Professional Consult

By Lark Anderson

Lexi Dash has been many things throughout her life: America's Sweetheart, Hollywood's Golden Girl, Highest Paid Actress, Most Bangable Bachelorette.

But she's never been bad at her job.
 

Until now.
 

Forced out of her rom-com comfort zone and into a police drama, she finds herself out of her element and in deep trouble. If she can't make the transition from fun and flirty to grit and steel, it won't be just the show that's in jeopardy—it'll be her reputation.
 

As a last ditch effort to salvage the project, her production company sends her to train with surly Police Chief Luke Bastwick, who wants nothing to do with the starlet, but when a practical jokes makes him erroneously arrest Lexi, he must agree to take her under his wing or suffer legal consequences.

She turns his world upside down, shining light in the dark recesses of his soul. Like magnets, they attract and repel until they can deny each other no longer.

Two weeks. That's all they have together because Lexi's iron-clad contract demands she return to the spotlight.

That is, unless she's willing to give up everything to get what she wants.

 

Everyone Deserves a Hero.

 

10 Authors have teamed together to bring you these heart-stopping, swoon worthy, hero romance stories that will leave you breathless. This collection of books are stand-alone stories that will leave you wanting more.

This Hero Romance Collection is dedicated to the extraordinary men and women who put their lives on the line for the ordinary people of this great nation. In recognition of their faithful service, each of the participating authors made a donation to Tunnels to Towers, a non-profit organization, upon joining this Hero Romance Collection.

This collection includes stories by:
USA Today Bestselling Authors Lux Miller & LC Taylor
USA Today Bestselling Authors LC Taylor & Allie Rose
USA Today Bestselling Author Lark Anderson
USA Today Bestselling Author Amy Stephens
USA Today Bestselling Author Ashley Zakrzewski
Award Winning Author E.M. Shue
YD La Mar
Tracy Broemmer
Mary Morano
Samantha Conely
These stand-a-lone stories will leave you breathless and wanting more.

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lark Anderson
• Release date: May 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201839925

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LEXI

For as far back as I can remember, I was the industry standard.

Scratch that—the gold standard. Top of the class. A-all-the-way.

Men wanted to date me, women wanted to be me, and while both are still true, apparently, I’ve lost my edge.

I navigate my way through the set to my position, glaring daggers at the two extras that are chuckling at my expense.

My co-star, Clint, gives me a sympathetic grin that I’d like to wipe off his cocksure face. I know he’s loving every moment of the director’s ire.

Speak of the devil…

Dash—get angrier! Milton shouts. You’re not on the beach, you’re running point on a drug bust.

I open my mouth to speak, but he’s already storming off, shaking his head like I’m some wayward child.

You can do this. You’ve done it hundreds of times before. Thousands. You got this.

ACTION!

I wait for my cue and rush through the set door, delivering my lines flawlessly as I cut through the air with my baton prop.

CUT!

I look toward the director, blinded by light.

Yes, I’m off my game. No, I’m not a rookie.

I don’t understand. My shoulders slump in defeat. I said my lines perfectly.

Milton limps towards me, his lip sneered up in a scowl. What do you think this is, a fucking comedy?

If you have specific advice you’d like to give, I’m all ears. Otherwise, you’re gonna get more of the same.

It’s your timing, Clint offers. You deliver your lines like you’re working a sitcom.

Thank you, Mr. Know-it-All.

The set suddenly grows ten degrees hotter as I realize all eyes are on me, waiting for my response.

What right does Clint have to question my timing? I’ve been a household name since I was four and he walked onto his first set just six years ago.

But as angry as I want to be, even I can smell my bullshit. Clint took the world by storm, impressing the hell out of audiences and viewers alike. He even impressed me, which is why I was excited for him to be my co-star.

I force a smile. Thank you, Clint.

For nothing—thank you for nothing!

I reclaim my position and put away my baton so I can reenact the scene.

Lexi, to my office, Milton grunts.

My cheeks flush red with humiliation. It’s like being sent to the principal’s office, but far worse, because it’s not for bad behavior.

It’s for bad acting.

My body stiffens. The weight of everyone’s attention on me is almost too much to bear, and I’m someone who’s used to performing.

Acting isn’t just my job, it’s my life. I act when I’m in the coffee shop, walking the streets, and getting my nails done. Even one moment out of character could cost me because I am always being judged in the court of public opinion.

Just ask Alicia Davies, once my greatest rival, now a commercial queen.

And yes, I own a part of that. It’s not like I intended to take down my adversary, but acting is a cutthroat business and I’m a shark.

Or at least my management is. I prefer the motto doctors live by, ‘do no harm’.

You can do this.

I force a smile and a light chuckle, because it’s better to be in on the joke than the butt of it.

Unfortunately, as I make my way off set to the hall of offices, I trip on a very visible cord, nearly taking down a valuable piece of stage lighting.

Fuck my life.

The walk of shame has nothing on my Milton March, but I walk the rest of the way with my head held high, managing to make it through the door without further incident.

Lexi, Milton spits my name like a cuss word, and not the fun kind, what the fuck is going on with you?

On any other set, I’d be fighting fire with an inferno. No one dares tell me how to act—how to do my damn job.

That was before I walked onto the set of Cruel Justice.

Give me a day. I’ll call in a coach and go over my lines.

We’re past that.

Past that? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Acting coaches ain’t gonna do shit. The fact that it’s even a consideration when you’ve spent two decades acting is a fucking trip.

That’s not fair, and it’s hardly my fault! I started in sitcoms and went on to rom-coms. You’re the one who insisted I audition for the role of ‘gritty’ police chick that doesn’t take shit from anyone.

He throws open a cabinet and takes out a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a cup and downing it with a gulp.

You know the casting announcement is coming soon, and that an epic shit-ton of money has been funneled into this by the production company, don’t you?

I take a deep breath, gathering the last of my courage for my next question, which is terrifying.

If it’s too late for acting classes, where does that leave me? Am I being recast?

He casts me a glare. No! Fuck, can you imagine the rumble that would cause if it got out? If they knew there was last-minute recasting before the pilot shot? It’d sink the ship before it even set sail.

Then what?

The door opens behind me, and I turn to see my smug co-star.

"We’re having a private conversation." I emphasize the word private, hoping it gets through that thick head of his.

I know exactly what he’s doing with his good-natured, dimpled grin. He’s trying to flip the script. Make himself look like the industry professional, and me, the amateur. Or worse, prove to them that I’m too long in the tooth to keep on top of things.

Which is ridiculous considering I’m only twenty-six. But then again, every year you age in Hollywood past twenty-five is a decade.

He’s in here at my request, Milton grinds. I told him to come in a minute after you did as a courtesy to you. To spare you the additional insult.

Clint snakes past me, closing the door on his way in.

Additional insult? What the fuck is going on? He’s not my boss and if you think he’s fit to be my acting coach, you’ve lost your damn mind. He’s a hotshot, six years in, who could crash and burn at any moment.

Hey, this isn’t about me trying to be your coach, Clint cuts in defensively.

Then why the hell are you even here?

His gaze shifts from me to Milton.

Have you guys had private conversations about me? I blurt out, suddenly aware that I’ve been an ongoing topic of discussion and not at all liking it. Have you been asking Clint Bastwick for advice on how to handle the situation?

No! Clint cuts in again with that overly apologetic voice of his that makes me feel like I’m overreacting. It’s just that I have a brother.

Yeah, and? I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot impatiently.

He’s, um, a police chief in a small town in Colorado.

So?

What Clint means to say is that we think it would be a good idea to send you out there for a week or two.

My brow lifts at the audacity. "Send me out to Colorado?"

Clint says he’s agreed to work as a professional consultant and give you some training. He’ll take you out on a few assignments, so you can⁠—

W-w-wait! Are you actually suggesting I ride around in a cop car and put myself in danger? I’m not trained to deal with angry and violent criminals. I’m an actress!

It’s a tiny, quiet town called Pond Spring and the most action you’re likely to see is a local drunk by the name of Craig. Clint’s voice is chipper, like he’s a damn travel agent arranging my vacation. I’ll have your accommodations taken care of, and you won’t have to worry about anything other than studying for your role.

I didn’t think I could hate Clint even more than I had.

I was wrong.

This is ridiculous. I’m not going to Colorado to take part in your…in your⁠—

You’re going to Colorado, or you’re going to find yourself playing second fiddle.

My eyes widen in disbelief. You can’t!

While I can’t touch your plush salary, I can absolutely dictate your screen time.

My jaw drops.

You wouldn’t… My voice trails off because I know very well that he would.

Tomorrow morning you’ll be flown in by way of private jet to Pond Spring where you will stay for two weeks, Milton says. Are we clear?

I guess that settles it. There’s no way out of this.

My eyes spear Clint. Why haven’t I heard that you have a brother? Come to think of it, you don’t give much of yourself away during interviews at all.

I’m from a small town, and I try to protect my family.

Is he going to be mad at me coming down, invading his space?

Not at all. You’ll find my brother most welcoming. He’ll probably make you cookies.

I have no recourse unless I want to be demoted to side character for the next three years before they unceremoniously kill me off. It’ll be an embarrassingly low point in my career, and without being as visible, my worth will go down, and I’ll come out of the show far worse than I went into it.

Fine. I pivot in my police officer boots to leave, nearly tripping when the tread doesn’t glide as smoothly as my normal shoes.

Not the exit I had wanted.

Tomorrow—eleven a.m.! The private strip we use to bring⁠—!

Yeah, I’m familiar, I snap, exiting the room and heading straight to my trailer.

I know what he’s doing. Clint fucking Bastwick. He’s getting the upper hand. He wants to make sure the award campaign money flows in his direction. He wants to lord this over me and drop hints of it in interviews, keeping me on edge.

And one day, when I least expect it, it’ll all come out during an interview. How incompetent I was. How he, as a rookie, had to intervene in order to save the show.

Well, that’s not going to happen. At least not how he thinks it will.

I’m going to act my fucking pants off. I’ll act goddamn circles around that rookie prick.

I just have to make it through a couple of weeks in Pond Spring.

CHAPTER 2

LEXI

Deep breaths.

I could be in a lot worse places than this comfy private jet, drinking down a glass of high-end wine.

I could be working a nine-to-five, exhausted, coming home to three children each night and a man that can’t bother to get his own beer.

Okay, so I have a flair for drama, but in my defense, I am an actress. I kind of have to.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I have to reshape my outlook on the situation at hand. This isn’t a failure. This is on-the-job training, which people need in every profession. While some jobs require recertification, mine benefits from the occasional dip into another world. Another life. Other ways of thinking.

And on this assignment, I get to go to Pond Spring, Colorado and follow around Luke Bastwick, Clint’s older brother.

Oh, and fuck Clint for inserting himself into the situation like the opportunistic upstart that he is. There is a zero-percent chance he did this altruistically, and I have no doubt that Luke will be acting as his spy, ready to report even the smallest hiccup to his underhanded brother.

And if Luke is going to be a stabby-backstabber, I’m certainly not going to help him feel good about it. Which is why I’m going to act gracious, show up on time, do every assignment Luke gives me, bring breakfast each morning, and send parting gifts.

The flight attendant approaches with the remainder of my wine.

We’re about to land. Would you like me to pour you the rest?

As much as I want to say yes, that would probably be a bad idea. She turns to leave, but I clear my throat. It’s a six-hundred dollar bottle of wine, and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste. If you’re stuck here for the night, or wherever you go next, you should take it.

They keep inventory of the amenities aboard the jet.

Mark it as consumed, for all I care. You won’t hear any balk from me.

She smiles. Thanks.

I wish I’d gotten a little more sleep in, but my nerves had me on edge all night, and even though I know my lines backwards and forwards, I’d stayed up to rehearse them.

I pull out my phone and Google Luke Bastwick, which I’d been avoiding until now.

Look-at-you…

The Bastwick family seems to have a dominant hot gene.

It might seem ridiculous that I’m fanning myself as I look at Luke’s sharp jawline and soul-seeking blue eyes with the Hollywood hunks I encounter on the regular, but those men always have an artificial feel to them. They’re manicured and manufactured, right down to their spray tans and sparkling white veneers.

Luke is a Grade A, all-American slab of man meat that you can’t create in a gym or with any steroid. Those muscles are homegrown, just like the dirt stains on his pants didn’t come from the manufacturer.

Yeah, I still don’t understand the reason insanely rich assholes buy faux-stained clothes.

But I’m not here to ogle Clint’s handsome brother, so I click on the ‘News’ tab.

The screen fills with article after article of a local, small-town police chief