 by Annabeth Albert.jpg)
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’m a fixer. As a SEAL chief, I succeeded in impossible no-win situations. Now I’m retired and determined to improve the lives of my former military teammates through our Hollywood security firm. Plus, I get to guard intriguing people like Ambrose Sterling, creator of one of my favorite TV shows.
Of course, I want to keep Ambrose safe. When he’s attacked, I leap into action to save him and his scrappy little therapy dog.
But my good deed results in a coastal road trip with me pretending to be Ambrose’s boyfriend to keep him out of more danger.
I don’t do relationships, and I’ve never thought about dating a man before, but here I am, sizzling with every touch and dreaming about more stolen kisses.
Each night of white-hot passion brings us closer to an unbreakable bond. But I’m blue-collar, and Ambrose is Hollywood elite. I want a happy ending more than anything. Can I turn this fake boyfriend gig into the real thing, or am I just a guest star?
BAD DEAL is book three in the A-List Security series. It features a highly protective SEAL bodyguard, a suit-wearing silver fox, an adorably ugly dog, and all sorts of brand-new emotions. Get ready for all the high heat, big feels, and found family feels readers expect from this fan-favorite military romance author. Join A-List Security for this lower-angst series featuring former SEALs and the celebrity clients who win their hearts. Happy endings and no cliffhangers guaranteed!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Ambrose
“You’re not the boss of me,” I said firmly as I maneuvered my sporty little beamer into a parking spot, loving how well this new electric model handled the tricky angle and tight fit. Hercules predictably didn’t reply but continued to silently judge me, doggie tongue lolling to one side, ridiculous tuft of hair falling in his eyes, tail thumping against his carrier. The padded bag restrained him from launching himself at me while I drove but added to his perpetually startled expression, making him seem all the more skeptical of my parking choice. “If I want to park here, I will.”
I’d become one of those dog owners who talked to his pet. My psychiatrist would be so proud of me, even if I was trying to justify ignoring the explicit parking instructions to a judgmental ten-pound Chinese Crested. The memo from security for the day’s shoot had specifically said to park behind the pharmacy because the side lot was already overtaken by equipment and staging for the TV filming.
However, the back lot was full, with some cars double parked. The idea of double parking made my chest tight. I’d likely be on set for hours, but the thought of being blocked in, not able to easily leave, had me needing a deep breath. Nope. Not happening.
The half-full lot two businesses over, serving a gift shop and clothing store, was my better bet, even if not strictly recommended. I was already running late, thanks to traffic out to this small suburb, and it wouldn’t do for me to hold up what was sure to be a long day of filming. We only had the location for a single day, and our props crew had arrived at dawn to transform the modern pharmacy into a classic sixties drugstore.
I grabbed my briefcase plus Hercules, locking the car before hurrying to the location and its bustling activity. Temporary barriers ringed the side lot, which was full of the usual assortment of trailers, tents, and other equipment needed for the filming.
“ID?” A bored young door jockey in a black security T-shirt was stationed at the barriers. The shirt showed off the kid’s anchor tattoo and prosthetic arm. Maybe he was older than I’d thought, but he was definitely new because he greeted me with a blank stare, glancing down at his clipboard and stack of neon-orange badges.
“I…uh…” I patted my pocket. Hell. My wallet was currently locked in the car console. I’d been in too much of a hurry and forgotten to grab it.
“And is that a dog?” The kid frowned, pointing at my bag. “Pretty sure those aren’t allowed on set.”
“Avery.” Another guy in a similar black security T-shirt clapped the kid on the shoulder. “This is Mr. Sterling. The Mr. Sterling. The bigwig in charge of the whole shebang. He doesn’t need ID.”
“It’s okay, Harley,” I assured the second guy. I recognized him from other shoots on location. His security company had some sort of contract for special assignments like today’s that needed more security than typical on-set filming at the studio. “I appreciate Avery being so thorough.”
Unlike the bored kid, Harley was older, closer to my age, probably in his late thirties or early forties. And I loved when he was assigned to manage a shoot’s security because he projected quiet confidence, like nothing terrible could happen on his watch. Harley was big and muscular, with more tattoos than the kid. He was the sort of guy who could easily come across as scary, but on our side, all that muscle was reassuring. And if he was excellent eye candy, well, that was simply a bonus. I widened my smile for him. Not flirty, but friendly familiarity.
“I appreciate what a good job your company does keeping us all safe.”
“We aim to please.” Harley smiled back. He had an endearing, boyish grin, at odds with his rugged face, and it never failed to transform me from polished executive to giddy teen.
“I know.” Oops. That probably wasn’t the best response, but he tended to rob me of essential brain cells. “I mean, you do great at that. Thanks for the detailed memo yesterday about security procedures.”
“Thanks. I try to at least be readable. Speaking of, did you find a spot in the rear lot?”
“I…well…” I didn’t want to outright lie, but I hated disappointing him by disobeying his careful instructions. “Close. I found something close.”
“So that’s a no, not in the lot reserved for us.” He guffawed, a mildly chiding sort of laugh. “Want me to move your car for you?”
“No, I’m fine.” I wasn’t one of those car guys who never trusted anyone else with my automotive babies. I was sure Harley was trustworthy. My refusal had more to do with not wanting to be a bother. “I’m not where I’ll get towed. No need to trouble yourself.”