Lumberjacked

By Olivia Hawthorne

Aaron Remington

I needed the money. That's the only reason I ever signed up for that stupid reality TV show. I wasn't looking for a wife, I wasn't looking for love, and I certainly wasn't interested in any of the bimbo contestants they picked out for me.

I was set to live with ten girls in a mountain retreat near my hometown in Alaska for a month. I was supposed to fake it until I found my "bride", film the final episode, and walk away a free man with a hundred grand cash in my pocket.

Just enough to pay the back taxes owed on my family's lumber mill and keep running things for them.

But I hadn't counted on meeting her. A slick Hollywood TV producer who somehow managed to steal my heart, mess up my plans, and bumble the entire thing by being infuriating and so goddamned irresistible.

Reagan Black

I needed this job so bad I could do anything for it. So what if it was taking place in some dirty little town in the middle of no man's land, Alaska? Who cares if it meant leaving my life and friends and LA behind for a month?

I had to prove that I could do this on my own and succeed not just because my daddy was Pavel Black, the biggest movie producer Hollywood had ever seen.

What I didn't expect was to find myself out there in the middle of the woods in the strong, muscled arms of a big, bearded lumberjack.

And I never expected to be put in a position where I had to choose between the maddeningly sexy star of our hit show and the career I had always wanted.

Can love win?

**This is a full-length standalone happy ever after. That being said, it also contains angst, some humor, a cute little dog, a hot alpha lumberjack, an uptight LA princess and some pretty steamy sex scenes...so it's best left to those 18+.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivia Hawthorne
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215762110

Book preview

PART I

Lumberjacked

Reagan

Now don’t look at me like that, sweet cheeks, Charles Morgan, the head of the studio said in that patronizing, sing-song tone. I could have slapped him, but instead I plastered a smile on my face and looked like I was hanging onto his every word. That’s better, you should smile more often! You’re pretty when you smile. Now, I’m giving you one more chance in spite of the disaster of a show that just bombed and cost the studio seven million. I’m doing it because I like your dad, so by extension, I like you.

Oh, thank you, Mister Morgan, I replied softly, channeling my most careful Marilyn Monroe voice. Charles Fucking Morgan, billionaire television and movie studio tycoon and giant prick to work for…he loved that shit. He was stuck living in the fifties, the Mad Men era where women were properly coifed and served his coffee and took his ass-grabbing with a pleasant yet submissive smile.

That shit didn’t fly with this home girl, but still, I did need him on my side.

Celebrity Pet Bake-Off had been a flop of a reality show. Who knew Keanu’s dog had such a hate on for little purse pooches like Kim’s Chihuahua?

And how was I to know people wouldn’t tune in to watch celebrities judge dog biscuits carefully prepared for their pooches?

Well, I’d known the second part all along but had gone with the flow because of my Dad and Charles. They’d come up with the idea over tequila shots and runway models one night by our pool.

It was a dud from the start, but I ran with it and took the blame when it tanked.

That’s what a good girl did, and I was a good girl through and through.

And everybody knew only good girls made it in Hollywood. Well, behind the scenes, that was. Bad girls made it really far if they were in front of the camera and flexible on the casting couch.

You’ve got two weeks to come up with a new concept, Charles said, reaching for his desktop humidor. Two weeks and you’d better blow me… he paused to pull out a dark, thick cigar, run it along under his nose, and inhale deeply, …away.

I fought the urge to vomit and kept the smile fixed on my face. You’re funny, I purred. And I promise I won’t disappoint. You won’t be able to forget it when I blow you… I stood up and left that hanging in the air. His face reddened, and his jowls practically shook at the image of his best friend’s twenty-four-year-old daughter on the end of his old man dick. …away. I finished and flounced out of his office, letting the imposing oak door glide shut behind me.

I paused on the other side and shuddered.

Was it bad? asked Melanie, Charles Morgan’s personal assistant and my friend and co-producer whenever I had a project going. I guess she could be partially to blame for the dog fight fiasco, but I wouldn’t to that to her. Good friends were hard to come by in this town and Melanie was one of the best. He’s in a weird mood today. I think his twenty-year-old Eastern European girlfriend dumped him for some dude even older and richer.

Lucky her, I said as I rolled my eyes. And it went bad, but it could have been worse. He gave me two weeks to come up with something else.

Should we get hammered by your pool and fuck a bunch of models to get a flash of inspiration? Melanie laughed.

"Oh gross, don’t remind me. And no, that clearly didn’t work for them. Did Kim get us her vet bills yet, by the way?"

Oh yes, and her canine therapist, masseuse, nanny, physiotherapist, and personal trainer’s bills too.

I raised my eyebrows and blew a limp strand of hair off my forehead. You’ve got to be kidding me.

I wish I was, girlfriend, but these celebrity dogs are pampered beyond belief.

Apparently I got into the wrong end of this business.

You want to be a canine personal trainer?

No, I want to be the dog!

Melanie started to giggle uncontrollably until we heard Charles barking her name from inside.

Sounds like he’s one step ahead of you, she snorted, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. I’d better see what Fido wants. Drinks later?

Sure thing, I said. I’ll see you at Lynx at about ten.

Sounds good…just remember to wear your collar and tags so you’re not picked up by animal control.

I chuckled and left the office, walked through the modern glass and metal building, and headed home to my own celebrity pooch.

Well, he wasn’t a celebrity, but he was my little buddy. Tiger, a French Bulldog with a personality as big as the sky and the horrible gas to match.

But after a bad breakup with a soap opera star almost a year ago, my heart wasn’t into dating, and I needed companionship.

Not that I needed to justify that to anyone. But in this town, creeping closer to thirty and living alone seemed to come with a lot of judgment.

I sighed deeply as the elevator took me down to the parking garage and my snazzy little Mercedes that my father had surprised me with on my twenty-third.

I was set. If my career could handle this little stumbling block, I would take my place as Hollywood royalty. That was something I’d dreamed about since I was a little girl following my ‘Famous as God’ producer dad around on set.

Then why did it feel so wrong, now that it was all within reach?

The music was loud, and the bass seemed to thump directly into the back of my skull. My headache throbbed, and I tried my best to smile and nod when Melanie talked to me.

Lynx was the hottest new club on Sunset Boulevard. It was packed with a line that curved well around the block, but we were on the VIP guest list, thanks to dear old Dad.

I wasn’t feeling it, though, but I knew Melanie needed me here to get inside and to keep her from doing something…or someone crazy. She had a bad habit of drinking too much and going home with the wrong person. Or persons.

Melanie said something loud over the music, but I couldn’t hear a thing. I might have been coming down with a cold, because my hearing was worse than usual, and the nightclub irritated me more than it normally did.

She stood abruptly and headed towards the bathroom. At least I knew what she’d been saying earlier.

I sipped my drink and tried to avoid eye contact with the numerous guys who would sidle by and hover around, looking for an in to sit next to me.

It wasn’t that I was particularly gorgeous. I mean, I survived LA’s rigorously snobby standards, but they knew who I was. That was almost always a given when guys hit on me in clubs like this.

They knew I was Pavel Black’s daughter, and they’d date me and romance me and treat me like a Hollywood princess to catch me off-guard. Until the first time they met my dad.

And then they’d suddenly turn into cheesy, used car salesmen who had a pitch for the ‘next best movie’ or the ‘next blockbuster science fiction space opera.’

I knew the type, and unfortunately, in LA, they were all the type.

I nursed my cranberry fizz until I saw Melanie coming back through the crowd, dragging a hulking beast of a man behind her. He had to be six and a half feet by about ten feet wide. His muscles bulged in the arms of his checkered shirt, and even behind his thick, black beard, I could see his face was screwed up in a scowl.

He would be drop-dead gorgeous if he didn’t wear that frown.

But even with it, he made my heart pitter-patter a little faster and my palms feel sweaty all of a sudden.

I couldn’t look away from him as she sat down and dragged him to the sofa between us.

The DJ went on a break, so the music dropped to a much more manageable background level.

This is your show! Melanie yelled and laughed loudly. He’s your next show!

What are you talking about? I asked, immediately aware of how incredible he smelled. Like the woods, like he’d brought the scent of trees and manly men all the way into the center of carefully coiffed Hollywood.

Your friend just dragged me from the bar, the flannel-clad lumberjack giant said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

Oh god, I’m sorry, I replied, looking into his eyes. I felt a moment of shock between us as we recognized something in each other. His smile widened slightly, and my mouth went dry. She gets like this when she drinks.

It’s okay, I wasn’t having a good time anyhow, he said.

Neither was I. I smiled, extending my hand and adding, I’m Reagan.

He shook my hand, and his was huge and rough from what must have been years of real work. Man’s work. I’m Aaron, he said, and I was just leaving.

No, don’t go, Melanie insisted, shooting me an urgent look. Seriously, this is it. I kidnapped this hot lumberjack for you so you can use him for inspiration. Imagine it: hot lumberjack stuck in a house with ten city girls, all vying for his love.

So…The Bachelor, Lumberjack style, I said, actually liking where her mind was going.

Yeah, she giggled maniacally, and I realized she was already drunk. Melanie sometimes had really good ideas when she was drunk, and this was one of them. Only we’ll call it Lumberjacked! Because he’s a kidnapped lumberjack!

I rolled the idea around in my head and could see nothing wrong with it. I looked Aaron up and down and asked, What are you doing for the next couple months?

He scowled again and said, Heading home to Alaska on the next flight out of here. I don’t even know why I came to LA to begin with.

"Why are you here?" I asked, noticing Melanie scampering away out of the corner of my eye.

That’s a long and boring story, Aaron rumbled. Let’s just say I got talked into getting and agent, and that agent talked me into coming to this god forsaken hellhole, and I’m firing said agent and getting the next flight home.

Don’t fire him yet, I shot, narrowing my eyes and mentally going over the contract in my mind. I might have an offer you can’t refuse.

He shook his huge head, his tousled hair coming loose and falling over his forehead. Not gonna happen, lady. I’ve got to get back to Alaska. It was nice meeting you, but I’m not talking to any more fancy Hollywood types. Y’all have agendas and shit tucked way up your sleeves, no matter how drop dead beautiful you might seem.

The backhanded compliment caught me off guard for a moment, but I was already committed to this deal happening, though, and as he got up and stalked over to the bar, I watched him and knew he’d make our ratings go through the roof.

I convinced myself that my attraction was merely professional, that I was seeing him through the eyes of our target audience.

Sure, a small part of me knew I was lying to myself.

But I saw him sitting next to Anthony Wexman, of Perkins Wexman and Trotter…a talent agency I knew well. I would get Anthony on the phone first thing in the morning, and I would make this work.

My career depended on it.

Aaron

Tell her I won’t take anything less than two hundred grand for this commercial, and that’s my final offer! Anthony yelled into the phone before slamming it down on his desk with a clatter. He folded his hands into a V and rested his chin on them, looked at me, and said, Okay, where were we with all this?

I raised my brows and stroked my beard, a nervous habit I’d been trying to break, but since arriving in this city, I’d started doing it even more. I think we were coming to the end of our relationship, my friend.

What, because of that? That’s just negotiation, nothing personal.

"I’m not offended that you’re being a complete dick to some poor woman on the other end of that call, but I am offended that you haven’t gotten the message yet, I said, looking him in the eye. I’m not interested in any work. That was my brother’s thing, and with him in rehab, I’m heading back to Alaska where I belong. I just need to collect his money."

Oh come on, you belong here. Look at your face…a quick shave and you’ll be primetime TV quality. You could make a load of money doing a few ads here and there, and that’s money I know you need.

I’ll figure something out, I said, standing abruptly. I held out my hand to shake Anthony’s, but he refused.

Anthony Wexman was a persistent bastard. I’d give him that.

But LA wasn’t for me, and I had to get the hell out of Dodge before I lost my mind on the freeway in rush hour traffic and got tossed in the slammer or something.

I turned on my heel and left his office, almost knocking over his busty assistant, but ignoring her twittering giggle as I said goodbye.

You’d think the girls in LA had never seen a man with a beard before.

Well, I supposed they’d seen those trim little hipster beards and man-buns, but never on a man who actually worked for a living.

And I did work, needed to work, but not doing what my brother had done.

I’d followed Axel down here hoping to bring him home before shit hit the fan.

But the shit had hit already, and he’d ended up addicted to some nasty things and used up any of the money he’d earned working for Wexman in a posh rehab facility somewhere out in the desert.

The only reason I’d come after him in the first place had been to get my money. He’d stolen from me and the company, Remington Timber, to make his way down here in the first place.

And I needed that goddamned money or I was going to lose Remington Timber to the federal government.

I’d been stupid and let Axel handle the books. Instead of paying our taxes for the last five years, he’d been lining his own pockets. I never should have let Mom talk me into trusting him, the baby of the family and the flaky one.

I never should have listened to him, but I did, and I’d fucked us out of our company just as much as Axel had. I should have never had the fox guarding the henhouse, so it was as much fault as it was his, and that stung like a fucker.

Dad had died a few years back and left the mill to us four brothers. Alvin and Arty had declined to helping me out. They were focused more on their own trucking business, but I’d taken Axel under my wing and tried to run the place up to Dad’s strict standards.

Man, if only Axel hadn’t spent all his cash on drugs and rehab. If only he could have paid me back the hundred grand he’d stolen.

If only.

Fuck, I muttered to myself. I needed to get home. The city was closing in on me, and I felt stifled by the sheer number of people frantically rushing from point A to point B, and all the rest of the alphabet, it looked like.

I held my hand out for the driver who would take me back to my hotel room where I could hide out for the next day or two.

This trip had been useless. Axel had closed me off, and Anthony wasn’t going to stop trying to find me acting work any time soon. He had me over a barrel, scenting my desperation like a hound on a hunt and using it to hammer away at me until I would give in and work for him. But I didn’t want to, I wanted to go home.

I got to the hotel in time to order dinner for my room, on Anthony’s dime of course, and ate it in front of the TV.

The first ad Axel ever did came on a few times during the news hour. In it, he laughed with his friends while some stern male voice talked about erectile dysfunction.

He still got royalties coming in from it every time it aired, but that didn’t stop the family from ribbing him every time we saw him. I mean, come on, it was a job, but did you really want yours to be the face of limp dick syndrome? He had to expect the laughter from us brothers.

Just after nine, I was reading through a good spy thriller on my Kindle when my phone buzzed. I ignored it, but it was persistent, so I picked it up to see a stream of texts from Anthony.

Basically, he was begging me to come out with him. He had somebody he wanted me to meet, and he’d pay me ten grand of Axel’s money if I’d just give it a chance.

If I didn’t need the money, I would have told him to stick it up his ass right then and there, but ten grand was one step closer to paying off the back taxes.

And it wasn’t like I was stealing it from Axel; the fucker owed me.

I agreed to meet him, he sent a car to make it all real easy for me. I found the two of them immediately, and just to stick it to him and the ad exec we were meeting, I ordered the most expensive scotch I could think of before abandoning the two of them at the bar and standing in the corner and watching the crowd.

I finished my drink and decided for the hundredth time that hour that I was going home, to Alaska. I couldn’t stand the frenetic movements of the people in the club, the bass-heavy music throbbing against my ear drums, and the stink of all those bodies sweating desperation and trying to cover it up with thousand-dollar perfumes.

I longed for the quiet of my cabin, sipping a good drink by the fireplace on a chilly winter’s night, snowflakes falling fat and soft outside, and the hush of the silence in my head.

All I needed in my life was a good book, a good drink, and ultimately, a good woman. That’s it.

Well, that and the money to get the family business back, but we’d hit that bridge when we got there.

I was about to walk back to the bar to tell Anthony and the TV exec to forget about it when a cute little thing hooked her hand in my arm and mumbled something about showing me to her friend.

Then she giggled and said I was being lumberjacked.

That seemed to strike a cord with her, and she giggled until she pulled me toward this incredible blonde sitting by herself against the wall, looking bored and cranky.

My perfect woman, including the cranky part. I had kind of a thing for feisty girls, and this girl almost shone with electricity like a little fire cracker.

Everybody else in the club fell away, and she sat there in my vision as if at the end of a tunnel.

Her sparkling blue eyes locked onto my green ones. She smiled, and I barely heard the conversation between her and her friend. The drunk friend let me go, and I sat on the bench next to the leggy blonde and took a long, hard look at her.

She was like a drink of water to a man in the desert—she was real in a town that valued the fake over anything else, and her smile could light up the darkest night in Alaska.

Yeah, roll your eyes, but damn, I had it bad from the moment I met her.

Reagan, like the president, she told me. I gave her my name and got lost in her eyes until I heard her pitch.

My hardening cock twitched as my eyes