her mother on our wedding day a year before.
“I don’t know what our future will bring us, but I do know we’ll have hiccups and bumps and sharp turns. I can’t promise that we’ll have eternity together or that everything will always be easy.” I pressed my lips to her forehead. “But I can promise that we’ll figure it out together. You, your mom, and me.”
When I looked up, Artie was smiling at me tiredly.
“Too perfect,” she murmured.
“No,” I said. “That’s you.”
I bent, touched my lips to hers, and I held on to my girls.
I might not be able to promise eternity, but I was going to do my
damndest to give it to them anyway.
Epilogue
Part Three
Eden
I walked out of the hospital after visiting Artie and Pierce’s beautiful baby girl, my heart filled with so much joy for my friends.
I owed the director-producer duo a huge debt of gratitude.
They’d cast me in the surprise box office success, Carrot, a few years before, and because of that, I’d had my dream of crossing over from model to actress fulfilled. I’d had one of those model urban legends, a pretty girl seen on the street and approached, my career in modeling easy and fruitful. I hadn’t been taken in by a creepy old man with a casting couch nor had I been assaulted or belittled or had a diary filled with horror stories like so many of my contemporaries.
I was lucky.
I was empty.
Because I’d been merely a doll to be dressed up and styled in someone else’s vision, a simple vessel to be filled with someone else’s ideas. I was to be looked at and not looked in—
I snorted. It wasn’t like acting was so different. I was still judged by the way I looked, magazines still frequently accused me of being pregnant after I’d had a big lunch, or linked me with any male I was seen exchanging a few words with.
But I wasn’t empty any longer.
I felt and lived and finally was me.
So much self-contemplation for so early in the morning, but then again, seeing a precious little bundle of life brought so newly into this world would do that to a girl.
I was absolutely thrilled for Artie and Pierce. They were the real deal and deserved every bit of their success—film or family version. Smiling to myself, I reached into my purse for my keys then promptly dropped them to the ground.
Ugh.
I bent—
“I know that ass.”
A gasp of outrage on my lips, I straightened and whipped around, ready to tell off the arrogant bastard who’d dared—
Damon Garcia.
Photographer extraordinaire and—
He grinned.
Man who still wanted to get into my pants.
Now, I wasn’t a prude. I slept around enough to have been called a whore by more than one publication. It wasn’t more than most men in Hollywood, but because I was a woman, it was noticed and frowned upon.
I just couldn’t bring myself to care.
I practiced consensual, safe sex.
If we both were attracted to each other and it was safe, then I didn’t hesitate to go for what I wanted.
Maybe that made me a whore.
Maybe I didn’t care what other people thought about me.
But Damon?
Damon, I didn’t sleep with.
Damon, I didn’t fuck or kiss or touch.
Because I knew if I allowed myself a taste, I would never have enough.
I was frozen in place when he bent in front of me and picked up my keys, extending them toward me. That was when I made my first mistake. My fingers brushed his as I took them back. Heat exploded up my arm, my stomach went tingly, and my voice was breathy as I asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I live here now. Well, not the hospital—I’m visiting a friend—but here in town.” He smiled, and that paired with the news of him being in L.A. hit me hard upside the head. So hard, it knocked my common sense loose and allowed me to make my second mistake.
Because I didn’t run after I’d said, “Oh, that’s great.”
My third came when he asked, “Want to grab a drink tonight and catch up?”
To which I said, “Yes,” instead of “Absolutely not.”
My fourth?
Well, my fourth came when I finally gave into the draw that was Damon Garcia and woke up naked in my bed beside him.
And then he wouldn’t leave.
Close Up
Eden and Damon’s story is now available. Get your copy at www.books2read.com/CloseUpEF
Love, Camera, Action
Did you miss any of the Love, Camera, Action Series books?
Find information about the full series here.
Or keep reading for a sneak peek into each of book 1 below!
Dotted Line
Love, Camera, Action #1
Get your copy at books2read.com/DottedLine
Olivia
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
Love, Camera, Action
Dotted Line
* * *
Action Shot
* * *
Close Up
* * *
End Scene
Also by Elise Faber
Billionaire’s Club (all stand alone)
Bad Night Stand
Bad Breakup
Bad Husband
Bad Hookup
Bad Divorce
Bad Fiancé
Bad Boyfriend
Bad Blind Date
Bad Wedding (July 19th, 2020)
Bad Engagement (October 12th, 2020)
* * *
Love, Action, Camera (all stand alone)
Dotted Line
Action Shot
Close-Up
End Scene
* * *
Love After Midnight (all stand alone)
Rum and Notes
Virgin Daiquiri
On The Rocks (September 27th, 2020)
* * *
Gold Hockey (all stand alone)
Blocked
Backhand
Boarding
Benched
Breakaway
Breakout
Checked
Coasting
Centered
* * *
Life Sucks Series (all stand alone)